Well, the weather had finally turned, and it was time to take my 1962 Thunderbird convertible out or a spin. I cleaned her up, put the top down and headed out to the South Mountain Reservation for some spirited spring driving. With the wind in my hair and a smile on my face, I rounded the S-turns through the reservation. My seriously loud speakers were blasting Beach Boys and vibrating the whole car as I pulled up to the red light. 
Just then, right next to me, pulled up a silver-gray Honda Civic (aren’t they all silver-gray? In fact, aren’t all modern production cars silver-gray or some variation of silver, or gray? Did we somehow run out of color? Is there no more bright red pigment? Is there an embargo on vibrant metallic greens and bright baby blue? Did we somehow lose the technology to make the color salmon pink?) Anyway, the driver of the Honda couldn’t help but admire the Bird, as well as being wildly impressed with the incredible volume and sound quality of the Beach Boys blasting from the speakers.
I was, of course, enjoying every minute of it. Then the light turned green. We both floored it like we were at the tree at Raceway Park, vying for pinks. That little Civic blasted past me and away with those four little cylinders just a buzzin’ and that bumblebee sound of the exhaust pipe getting further and further from me.
Needless to say I was mortified! How did that little four-banger with those little pistons, all four of which could probably fit into one of my cylinders, beat out a big ol’ 390 V8 with a four barrel? Harumph! Not to mention that I probably blew a half gallon of liquid brontosaurus flooring it while the Accord barely sniffed it’s gas.
Double-harumph!
But then, once my ego had a moment to recover, it dawned on me: That’s not why I was out driving on this beautiful spring day. I was not trying to get anywhere quickly, efficiently, and economically because I really wasn’t going anywhere in particular in the first place. The Bird is not about high engine efficiency and low wind resistance… not about power to body weight ratios.
Now I have nothing against Hondas, in fact I applaud the Tuner guys with the know-how to customize their cars for lightning-fast speed and handling… But the Thunderbird is all about style and attitude. It’s about soul. Looking over that long sculpted hood, the gleaming chrome and the dramatic, jet-pod dashboard, with hands on that elegant shining steering wheel… Stepping on the gas with the top down blasting the Beach Boys is a sensual experience that has absolutely nothing to do with efficiency. In fact, it’s the lack of efficiency that makes Thunderbirds, and cars like them so incredible. The utter disregard for gas mileage, for weight, for economy, for logic… in lieu of something less tangible, but perhaps more important: soul.