Every car worth showing off has a story.
Consider Mike Molina's powder blue 1972 E-100 Econoline Ford van, which he inherited after his father died during the early months of the pandemic. The in-process remodel looks a bit out of sorts, not quite as polished as the other lowriders and vintage cars drifting by on Van Nuys Boulevard in Los Angeles on a recent Saturday night. But it emotes a certain character, in the way a well-loved car often does.
"It's a rare find, because it's a shorty box, no windows." Molina said of his father's van. "In his memory, I'm keeping it. It runs perfect."
Molina is one of dozens of car lovers drawn to a monthly cruise night of lowrider and custom vehicles. Onlookers post up on the sidewalk, sometimes with folding chairs and coolers. The sounds of funk, freestyle and R&B oldies ooze loudly from passing cars. Sometimes people get up and boogie.
"It's culture, and it's history, because my dad used to cruise Van Nuys Boulevard in this van," said Molina, 52, who also blasts music for the cruisers.
The custom of leisurely drives on urban boulevards in dropped and dolled-up vehicles never went away completely, but cruising is reaching heights not seen since the heydays of the 1980s and '90s, say car owners, law enforcement officials, neighbors and car aficionados.
The cruising phenomenon has ratcheted up even further in the past year. Call it a function of collective boredom during months of stay-at-home orders. Social-distancing guidelines made vehicle caravans the new normal for birthdays, protests, graduations and funerals.
Lona and Ed Aguirre drove to the cruise night in her "baby" — a tangerine and pearl white 1951 "Shoebox" Ford sedan, with suicide doors and a creamy leather interior.