Gloves were a good idea. I had even brought gloves, but I left them in the car, certain they would interfere too much with the small buttons on my camera. Eric assured me his weren't making a difference anyways, to which I answered: "Imagine if we lived someplace where it actually got cold."
It was around 8:00 when we arrived at Perimeter Mall, a now familiar meeting place of Atlanta's automotive-inclined (and often their somewhat reluctant spouses and other family members). I had expected turnout to be down from last month. December set a new attendance record for Caffeine and Octane, but temperatures were in the friendly 50s. This morning ran about twenty degrees cooler.
Quickly though, I realized a smaller turnout wasn't the case. It was the earliest I had arrived to the show in a long time, and probably the most energetic crowd I had ever seen at a car show that dies down by 10:30a.m.
Eric and I first walked past a scene that looked like it could have been plucked straight from the streets of Long Beach. Four lowriders--Chevys and Lincolns of different vintages--assumed the awkward but familiar stances afforded by their intricate suspension setups. Later I even caught a bit of that action. But for now, the crowds were just starting to roll in.
Rare cars are what have drawn me the most as of late, and it seems like more and more pop up every month here. A Toyota Celica GT-4 (roadgoing version of the early 90s rally car) was on display, as was a 12-horsepower micro car built in Ohio, and even a replica of a Ford Festiva SHOgun. (Jay Leno owns one of these subcompacts, a Ford bastard child given a mid-mounted, 24-valve V6 and comical rear fender flares for laughs)
The conversation always bounces back to car culture. What makes so many people come out early on a Sunday morning? And more importantly, where are all of these people hiding? People with fully-built Mopars and meticulously-restored 230SLs are hard to imagine when you're spending time in a sea of grey, white, and the occasional blue Ford Escape on Georgia 400.
The crowd is so varied too. There are the Stancenation holdouts, there are the micro-British roadster guys, there are enough people with Dodge Challengers to fill the United States Senate Chamber. (and God help us if they do) You have to marvel at the fact, every time you come here, that so many different niches are catered to.
Then we find it. Eric mentioned seeing the Roadkill El Camino on the way in. I'm not as familiar with the Hot Rod Magazine YouTube series, so I immediately wrote it off. There's no way, the guy lives in California, I said. What would he be doing here?
We're the only people looking at the truck when we walk over, but Eric still swears it belongs to Finnegan. I still disagree, and we agree to disagree.
A corner of the parking lot, shaded by trees, houses the most unique assortment of vehicles--and it's the most pleasing to me. A pristine 1995 Mercedes CL500 parks next to a Humvee. Across from it, a late 70s Lincoln Towncar, a similarly titanic Cadillac Fleetwood, and a 60 series Toyota Land Cruiser occupy another row. Against the island is a turquoise 1959 Cadillac parked behind a Dodge Coronet. You'd be hard pressed to find a cooler collection of cars anywhere else in the country at that given time.
After walking through the show area, our attention turned to the main road through the parking lot. We watched as high schoolers in a Trailblazer with no muffler competed with a flat black Mazda minivan and a Mclaren for attention. Then, a landmark moment.
A bright yellow doorstop, a Lamborghini Gallardo, the first modern Lamborghini after Audi took over the finances in the mid 2000s, decides adequate attention hasn't been directed its way. Prods at the V10 turn a few heads, but snap judgement of the kind of person who would buy a bright yellow Italian supercar doesn't turn out too well for that individual. True, Lamborghini's carry huge, shouty engines and are as sleek as the Concorde, but they've never been about performance. They're designed to grab attention in hopes some of that attention will reach the driver.
That glimpse of attention towards the Gallardo driver was short lived, though. Behind, a Chevrolet Corvair sporting some sort of ungodly V8 powerplant roared onto the scene like the Mad Max war rig. The grin on the Corvair driver's face as his creation ripped through the relative quiet of the crisp air was triumph defined. His car, probably built from scratch, from the ground up, probably with his own two hands during countless sleepless nights in the garage, beat out the man who could sign a bigger check.
Eric had to leave soon after, and I went for another lap around the show area. It was nearing 10:00, and already many of the drivers had dipped out, leaving wide open expanses of parking lot with the occasional Camaro or Porsche dotting the horizon. But a big crowd had formed around the El Camino, and I knew instantly that Eric was right.
The bright orange jacket immediately identified Rutledge Wood, a Georgia native who's appeared on the American version of Top Gear. He's standing in the wake of the truck's open hood, watching someone laying on the ground underneath. Sure enough, the guy who gets up sports a beard, a flannel, and a beanie. It's definitely Finnegan.
I decided to hang back as he was met by one person after another, taking selfies, answering questions, and talking to Rutledge about their lunch plans. Even though I haven't watched too many episodes of Roadkill, or even of American Top Gear, I couldn't help but feel a bit special for having seen these two guys, who've both managed to crack the ultimate code: living their car guy dreams out and getting paid to do so.
And so the morning ends a bit differently than it started. Some of the clouds burn away, the people have moved further out into the parking lot, and the traffic is a mix of Sunday errand-runners and American muscle cars. And everyone ends up going their separate ways, the automotive treasures of our town distributed more evenly, fading again into the background.
