Not This Sh*t Again…

I was up working on H.A.M.B. Drag registration packets until ungodly hours last night and into this morning.** I sit here before you now an absolute zombie – no good for anything except maybe some incoherent babbling of sorts. Which is convenient, because at some point in the last 24 hours I decided that I was gonna write about Rivieras this morning.

I do this once a year it seems. Ask any of my pals… For a month or so, all I can talk or think about is the perfect ’65 Riviera. I become obsessed in a seemingly endless search for a well preserved survivor that is ripe for a mild customization that has been done to countless 63-65 Rivis through the years. A healthy stance, the right wheels and tires… Done. That’s all they need and/or want.

And it’s weird, because I’m an early Ford guy primarily. What draws me to a 60’s era Buick so often and without fail is beyond me. Maybe it has to do with my history with that particular Buick. My wife and I have had some pretty great adventures in a ’65 and I’ll never forget her driving my last effort around the University of Oklahoma campus – a cute little sorority girl bombing around in a car that looked so sinister that there was simply no way anything good could come from it. It was like seeing everyone’s favorite cheerleader hanging out with the school drop out. I loved that contrast.

But lets get down to brass tacks here, shall we? I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit… More than is healthy actually. And I’m ready to make an announcement:

The 1965 Buick Riviera is my favorite American car of all time.

There, I said it. Maybe I can get on with my life now.

What’s yours? What’s the one car that you always find your mind going back to?

**Registration packets have shipped!!!!!