A Summer Drive For the Forever Young

"Have you ever been in traffic and looked up at the dirty tiles underneath a highway bridge? There is NOTHING that compares to that!" the baby-faced 38-year-old proclaims. "Being able to take everything in: the city, the country, traffic! There are no outside elements we don't enjoy."

No doubt, driving a car that has zero protection from the elements and being part of a club based on that car puts these folks on the fringe. But Jevens's joie de vivre, his embrace of the come-what-may elements, his holistic appreciation of the visual universe -- including its dirty concrete -- is typical of people who drive convertibles, those enduring icons of summer.

Convertibles are ubiquitous at the dozens of "cruise-ins" that have been happening for decades at fast-food and mall parking lots around the D.C. region on summer weekends. That's when car lovers, especially those who long for the heyday of hot rods and classic cars, roar in, park and ogle at each other's wheels. Burger King at the Route 234 Bypass/Route 28 in Manassas, and Olney Town Center behind the KFC on Saturday nights. The Tastee Freez in Laurel and the Annandale Juke Box Diner on Friday nights.

Some spots attract a younger crowd, others see more drivers of imports. Some are more '50s America. Others '60s Britain. The cruise-ins have a throwback vibe: no blogs, no Facebook pages, just people leaning against their cars, chatting as the sun sets.

In this country of car lovers, convertible drivers have their own rep.

"They're the ones who are a little more up in the air, a little more out there," said Tom Lloyd, working the parking lot at the Fairfax shop he owns with his son, Bubba's East Coast Rods and Customs.

About 20 cars were lined up there at sunset on a recent Saturday as Lloyd served hot dogs and Ritchie Valens's "Oh Donna" wafted through the air. Shoppers trickled out of the Hudson Trail Outfitters, disappearing into a sea of freshly shined cars, most with their hoods up and owners milling around. In one aisle, teenagers with greased-back hair and tight T-shirts leaned against their hot rods and cracked jokes. In another, two manicured, 40-ish guys who looked like they just stepped out of a golf club ad chatted with crossed arms in front of a red antique Jaguar convertible. In another, an elderly couple and their wild-haired son drank sodas.

In the middle row was Lyn Adams, holding court beside her pristine 1965 forest-green Mustang.

Adams bought the car new, when she was a 25-year-old Californian. Now owner of a Christian bookshop in Fairfax, she still loves the attention the car brings and being in the weather. This night she looked textbook convertible, with her long blond-gray hair in a bouncy ponytail, tight jeans on her slim frame and bubblegum-pink lipstick. She sleeps on her deck at night so she can be under the stars and views convertible drivers as "a little more into living."

"I just love pulling up next to some young guy at a stoplight, and he looks at me and thinks, 'Old lady, old car.' Then I floor it and leave him in my exhaust fumes," she says with a Bart Simpson-like chuckle.

Her car has 432,000 miles on it, but you'd never know it. The white leather seats are spotless, and the only thing in the car are CDs -- all contemporary Christian music -- and Adams's Shih Tzu, Abby.

Convertibles became a metaphor for carefree summer living for a few reasons, some of which may be outdated.