Near the end of my frosh year in college, I wrecked my dad’s car. A cherry 1963 Ford Galaxie 500 XL, with a 352 cubic inch, high compression V8. A friend had just been married, and we all decided to follow the new couple to their honeymoon location. The others, especially in my car, wanted us to be right behind, so I peeled out of the church’s parking lot, and even edged out a friend’s Corvette. But that 500 was a heavy beast, and when
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image by trevorthorpetravels
Latched Up
Thursday of this week, I’ll head up the CA coast on Hwy 1, the classic route through Big Sur, to teach at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, and hang with some witty writers. A couple of years ago I did the same route, and must have seen two dozen Mustang convertibles. Rentals, I guess. And no better way to enjoy that stretch than a convertible—unless rain descends. But seeing several Stangs on that clear blue-skied day shocked me—their tops were up and latched, like the one in the pic. Rather than basking in the openness of God’s creation, they chose…
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