James Dean and Marlon Brando, step aside. There's a new rebel without a cause in town.
That's right, I think I'm a rebel. I'm the guy that people look at funny, and wonder what he could be thinking.
What makes me such a rebel? Well, just look at most of the cars on Motortopia, or at the local car shows, and then look at what I'm driving.
In this current time, everyone wants to have the fast car. Muscle cars are back on the new car lots, and those who don't have them are hotrodding what they've got. Even the old cars, they're not left stock anymore. They have to have custom touches (preferably to make it look fast) and powerful, fast engines. The pipes must rumble and the wheels gotta be chrome.
Then I come around the corner in my 1950 Studebaker. No wheel flares or frenched headlights, just what the factory gave it. The pipe (yep, there's only one) is quiet and raising the hood reveals only six cylinders. No turbo charger and only one carburator on this stock, flathead six! 0-60 is measured in miles, not minutes.
Everybody else has their hotrods, streetrods, muscle cars and sports touring cars. But not me. I'm in a genuine, stock, antique car that drives just like it did 60 years ago.
What an unusual person I must be; what a nonconformist; what a rebel!

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