I don’t know how it happened but I love cars. My Dad wasn’t a big car nut, and my grandfathers both died way before I ever found out if they were fans, but starting at a very young age I was well aware of cars. I remember being able to tell the year and model of any car on the road by their headlights at night in gradeschool. When I was 16 I bought a 1950 Plymouth Special Deluxe for $800 that was buried up to its axles in mud and covered in boxes in a barn in Texas. Two years later I sold it to my limo driver on prom night! After that I rebuilt a 1968 Ford Galaxie 500 Convertible, then bought a Crown Victoria Police Interceptor and re-added all the cop shit they took off of it. (After getting pulled over 18 times in a semester of college, being cuffed numerous occasions and having my house searched by the police captain I sold it – but that’s a long story) I then had a Ford F150 that some drug dealers burned down to the ground (another long story) and another F-150 that I had to repo from one of my Dad’s friends after I sold it and moved to Boston. There are even more cars and mopeds that have passed through my wrench and I hope I have dozens more before I end up in man’s junkyard. This post is a tribute to the vehicles that take us home from the delivery room, drive us on our first date, take us to and from Grandma’s house at Christmas, help us lose our virginity, take us to concert after concert in hotbox comfort and help us explore and experience a freedom our ancestors could only dream of.