Enjoy some more photos of this month's show below.
It was around 8:00 when we arrived at Perimeter Mall, a now familiar meeting place of Atlanta's automotive-inclined (and often their somewhat reluctant spouses and other family members). I had expected turnout to be down from last month. December set a new attendance record for Caffeine and Octane, but temperatures were in the friendly 50s. This morning ran about twenty degrees cooler.
Quickly though, I realized a smaller turnout wasn't the case. It was the earliest I had arrived to the show in a long time, and probably the most energetic crowd I had ever seen at a car show that dies down by 10:30a.m.
Eric and I first walked past a scene that looked like it could have been plucked straight from the streets of Long Beach. Four lowriders--Chevys and Lincolns of different vintages--assumed the awkward but familiar stances afforded by their intricate suspension setups. Later I even caught a bit of that action. But for now, the crowds were just starting to roll in.
Rare cars are what have drawn me the most as of late, and it seems like more and more pop up every month here. A Toyota Celica GT-4 (roadgoing version of the early 90s rally car) was on display, as was a 12-horsepower micro car built in Ohio, and even a replica of a Ford Festiva SHOgun. (Jay Leno owns one of these subcompacts, a Ford bastard child given a mid-mounted, 24-valve V6 and comical rear fender flares for laughs)
The conversation always bounces back to car culture. What makes so many people come out early on a Sunday morning? And more importantly, where are all of these people hiding? People with fully-built Mopars and meticulously-restored 230SLs are hard to imagine when you're spending time in a sea of grey, white, and the occasional blue Ford Escape on Georgia 400.
The crowd is so varied too. There are the Stancenation holdouts, there are the micro-British roadster guys, there are enough people with Dodge Challengers to fill the United States Senate Chamber. (and God help us if they do) You have to marvel at the fact, every time you come here, that so many different niches are catered to.
Then we find it. Eric mentioned seeing the Roadkill El Camino on the way in. I'm not as familiar with the Hot Rod Magazine YouTube series, so I immediately wrote it off. There's no way, the guy lives in California, I said. What would he be doing here?
We're the only people looking at the truck when we walk over, but Eric still swears it belongs to Finnegan. I still disagree, and we agree to disagree.
A corner of the parking lot, shaded by trees, houses the most unique assortment of vehicles--and it's the most pleasing to me. A pristine 1995 Mercedes CL500 parks next to a Humvee. Across from it, a late 70s Lincoln Towncar, a similarly titanic Cadillac Fleetwood, and a 60 series Toyota Land Cruiser occupy another row. Against the island is a turquoise 1959 Cadillac parked behind a Dodge Coronet. You'd be hard pressed to find a cooler collection of cars anywhere else in the country at that given time.
After walking through the show area, our attention turned to the main road through the parking lot. We watched as high schoolers in a Trailblazer with no muffler competed with a flat black Mazda minivan and a Mclaren for attention. Then, a landmark moment.
A bright yellow doorstop, a Lamborghini Gallardo, the first modern Lamborghini after Audi took over the finances in the mid 2000s, decides adequate attention hasn't been directed its way. Prods at the V10 turn a few heads, but snap judgement of the kind of person who would buy a bright yellow Italian supercar doesn't turn out too well for that individual. True, Lamborghini's carry huge, shouty engines and are as sleek as the Concorde, but they've never been about performance. They're designed to grab attention in hopes some of that attention will reach the driver.
That glimpse of attention towards the Gallardo driver was short lived, though. Behind, a Chevrolet Corvair sporting some sort of ungodly V8 powerplant roared onto the scene like the Mad Max war rig. The grin on the Corvair driver's face as his creation ripped through the relative quiet of the crisp air was triumph defined. His car, probably built from scratch, from the ground up, probably with his own two hands during countless sleepless nights in the garage, beat out the man who could sign a bigger check.
Eric had to leave soon after, and I went for another lap around the show area. It was nearing 10:00, and already many of the drivers had dipped out, leaving wide open expanses of parking lot with the occasional Camaro or Porsche dotting the horizon. But a big crowd had formed around the El Camino, and I knew instantly that Eric was right.
The bright orange jacket immediately identified Rutledge Wood, a Georgia native who's appeared on the American version of Top Gear. He's standing in the wake of the truck's open hood, watching someone laying on the ground underneath. Sure enough, the guy who gets up sports a beard, a flannel, and a beanie. It's definitely Finnegan.
I decided to hang back as he was met by one person after another, taking selfies, answering questions, and talking to Rutledge about their lunch plans. Even though I haven't watched too many episodes of Roadkill, or even of American Top Gear, I couldn't help but feel a bit special for having seen these two guys, who've both managed to crack the ultimate code: living their car guy dreams out and getting paid to do so.
And so the morning ends a bit differently than it started. Some of the clouds burn away, the people have moved further out into the parking lot, and the traffic is a mix of Sunday errand-runners and American muscle cars. And everyone ends up going their separate ways, the automotive treasures of our town distributed more evenly, fading again into the background.
Enjoy some more photos of this month's show below.
