As a young boy growing up in Alaska, I played in my grandparents broken down 1968 Ford Mustang. The doors didn't open (or at least I preferred the windows), the tires were flat and the grass that never seemed to get trimmed had secured the car's somewhat permanent spot in the yard. During the summer months, the sun would warm the aged leather interior and I would climb in, push a bunch of buttons and was off cruising any road my imagination could muster! I'm now in California and during one road trip down a stretch of the Mother Road, Route 66, I came upon this scene. The leather smelt familiar --even the thinness of the wheel and not least of all, the freedom of the open road.