Peter Behrens's Blog, page 78

Morgan, Brooklin Maine

Different coachwork than the Morgan +8 we posted last week, along with the MGB-GT.  No swoop on the doors. Both cars were on a club tour in Downeast Maine.

1958 Chevrolet Yeoman wagon, Maine

One from the files, a few years back. Wiscasset, Maine. Spring snow.

Toyota Hi-Lux: Middle Eastern Work Truck

 

From Michael Moore: [as Monty Python used to say]…for something completely different.
This from my son, near the eastern Jordanian border;
Vintage classic Hi-Lux, still in service. Looks to be 2WD with VERY enhanced rear springs…a work truck.

1982 Chevrolet C-30, Maine.

 

This truck spoke to me when I saw it a few years back somewhere between Damariscotta and Wiscasset, Maine. What did it say? "Get a job"? I had just finished the first draft of my 3rd novel...

CARRY ME is “another meditation on history and destiny . . . that make[s] the past feel stunningly close at hand.” —Megan O’Grady, Vogue

...and my trusted first reader had just read the MS for the first time and it seemed to be working for her. 

On the Road in America.

 

Fro, Michael Moore: 1928 Model A 5 window coupe, I-70, between Green River Utah and the Colorado line;

1967 MGB GT Brooklin Maine

 

This car was touring Downeast. We caught its twin in the Netherlands a while ago. And posted an MG Magnette a while back.

1967 Ford F-100, 1976 Ford F-100, Swift Current, Saskatchewan

From Alex Emond in Saskatchewan: "I'm not good at nailing down the years for these Ford trucks. Here's a pair that I saw in Swift Current. Plain Janes, you might say. I like the dog dish hub caps. 

Volvo 244DL, New Hampshire

From Reid Cunningham: "Autoliterate obviously loves old Volvos,(like this 1978  244 DL) so when I saw this one I knew I had to take a few moments for pictures. As far as I can tell this is a base sedan. By this point in the model life cycle for such a plain car the designers had really leaned into the black plastic. The grill is one giant piece of plain black plastic, the window surrounds are all black plastic, even the rub stip on the side has been reduced from chrome to black plastic. The interior matched, all black plastic. It's an automatic, so at least one option box had been checked.  Sedans are out, Ford has dumped all of theirs. I can't imagine any of the other manufacturers producing such a plain, low content car except for their smallest offering. I appreciated that the owner had kept to the theme by securing the Volvo emblem to the grill with cable ties, of...black plastic."AL: the herd of retired Volvos in August, Maine. And a couple of 850s.

1967 Valiant. 22nd St., NYC

 From Eva H.D. Maybe you are thinking Night Cars of New York?

Bluewater

 "Bluewater"

Three girls on the rail track. I'm the one
in the middle. Sun wobbles through trees. The sisters
smoke and swear. It's no one's fault
that our mothers are friends, we all know and don't

know this. The younger sister sucks cocks
for money. And sometimes for free, she says, and
laughs. By the time we get to the water it's night
and the bridge is a huge, shiny staple arched over dark,

crumpled riverbanks. This is where you come
to die, says the older sister. We stand in the mud
under steel crosses, look for bodies
bumping in the current. Bluewater bridge. We can't see

the colour of the water. The bridge is silver. Going
back, a spike of moonlight through our thin chests.
The older sister holds my hand all the way, without
my asking. Next year, when she is seventeen, she will plunge

from the hood of a moving car. Skull wired together,
teeth gone. Brain damage, skin grafts, someone else's
rebuilt face. The younger sister will marry
a man who hates her, have children, find

god. Head tilted back, she will take the
lord’s body into her mouth, again and again, pray
for a part of her life to start or stop or
be revealed. This is how

faith happens, sanctifying what the body remembers.
Our bodies that have trusted what touched them, what
they were taught to touch. Something fills our mouths –

the flesh, the word (holy, holy). There is space
above the moving dark to fly through. Believe this.
There is the shaky knot of hand in human hand.
                                                            -Helen Humphreys