Chevelle Essay

Junior Sierra
Per 5
old Chevelle

Blue paint that proudly sports 44 years of wear and tear like a sheriff’s badge. The signature chrome 1960s Chevy “shark fin” in the crease of the hood that gives the Mercedes tri-star a run for its money. A chromed out front end accompanied by infinitely many other chromed details that only an LA drug lord would have liked. A classic vinyl roof top that acts as the cherry on top of this classic American car sundae. A 1966 Chevrolet Chevelle SuperSport that single handedly captures the American dream with its aged beauty is my favorite place.
After you push-lift-then-pull your way past the hefty doors, you find yourself in a spacious color blue induced cocoon of metal and leather. You sink into the ripe with age park bench seats that grasp you harder than reality ever can. You instinctually reach behind yourself in search for the seat belt, only to come back empty handed; you then remember the car has ever so hazardous lap belts. You hold the frail and frayed safety belts that make more of a “clunk” than a “click” sound when they are forced together. When you insert the tattered nickel colored key into the ignition and start the car, the timeless V-8 engine triumphs to life every time in good ol’ American fashion with monstrous thundering and roars; it’s like the engine American revolutionizes against the tyranny of age and corrosion every time it starts. You carefully grip the chrome in dowsed leather steering wheel that appears to be bigger than a beached whale, and anxiously cruise away.
This car acts as a time machine taking you back to the late 60’s when the American dream was alive and well. It tells of American ingenuity and pride. It reminisces the era of equal rights, freedom, and love. It captures the ambitions and struggles of countless heroes. This car, aged, faded, frayed, beaten, rusted, stained, and tarnished represents the evolution of dreams and desires of countless people who simply want...