With a stent, gimpy knees, gray hair and wrinkles, I have enough signs to prove I am of a certain age. Outside of the usual aches of approaching geezerhood, my health is good and I'm able to stay as active as I want to be. As a matter of fact, I'm enjoying this season of my life as much as any of the previous ones and in some ways it's more fulfilling. Still, there are not so subtle events that prove the rings are starting to add up on this tree.
The most recent sign came on a visit to Old Car City in White, Georgia, a six-acre plot that is the final resting place for a large quantity of 1972 and older cars, trucks, and a few buses. Some have been parked long enough to be wedged in place by trees that were once saplings. Others have trees growing up through the floorboards. It's a ghost world of fins, hood ornaments, and oversized steering wheels. Like most cemeteries, it is well-ordered with trails for you to follow, but makes and models are not found in a particular section. Based on the signs throughout the property and the occasional path bordered by transmission housings, I would call the owner a folk artist. Photographic opportunities can be found by looking in any direction.
I've always enjoyed cars, so there was a certain sadness that accompanied my time at Old Car City. To see that many vehicles reduced to rusting hulks was difficult to deal with on a certain level. The aging factor hit me when I realized that makes and models of the first six cars I owned were here. The '62 Renault Caravelle, '63 Ford Falcon, '65 Ford Fairlane, '71 Ford Maverick, '72 Mercury Capri, and, my favorite, a '51 Ford Custom sedan with a flathead V8. All I can say is my present condition is considerably better than theirs.
You can learn more at www.oldcarcityusa.com