ir Traffic Control has crashed and I’m in a small airport 2000 miles from home. As razzled congalines of Pringles-eating crime families tread on my feet, I find the opportunity to consider more graceful transport modes. My mind wanders to the toy cars I had as a boy. What was the most memorable? Of course, there were many, but the most powerful is a 1:43 Chevrolet Corvair. Pale blue with shiny injection-moulded plastic interior and, unless memory
