“That was clearly the car of the day,” my husband says as we turn to watch a beautifully restored Mustang drive by.
My son is so outraged he can only slap his thighs and jump up and down. Finally he finds words.
“That car?! THAT car?!” More slapping and jumping. “Hell no, HELL no!”
“Okay, okay,” I say mildly.
The argument is already raging, and we haven’t even seen the Lamborghini, the Delorean, or the $850,000 Porsche yet. Granted, the Porsche was parked inside a dealership, and I prefer my car of the day on the road, a true “in the wild” experience. But it was still pretty special.
“OBVIOUSLY it was the red GT3. It had CARBON FIBER!”
“That one was great too,” my husband offers, but it’s too late to make amends for the Mustang.
“I think I liked the orange Porsche,” I offer as a distraction.
“The ORANGE Porsche?! THE ORANGE PORSCHE?! NOT THE GT3?!?!”
“Well…” I stall.
The debate is interrupted by an orange Lamborghini speeding down the road. It takes us a moment to recover from the shock.
“What is this place?” I wonder.
Here we are on a nondescript street corner in a nondescript Michigan town and we’ve already seen the Mustang, several sweet 911s, and now this Lambo. Around the corner, we spy an Aston Martin and a McLaren.
As we’re getting into our car (a very dirty Honda Accord) to head home, a DeLorean pulls into the parking lot. A DELOREAN. I haven’t seen one in the wild since 1985. It’s the exclamation mark at the end of an excellent car spotting day. I can’t stop talking about it. A DeLorean. IN THE WILD.
“We saw that car before in a museum,” my son says scornfully. “It’s not that special. I guess that’s your car of the day?”
It’s not. I’m sticking with the orange 911.