Earlier this year, I wrote about my first car: a used sports coupe with a souped-up engine. My mom bought me this sexy ride when I was a high-school band nerd.
Yes, some moms are cool, even if they are living NASCAR dreams through their kids. Before moving to California after college, I tossed aside my bad-ass cred and talked mom into selling me her Pontiac Bonneville station wagon.
Driving across country in a gigantic land yacht—with its crushed-velour seats and faux wood siding—was more practical than a two-door hot rod.
Luckily, this woody was also a blast. My new West Coast friends loved tumbling into it to head to concerts and Dodgers games.