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One
day sitting on my couch, I began to read a book on ‘T’ speedsters
given to me by fellow club member, Ed Munson. As I read further and
further into the book, I found myself distracted with the thought of how
unique Ford cars and their owners are.
I
can’t think of another machine that has accepted so many nicknames given
by motorists. If you were to tell someone you were “going to tune up
your fliver,” or your “lizzy is real cantankerous,” one might think
you were visiting the doctor, or you were speaking ill of your wife. If
you told someone now days, you were going to “cut down” your car, they
would think it
was going to the scrap yard. But there are still people today that share
the unique experience and interest in these old cars.
The beauty of a car club is we can get together with other people that
speak our code of ol’. We go out on tours and talk about “pulling the
ears down,” and “pulling the hills in high.” Participants are eager
to “pour the coals to it” so to inflict friends to “eat their
dust.”
It is only these types of people that can relate to having to “prime an
engine.” If you asked a common person to help you “snake your car”
they would wonder… “Does your car have a sink or a toilet??” If you
said you needed to “pull the hog’s head,” people might think,
“what kind of meat is that… bacon, ham… sausage, pork?”
I find it hard to get common people to get in my car when I tell them it
has a “suicide” front end. What’s wrong with that? Meanwhile, they
are put to ease because upon looking at my brakes, they read “Rocky
Mountain.” “That must mean they can stop anywhere.” As I drive down
the road, people think I’m waiving as I signal to turn right.
I think I like having our secret code. The lost language of traveling is
revisited when we tour with our unique cars and fellow friends. So next
time you are in traffic and see a fist out someone’s window and hear
them curse “Sunday driver!” you can smile and think, “that’s
me.”
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