Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer

Flat and wide like an evil grinning manta ray; the 1966 Pontiac Parisienne two-door hardtop is, in my opinion, the sexiest automobile design to ever grace the streets of our planet.

That was my first car way back when, a present from my dad. Painted coal black, with steamroller tires mounted on Cragar mags, and fat dual exhaust that advertised the horses under her hood by belching out deep harmonious hot rod tunes. It was old even when I was young. Four years older than my old man as a matter of fact. But when I drove that sleek beast to high school, I was the shit!

So when TranspoTech announced that everyone’s personal favorite internal combustion-powered classics were now available with an-grav retrofit kits in all years and models on record, it didn’t take me long to place my order.

Finally the day of delivery, “Here you are sir,” said the salesman. The door slid up and there she was, every bit as sexy as she had been fifty years ago.

Fumbling the keys in my hand I crossed the floor to my beloved 66. Of course this was only a replica, a far superior replica. My original Pontiac had long since rusted away to hot rod heaven. But this new amazing masterpiece looked real… felt real.

I clicked the key fob and the marker lights blinked twice as the door lock knobs popped up. Sliding behind the wheel and slamming the heavy door I just sat there dazed for the moment. The dashboard contained many extra instruments for modern necessities but was as retro and original looking as possible. I ran my hand across its vinyl padded top and smiled.

Suddenly there was a tap at the window. I looked to see the grinning salesman. He gestured toward the launch tube and said, “Go right ahead sir. She’s all yours!”

Without hesitation I slid the key into the ignition and turned it. There was a soft green glow from the dash as the deep muffled purr of a sleeping lion came to life all around me. The sound was of course artificial as the silent antigravity engines raised the big car off the ground and into hover mode. I reached down to the replica Hurst shifter and dropped her into low. Swinging the wheel over and maneuvering the Pontiac into the launch tube I pushed the pedal to the floor, and the faux dual exhaust sang out the same way it did so many years ago when my old gas-powered V8 did the thundering.

The next moment I was out under the bright stars and veering smoothly into a traffic lane. Most of the other hover cars were of the boring modern-day boxy non-descript version. But the skyways were already lightly peppered with other TranspoTech retro machines. A 67 Mustang pilot gave me a big Detroit honk and a thumbs-up as he passed by. Then as I merged onto the main artery, a family of four cruised beside me for a while in a 55 Dodge Sedan. The father and I kept pace door handle to door handle for a time, grinning back and forth as the artificial sound of a General Motors small block harmonized beautifully with that of a Chrysler 392 Hemi.

As I peeled away from the Dodge and headed toward the Starlight Diner I punched the accelerator and hit the afterburners, remembered an old T-shirt my dad used to wear. I’ll never forget the saying emblazoned on the front in bubbly cartoon letters… “Old Cars Never Die, They Just Go Faster.”