Dreams do come true

The 25th annual Woodward Dream Cruise jammed up 10 miles from Ferndale to Pontiac, Michigan, last weekend. 

My face still hurts from smiling so much.

The third Saturday in August has been a national holiday in Motown since 1995. It began as an effort by Nelson House and a handful of volunteers to raise money for a children’s soccer field in Ferndale, just north of Detroit.

They hoped to recreate the nostalgia of the 1950s and ’60s, when youth, music and Motor City steel roamed Woodward Avenue, America’s first highway. That year, 250,000 people participated, nearly 10 times the number expected. The rest, as they say, is history.

Today, the world’s largest one-day celebration of classic car culture attracts more than a million visitors and over 40,000 muscle cars and street rods, along with custom, collector and specialty vehicles.

I’ve been to several Dream Cruise events over the years, but none like this year’s. For the first time, I drove my own classic car and enjoyed a front-row seat to the best car show on the planet.

Thanks to membership in the Mustang Owners Club of Southeastern Michigan (MOCSEM), we snagged a parking spot just west of Woodward along Nine Mile Road, known as “Mustang Alley West.”

Best 20 bucks I ever spent.

Rebecca and I even managed to position our folding chairs under the shade of a nearby tree. Perfect. At least until some homeless guy on a bench behind us started singing Jimmy Ruffin’s classic, “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?” I gave him a few bucks to leave and get some lunch.

With a 170-cubic-inch straight six standard engine, my 1964-½ Mustang convertible was one of the last first-year vehicles to roll off Ford Motor’s factory floor in Dearborn in July 1964. It’s still considered one of the most successful new car debuts in history.

With 101 horsepower, Mustang Sal may not be the fastest pony in the barn. But she’s certainly the prettiest. Rangoon red, a two-tone cream and red interior with a pair of black and white fuzzy dice.

“Man, that is one happy car,” said the gentleman with his head buried under Sal’s hood.