Silvester, turning 27 in April.
The month of August 2002
I had just moved out of my parent's house, FINALLY! I was all set to buy my first muscle car... a 1978 Pontiac Trans Am with a freshly rebuilt 400 and 4-on-the-floor.
About 2 hours before I went to go buy that Bird I got a phone call about a 1968 Camaro with a killer crate motor for $5000. 36 hours later & exactly a month after I was on my own I drove away from a house by the lake in Salem, NH in a first gen. Camaro. MY first gen Camaro.
The look, feel, smell, sound & aura of antiqity that I experienced that night was nothing short of amazing. About 20 minutes into my drive in the "Panther" I blew the doors of of a riced out 2-dr 80s Jetta. The Camaro was so damn fast & it scared me. Imagine driving a 2002 WS6 with crappy 35 year old leaky drum brakes & worn/tired suspension/steering components.
That night I spent several hours sitting ont he window sill just starring at my new prize possesion. It was like some sort of twilight zone. I had a 1968 Camaro.
Beyond that my driving record was still mostly clean, I had no responsibility for anyone other than myself and my best friend Duffy was still living less than an hour away from me instead of in Arizona.
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But I have to say that Razor has an excelelnt point. I thought that I would never be more exstatic than the night I bought the Panther and yet the birth of my Daughter knocked the wind out of me. The miriacle of life is the only thing that has ever wipped my mind completely clean of cars, speed or anything material. Looking at my baby girl just moments after she was born made me want to be a better person, to be an honest, kind human being & go out of my way to improve the world for her sake.