For a long time, Lincolns have been a customizer's favorite. From mild to wild, from a late 30s Zephyr to a mid 60s Continental. But actually, they don't need much improvement. With their long sleek lines and a pretty extraordinary styling most of the Lincoln coupes are essentially factory kustoms. Add a little lowering and a good shave and you're done with an impressive looking cruiser, ready to hit the boulevard.
There's a certain mystique that surrounds those survivors, barn finds and one-family-owned hot rods. It's not just that they allow you a glimpse into the way they did it back in the day. Most of those stories add some new dimension to that ole pile of steel, rubber and rust. Call it spiritual if you like. And maybe it's just me but many of those tales start with something like, he built it in high school. Or, during his senior years, this heap was his only means of transportation, including frequent trips to El Mirage and the Santa Ana Drags. There's also a story that goes with this black beauty here, albeit it takes a little different turn.
Check out the ebay listing for the whole story.
Here are some pics I took the evening before the race.
More pics in the gallery...
To the gallery...
When I hear about someone being a fan, I usually think of screaming teenage girls. Or soccer fans. Or dinosaur fans. But I would never ever consider myself being a fan. Of anything.
Except maybe for this: It was on a sunny afternoon in 2004 or 2005. I was hanging out at Custom Parts and Wear, Switzerland's only hot rod store and shopkeeper Stöffel just had received a dozen or so copies of a book called Cheatersville. It was a nice coffee table book by Laurent Bagnard, a French photographer. And there wasn't much text in it. But the book was packed with bitchin' photos of a bunch of young hot rodders, of their rides, of their parties and their road trips. Those hot rodders weren't from the US, hell no. They were from goddamn Switzerland. It fucking blew my mind. From that moment on, I became a fan of the Cheaters Geneva. And I still am.
"A fan, sometimes also called aficionado or supporter, is a person who is enthusiastically devoted to something, such as a band, a sports team, a book or entertainer." (wikipedia.org)
Stephane's chopped 1950 Mercury.
Franck's blown 1932 deuce sedan.
Laurent's shoebox Ford.
Xavier's daily driven El Camino.
The annual Hangar Rockin' festival is slowly turning into some kind of love/hate thing. Just like most successful events do, it keeps growing bigger and bigger – which, as we all know, doesn't necessarily mean "better". While in previous years it was feasible to avoid the crowds thanks to clever planning, this year this seemed impossible. But it wasn't just a matter of popularity. The whole event is starting to look and feel like a giant open air music festival with many of the drawbacks you know from those kinds of shows. – Oh well, it just ain't what I used to be, right? So, maybe I'm just getting old? That's probably another reason why I wasn't too busy with my camera and instead preferred hanging at our booth talking to friends. Which is, one of my favorite things about this show, as you can also be sure to meet tons of great people. And there were also a lot of beautiful cars. Which makes me wish I had taken more photos but after the fifth dude stumbling in front of my lens I was kinda done. Except for this shoebox Ford. Ramon, you outdid yourself.
Some other rides that caught my attention. I'm happy to see that colors are coming back in force.
But that shoebox...
Click here for the gallery with 42 photos!
Off to the gallery...