At fifty-three years of age few things make me 'giddy'. Yet here I was riding the Metro into Washington, D.C. to come face to face with an inanimate object that I regarded as a celebrity. My wife and I had driven S197 down from Pennsylvania then boarded the Metro train into the city itself, not wanting to deal with the generally horrid parking situation of the nation's capital. We got off at the National Mall where Bullitt was reportedly on display in a glass case. After climbing the stairs I looked around, not at all sure where exactly Bullitt might be. I had not felt this sort of excitement and anticipation for years.
After some confused wandering I finally caught sight of the display hosted by The Historic Vehicle Association. The exhibit itself was simple but impressive: a lovely glass display case with the story of the car on placards around the base plus a few kiosk towers with additional information. The arrangement was honestly superior to seeing the car in a museum setting as you could completely circle it and even peer underneath. I later saw photos of the display case lit up at night and it was truly a beautiful sight. Only the reflective nature of the glass detrimentally affecting photography was a negative.
I was a single foot away from the exact same car I had watched countless times on television and computer screens. A car once driven by a man who loved cars, motorcycles and racing as much as I did. Before me was a time capsule you could drive that would take you back to San Francisco in 1968. I was glad we had arrived fairly early in the day and few people surrounded the exhibit so I was able to get a good look.
Bullitt was no spring chicken. The paint patina showed the harsh reality of time a bit more than perhaps photos depict. There were far more dents than I expected and a few rust holes. The headliner was missing. The replaced front bumper, valance and fuel tank looked notably out of place. Bullitt exhibited the wear of several decades but still remained muscular and imposing. The gaping mouth of the grille still looked determined. "Give me another Charger to chase," it seemed to say.
Old Mustangs generally do not age well. They are made of rust-prone metal and economy car parts that were never meant to last more than ten or fifteen years at best. Bullitt did not escape the predictable effects of FoMoCo's cost controls. Despite this the car still retains it's presence. You can almost feel McQueen nearby, watching over it.
I circled the car many times that morning. We spent the day visiting some sights in the capital and then returned for a final look at Bullitt before heading home. I wanted to savor it as much in person as I could for there is no assurance we may ever meet again. Dozens of people wandered past as I stared. Many did not know Bullitt the movie but nodded half-knowingly when they saw it was in a Steve McQueen film. A few onlookers I overheard spouting nonsensical 'facts' about the car to impress those they were with. I also had conversations with two other men who were probably my age or slightly older. We all knew the car, the movie and what it meant. We shared our knowledge and admiration in reverent tones and nodded solemnly while staring at the object on the other side of the glass. For a handful of us we had finally met a childhood hero.
