You don’t often drive along and just happen upon a flawless 1939 American classic, but that’s what happened to me the other night. Getting hold of my senses I U-turned around the block and popped out to photograph this museum on wheels.
I haven’t been this throttled of my ocular senses since I sailed by Paul Allen’s Octopus, on the Venetian coast. I felt the same sensation of “What is happening to me?” as the brain frantically searches for previous experiences to explain the current experience and comes up with nothing. The frontward-narrowing hood reminds me of a tractor I saw on my great uncle’s farm.
The owner had apparently watched me circle back around and approached the car as I took the first picture. He was a businessman who owned a fleet of antiques as I learned, including a 1929 Rolls Royce. I swooned.
He showed me some more of his cars on his phone, including some used for a recent client in Carol’s Daughter. He was the first owner to pop the hood and show me the engine without my asking. He said the car used to run on moonshine and outrun the cops in its day. I love these stories. Like the rest of the car it was spotless. I couldn’t believe it was on the street. So taken with the sight and likely secure in having acquired the owner’s website address, I forgot to inquire of the exact make and model. The website includes a fleet of amazing classic and contemporary vehicles the latter of which the owner indicated he was liquidating due to a decline in demand through his limousine firm, but I couldn’t find this exact classic model.