Once upon a time, not that long ago and not so far away either, before Internet-induced antisocialism was common, most hot rodders knew their neighbors and what was on jackstands in their garages. There were little shops in nearly every town where they congregated to get sage advice, buy parts, or just hang out and bench race. The guys behind the counter weren’t the same variety of robotic keyboard jockey who inhabit most big chain parts stores; these guys knew their stuff and could guide you with expertise. And as a bonus, some of them even had machine shops in back, making them truly one-stop destinations where you could reach gearhead Nirvana-you know, just like Salem Speed Shop, which we profiled last month… read more >
staying strange and untouchable
Snakes as necklaces and men as handbags: Document gets a lesson in playful elegance from women who know how to command a room. ‘Aging gracefully’
