I took red and gold out this evening for a celebratory birthday drive for making it to 58 and still being alive. I could not help but notice how many drivers were oblivious to the Shelby's presence. Some drivers would pull up next to this 1966 oddity and not even notice it was alive or occupying a three dimensional space (never mind four dimensional.) Some would walk by without a single nod (mostly from the XX chromosome crowd.) It was as if...as if all of these people were comatose, taken over by some alien thing, a thing not of this world, a thing that had no understanding of the objects powered by combustion engines.) Or were they Zombified, bitten by the undead. Now granted, a few noticed this red and gold streak and one waived at me not that I needed the validation, but it astounds me how many have not acquired a mutual interest in cars or are even cognizant of their surroundings. When I am out, my head is on a swivel. I'd certainly know it if, for example, an FC7 (Plum Crazy) 1970 Challenger crossed my path. Or a Saturn yellow Buick GSX etc etc... A couple of xx chromasomers and one XY decided to run right up on my bumper while I was stopped in traffic with no regard to the possible contact with my back end had they been rear ended by another Zombie. I have civilly prosecuted and defended three car accidents for a long time. Because it happens all the time. A fellow member raised a valid point in another thread today and that is, the comfort zone for driving a Shelby especially at my allotted time today, presented a minor yet irritable form of anxiety that one of these comatose drivers might plow into me followed by a "I'm really sorry. But it's just an old car right?" Won't stop me from driving her though. Gotta live my life.
Best wishes,
Richard E.
I'm going to bend this thread a little into the direction I think it belongs but others don't realize yet.
I think that the common denominator here on why people are infected with things like classic cars, classic music, classic rock, art of the "masters", writings of the great novelists, etc, is a search for ultimate's.
I can only speak for myself and self analization isn't the simplest or even the smartest thing to do but when I list my interests, my plans, my accomplishments and my still current actions, it is about satisfying my ultimatism.
My plans have not been replaced by regrets.
In the case of my cars, my dogs (retired racing greyhounds) and even my former super model wife, there seems to be a common denominator there?
Some things leak through to the current generations. My son still won't give me back my TEAC reel to reel, because "it's dynamic response on base is superior then the digital recording" that he currently uses. So at least there, chalk one up for Dad?
Do I need to defend Roger Maris' 61 home runs? No. I lived it. Warts and all in a non-steroid era, it was an ultimate.
In the case of music, I can't really speak for Beethoven, but "Stairway to Heaven" to this day is still an ultimate.
Now Shelbys. We can get into a pissing match on Cobra v. GT350 or BB v. SB, etc. It is difficult to defend a position though that they are not their own "ultimates".
With all due respect to the Concourse folks, to me a "stock Shelby" is like a push-up bra. It is instantly fascinating, mesmerizing and incredibly sexy. The problem is that under close examination you will find that it is more show then go and you aren't getting what you anticipated?
So my ultimate is to have an ultimate, ultimate and I work at that. No push up bras here please, but if you want to, you could show it to me for my consideration?
The current generation is searching for ultimates of it's own but is having difficulty finding any since I and my friends have used them all up?