All Dogs Go to Heaven

Living in Southern California, we’re admittedly pretty jaded when it comes to the classic cars we see on the road, on a day-to-day basis. Porsches, Ferraris, Cobras (real and re-imagined) for sure, but even exotic pre-war machinery. It’s like living in an alternate dimension when you see a Type 35 Bugatti cackling down Pacific Coast Highway. So, to some degree, I’m rarely shocked anymore by what I see on the road. That is until the other day.

It’s late afternoon, on a weekday, and I’m driving my youngest to her dance class. When there, in the lane next to me, was a sight so out of context, I literally had to do a double take. Voisin you might ask? Maybe, something fashioned by Figoni et Falaschi? No something, ironically, even rarer than that. There—taking up every available inch of the lane next to me and then some—was a remarkably clean and original mid-to-late ’70s Ford Country Squire Station wagon. Not what you were expecting? Me either.