Before the infestation of cheap hamburger chains hit my hometown, old Henry Wojcinski’s A&W Root Beer stand was the place to be and be seen on hot summer nights. The bright orange building had a couple of brightly lit covered parking areas coming off it where you could park nose to nose with other patrons, but the place to be was backed into the spaces (if you could find an open space) that ran around the curved perimeter of the lot. Here you could see everything going on, the muscle cars and hot rods, cool motorcycles, and, of course, girls. Life was simple and good. Possibly the best part of all this was that there was a long straight road directly across the street that was flanked by cemeteries on both sides and headed off into woods to parts unknown. Anybody who had a hot car or motorcycle would always head down that road when they left and rip through the gears for all it’s worth. You couldn’t really see them go down this unlit road, but you sure could hear them. One of my favorites was the unmistakable sound of Maurice Giard’s maroon and gold ’67 Bonneville with a set of TT straight pipes. The rushed growl at idle changed to a wail at redline with so many different levels in between it always made everyone listen quietly until he was finally out of range. The sound was sex on two wheels.