The Caddy was brought to Port Elisabeth for shipping and the Buick was brought on transport. After leaving both cars me and my son Gottfrid, 12 years old stood in our lonesome at the dock with no wheels. We spotted a hot dog stand.
– Would you like a ‘dog, I asked.
Gottfrid did.
Standing in the sun we ate in silence when a big truck stopped for lunch
and we ended up talking with the driver.
The Buick is a fairytale
– I’ll give you a ride down to Penn Station. You can get anywhere you want from there, he said and then we got to ride in a MACK truck on the bridges over New York in rush hour in 70 mph.
Therefore the Buick is a sunshine story from beginning to end and will never be for sale. It is a 4500 pound rolling monument of all the friends this hobby generates day after day, year after year.
In next issue the Buick is home, in Sweden.