Went to Wavecrest in Encinitas.
There had to be 400 wooden cars, and one wooden fire truck.
My mission was to understand the mind of the woodie enthusiast, so that
I might understand my father's fascination with these behemouths of
metal and wood.
The whole mythos is powerful. These were the disused workhorses of the
forties and fifties, co-opted by the surf bums and romanticised by the
But now the woodie is the symbol of baby boomer opulence, a talisman to
ward off aging and death.
The average nice woodie is worth $60k. A crappy one that needs major
work is $10-$20k. And the high end is well over $100k.
So I asked if by buying a woodie it would become a rolling black hole of
money and wood. Sucking my father irrevocably into its dark nostalgic
Peggy and her son (pictured), owners of a fixer upper agreed. Said once
you go woodie you can never get it out of your blood.
Rick who had a sweet 26 Model T (the devil air filter screw), was
divorced but said the woodie had nothing to do with it.
I didn't believe him.
He drove down 1500 miles from Vancouver in the car. No trailer.
Overall Wavecrest was very cool. But at some point I was woodied out.
They all started to blend together. My favorite was the Buick Eight's
grill. That and the sweet irony of a wooden firetruck.
Here are a few funky panaramas I took.
And a Photoshop from my friend Sanagy at Roosterteeth.com.