Traditions

It's a curious thing that people will spend tens of thousands of dollars to sit in a extremely hot parking lot for several hours on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

However it's a summer tradition from Seattle to Sydney and as far as Singapore. It's the pride in the craftsmanship and the comradery that goes along with sharing your story with others.

You see every type of person at a car show, the guys selling a freshly completed project, the kid with his first car, wide eyed in awe at his first show, nervously backing into the spot next to the retirees and there popup tents.

There's even the little groups and clicks of people, that either give you the warm welcome or the cold shoulder, depending on what you drove in.

It's funny, they where all at one time that kid at there first show, but now time has weathered them. You see them sitting In circles and watching you as you move through the sea of cars.You feel the eyes following you just like in math class freshman year. Eyes forward straight to the back of the class.  

It's the rules, seldom spoken of openly, hot rod, custom, street rod, muscle, classic, pro-tour, restromod, rat rod. Some lines grey while others are distinctly defined.

Like that kid I'm still wide eyed and nervous, where do I belong? That group of cars seems interesting, but I've got disc brakes hidden behind my black steel wheels and white walls, what if they find me out?

I could head for the corner carvers, but my retirement eligible car doesn't fit in with there big calipers and even bigger alloys.

The AAA card holders are always welcoming, a little lacking in conversations about turn in and trail braking, however always willing to tell you about the one that got away, whether  wheeled or walking. They make for great stories either way.

And then there's of the hours of waiting for the social recognition of the nod from the organizations that brought all these groups together.

It's the buzz of wind past the windows, the tires losing millimeters of rubber with each revolution and the trees flying by on the shoulder where the Pearl really feels at home.