Decorating Ideas For Pastor Appreciation Day

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John Pearley Huffman Car and Driver

God knows social media sucks. Careers implode on Twitter, families destroy each other on Facebook, and Instagram is an excellent medium for sharing photos that will one day lead to social ostracism and personal embarrassment. But there is one thing that all those platforms are wonderful at doing: sharing photos of cars.

My particular online drug is Facebook. Mostly that's because I'm old and so are most of the people who care enough to look at anything I post. When a friend passes (James Sly and Jim Souza, I miss you guys), I will post a remembrance. When my articles go up on C/D, I share them there because I only get to do this as long as people read it. I've had political threads that go on for weeks of relatively cordial engagement—and a couple days of brutal bomb throwing. But what I post most often is photos of cars.

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My standards are low enough that the camera on my iPhone SE is acceptable. And when I see something interesting, I don't hesitate to take a photo, write a quick note—one-word posts are ideal—and put it up. Then some of the creaky oldsters among my 3245 Facebook "friends" will post replies that mostly confirm how freakishly old we all are. For someone who works alone in California isolated 2000 miles away from myC/D colleagues, this is what in my life passes for human contact.

Incidentally, if you'd like to be my Facebook friend, I have room for another 1755 friends on my personal page. Beat the rush.

The town I live in, Santa Barbara, is thick with old cars. Not only is the weather kind, the roads are salt-free so cars last here. But more than that, the car culture runs deep. The first "official" drag race took place out near the airport in 1949, the Oscar Mayer Wienermobiles were built here, and dealerships like Washburn Chevrolet were deep into racing during the 1950s and 1960s. Beyond that, while not everyone in Santa Barbara is rich (I'm not), there are enough rich people around that amazing classics and exotics are hiding in plain sight.

Late last night I took my dog Bama out for a walk, and there was an original-to-the-hubcaps mid-Sixties Porsche 912 parked at a nearby gym. A few days ago there was a Mazda Bongo Brawny cab-forward, RHD/JDM truck parked at my usual coffee shop. In Santa Barbara old Jeeps are best presented in decreptitude, classic BMWs and Alfa GTVs are daily drivers, and there are seemingly more ancient Mustangs than new ones. I am totally spoiled.

Occasionally I'll take a photo of a new Porsche 911 Turbo S or McLaren, but it's the old stuff still being used as transportation that is the best. It's always so much better to see an old car on the road than it is to see one parked at some show with its owner next to it snoring in a lawn chair.

Car shows have never done much for me. So a car is parked on the lawn. Big whoop. But seeing an old car that's still being used as a car is always thrilling to see. Cars at car shows are often museum pieces, restored and preserved. Meanwhile, cars that are still being used are still making history. How they look at any particular moment doesn't mean it will look the same in a couple of months with another couple thousand miles on the odometer.

In lieu of collector cars, I have two kids and a writer's income. So it's not like I'm tempted to buy a lot of collector cars. But even if I could, I'm not sure I'd want any. Maybe an early 911S to explore the back roads, or something I love for personal reasons like a '94 Mustang GT. Instead, I keep my eyes open and look for interesting cars and trucks still nobly being used as cars and trucks.

The old, odd cars and trucks of Santa Barbara are more important to me than the beaches or parks. And while this town's concentration of ancient metal may be extreme, it's not a big city. I'm sure there are plenty of cars orbiting around wherever it is you are right now. And there's a pretty good chance you're posting photos of them on the internet. Because I can't be alone in this.

Can I?

I've seen plenty of Hemi 'Cudas on lawns, but there's this weathered 1986-ish Plymouth Caravelle sedan that parks at the mall across the street from where I live that is just awesome. Because the Caravelle was so awful, you likely forgot they ever existed. But there's one still alive, right by my house. So much more interesting than detailed valve covers or reproduction muscle-car graphics on fresh paint.

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