I'm still recovering from the festivities at the West Coast Crosley Club's 30th Anniversary shindig this past weekend in the Gold Country: three days of Crosley shenanigans, 70+ Crosley fans, 23 Crosleys (or variants) and 160 miles in the driver's seat of a 26.5 horsepower mighty mite really takes it out of you.
Well, we were scheduled to have a Crosley Meet last weekend, but the Butte Fire raged dangerously close to Jackson and Sutter Creek, the HQ for the meet. Both towns escaped the fire, (thank goodness) but the soot in the air, displaced people and general concern prompted us to reschedule for next month.
I spend somewhere near 40% of my waking hours obsessing over old cars. Usually, this obsessing revolves around an improbable American micro car from the midcentury period-- the Crosley. My fascination began with a quest to strip down my life by driving the world's simplest car.
Turns out that nothing is as simple as it seems.