Summer on Woodward Avenue. You can't go a quarter-mile without encountering a fire-breathing classic muscle car, rolling slow and rumbling like a tool shed in an earthquake. It starts in the spring, to be sure, and by June the smell of gasoline and burned rubber is everywhere, leading up to the fever pitch of The Dream Cruise in August. This is the place to be if you like old Detroit iron.
Still, living as close as I do to this spectacle can be challenging. Roads are blocked off, traffic is frustratingly slow, and police are everywhere looking for people having too much fun. We usually avoid the area during the summer weekends, and especially in August. I used to bring the Mustangs out during the cruise and at least do one loop to feel like I was a part of it. But now that I drive a sedan, it really doesn't have the same feel. I still like to go walk up to 13-Mile Road to see the craziness, of course, but it's not an all-day thing for me anymore.
There is something, though, in that thunderous engine tone. Something real. I don't think there is another sound that brings quite the chill to the spine of a male than a big V8 with a tall cam, rumbling down the concrete of the world's most famous cruising street. Whether it's a Dodge Charger with a 426 Hemi, a 427 'Vette, or Boss Mustang, you get a blast of something amazing from the past, when safety and gas mileage didn't matter as much as fun and style.
So, once a year, I get my fix and feel like a teenager again for a few hours.
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