As any Renoite knows, the eighth month brings a certain oddity to our bone-dry city-- Hot August Nights. This means that classic cars from around the country clog our streets during the hottest month of the year. I try to find joy and humor even when stuck in traffic. After all, it's really the best way to go when you're blocked in by piles of metal All-American macho. (Still, I'll admit, a classic convertible corvette gets my engine running, so to speak.)
So, here's my first rendezvous with Hot August Nights. I'm driving home on the freeway. A black '40s Ford truck cuts me off in traffic. I get all patronizing, pitying him for leading the kind of life that requires that he sacrifice civility for speed. His license plate catches my eye. In tiny letters, it says, "classic rod," followed by the last three numbers. Classic Rod. That's the most honest license plate I've ever seen. I've known a few classic rods in my time.