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It's time...Time for spring cleaning. Time to wash winter away. Time for glossy paint and mirror like chrome. Time for an interior that knows nothing of road salt on the floor mats or dust on the dash. Time to look through a windshield free of wiper marks across a beautifully sculptured hood with a Hemi heart beating beneath.
Spring is arriving. The weather is finally breaking. Birds returning from the south are chirping. On the first bright sunny morning the garage door slowly opens to reveal the intimidating scowl of the most classic of American muscle cars. With an abrupt bark the Hemi is awoken. The peace is officially disturbed. It's time. There are itches that have been waiting too long to be scratched. Rubber to burn, apex's to clip and now that the birds have been scared off it's only polite to replace their chirping with that of rear tires. The muscle car has returned, and it's hungry.
To us this it is like a religion. We worship at the altar of horsepower. Shaking our heads at the poor sheep who are sentenced to driving those pitiful transportation appliances that sorround us every day. The lost souls that at least automotively have either given up on life, or never knew it in the first place. From time to time, often at a traffic light, you will see one of them look up from their phone and notice the rumble next to them. The completely hopeless ones look away again instantly or sneer condescendingly at a culture they mistakenly feel superior to. Once in a while though you see a sparkle of hope. The long slack jawed stare of someone trapped in boring car captivity and longing to break free like a long time POW. To them I say join us and you will never look back.
It's time. It's spring or as it's known in this faith "The horsepower equinox". Time to fire up the Hemi, roll down the windows, and sacrifice some dead dinosaurs to the musclecar gods.
Spring is arriving. The weather is finally breaking. Birds returning from the south are chirping. On the first bright sunny morning the garage door slowly opens to reveal the intimidating scowl of the most classic of American muscle cars. With an abrupt bark the Hemi is awoken. The peace is officially disturbed. It's time. There are itches that have been waiting too long to be scratched. Rubber to burn, apex's to clip and now that the birds have been scared off it's only polite to replace their chirping with that of rear tires. The muscle car has returned, and it's hungry.
To us this it is like a religion. We worship at the altar of horsepower. Shaking our heads at the poor sheep who are sentenced to driving those pitiful transportation appliances that sorround us every day. The lost souls that at least automotively have either given up on life, or never knew it in the first place. From time to time, often at a traffic light, you will see one of them look up from their phone and notice the rumble next to them. The completely hopeless ones look away again instantly or sneer condescendingly at a culture they mistakenly feel superior to. Once in a while though you see a sparkle of hope. The long slack jawed stare of someone trapped in boring car captivity and longing to break free like a long time POW. To them I say join us and you will never look back.
It's time. It's spring or as it's known in this faith "The horsepower equinox". Time to fire up the Hemi, roll down the windows, and sacrifice some dead dinosaurs to the musclecar gods.
