Earlier in my life my dad and I used to go to a road near the Philadelphia airport where we would watch planes fly overhead prior to them landing. This, to an eight-year-old boy, would be memorable enough. The roars of the engines, the loads of cattails from a nearby swamp swaying side-to-side from the immense winds and shimmering underbellies of planes so close you thought you could touch them! I remember those days like they happened yesterday. But what made them even more memorable was driving there in my dad’s 1963 Studebaker GT Hawk. It was black with camel leather interior and had a three on the tree. The embodiment of what it meant to “go for a drive” for me, and even now when I take my ’62 VW Beetle Convertible out I still think about those days heading to the airport in my dad’s Hawk and how it engrained in me forever what it is to be a car guy.