local car culture fuels lasting friendships

submitted by ryan perez, car culture enthusiast
edited by sarina e. guerra

Ever since a young age, the beauty of cars has always managed to captivate my interest. The very first car I was obsessed with was the Mach 5 from the original Speed Racer animated series when I was about 11 years old, which led to me collecting many die-cast models of this exact car. However, it wasn’t until I saw the very first Fast & Furious movie in my early teens that an intense passion for car culture was truly ignited. I would say that I was particularly inspired by seeing all the street racing DVDs on the shelves at Fry’s electronics back in the early 2000s especially.

This hobby has been a really nice way to make friends with people, even before I got my own car in high school. My parents bought me a burgundy 1998 Honda Civic sedan completely stock and I began chopping it up as soon as I got it. First, I added an exhaust that was given to me by an upperclassman who became my friend during shop class. Then, we removed the hubcaps and painted the stock Steelies jet black. I even remember ordering cheap lowering springs from eBay to really make it my own.

I went so far as to get together with some friends to convert the transmission from automatic to manual and we had so much fun working together to figure it out. My mom always used to say the car was so loud after that installation that driving it was sometimes embarrassing.

I think in general, being involved in the local car culture has made it easier for me to find common ground with other people regardless of age. I’m 33 now and I still have friends in the scene who have been in my life since my wild teenage years. Running into another gearhead late on a Friday night is one of the best feelings, and sometimes I think about the fact that a person might have been a complete stranger to me to this day if it weren’t for cars.

I have so many good friends I’ve met in the culture and a ton of good times I could mention, but one memory that stands out to me would be the time I met my friend Angelo. One night during a street race, everyone suddenly dispersed after getting run off by the local Sheriff on duty. Crazy enough, Angelo’s engine had blown and was leaking oil all over the ground and although he and I didn’t know each other at the time we both rolled down our windows to debrief. I made sure he was good and he asked if I could follow him home a few towns over. It was way out of my way, but I agreed because I was worried he might not have made it. Miraculously, he did. And over a decade later, I can say

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