Chevys and Buicks and Fords, oh my…

by Denise Dube, Editor, JustSayGo TraveLetter

Normally visiting a car show wouldn't fall under travel. However, considering a recent foray on the congested suburban streets of Massachusetts, and a subsequent seven-stop subway journey into Boston's Bayside Expo Center, I changed my mind.

Because frankly, once there, I realized I'd entered another world, one no less interesting than Germany, France or Italy.

My 15-year-old has a fascination with automobiles and trucks. Instead of enjoying a relaxing Sunday at home, my husband, Jim, and I bit the bullet and took him to see what was touted as the best car show around.

With all due apologies to automobile lovers, this was not your typical wine and cheese crowd. As a matter of fact, bottled beer was the beverage of choice. Cheese, well, there was some packaged shredded stuff for what someone inadvertently called nachos.

Beer and cheese aside, can someone explain what bikini-clad women have to do with cars - of any style, make, or year? Stages with scantily clad women dancing to the oldies seemed to hold the men's attention far better than the lone Edsel and an oversized room full of rebuilt, repainted cars that dated back almost to the first Ford.

Some of the sideshows just didn't make sense. People's appreciation for a Batmobile or Munster family replica was understandable. That held some fascination for my son and his friend and even I took a second look. However, what was the young woman, wearing a bat cape over a sparse red bikini doing behind the Munsters and Batman and Robin replicas?

Even the Chevy with its 12-coats of touch-this-car-and-your-dead red was unusual. But the rest were, well, forgive me, just cars.

You wouldn't have known it by the throngs of men and women, most sporting leather, suede and wool jackets, all covered with car product logos and symbols.

Even the tire companies pulled out all the stops. One, which shall go unnamed, had a booth and a hairdresser who shaved people's heads and then, using a template, etched tire-like marks from the forehead to the back of the neck. Young men walked away looking as if a Chevy had parked on their scalp. Knowing my teen was in the crowd and probably ripe for this type of stylish hairdo, I heckled one young man who allowed this "barber" to take the clippers and shave off his beautiful blond locks.

"Does your mother know what you're doing," I yelled as his face turned red.

"Yeah," another woman said to the kid, and then looked at me and asked if he was mine.

"No way, but I'm watching for him," I said and scanned the crowd.

This was one journey I wanted to come to an end, sooner, rather than later.

It was more than a relief to board the subway and go home with two 15-year-olds with hair, one carrying an autographed picture of a car adorned by, yes you guessed it, a scantily clad woman.

Car lovers may complain freely to Ms. Dubé at denise@justsaygo.com. But please, no offers for haircuts.