The unmistakeable rumble of a big Detroit V-8 through side pipes was audible before the low-slung roadster that was trailing it was visible among the dull transportation pods rolling up to the traffic light there at 54th and College Avenue.
I about fell over the railing and onto the sidewalk as I contorted myself into position to get a good shot or three as it went by...
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| Those safety-wired spinners on the Hallibrands are just...*chef's kiss* |
The Cobra's certainly a replica, a kit car. They only made a few hundred of the originals. Of course, if you want to be philosophical about it, even the originals were kit cars, cobbled together from hand-built English bodywork and American driveline components; they were all slightly different and hardly any remained stock after delivery.
As it motored off, side pipes bouncing to the big block backbeat, the older lady at the table next to mine shook her head and said aloud "I just don't understand cars like that."
"That's okay," I replied, to nobody in particular, "Fortunately you don't have to."
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