Jadedness. It's why even the greatest factory performance cars are slugs if you're a professional racer, why testosterone-oozing men wouldn't mind the legalization of polygamy, and why those 150hp nitrous pills feel like they've somehow clogged up after a few cracks of the throttle blades. The same can be surmised of auto industry lens-hero Randy Lorentzen. When your job involves routinely shooting exotic cars and women, frame-off restorations costing more than some houses, and cars like the all-new '05 Mustang and blood-thirsty Ford GT months before anyone else gets a peek, can anything possibly stir your soul? As it turns out, a certain '55 Chevy sporting just the right look did just that. It rekindled such fond memories of our cameraman's youth, he volunteered to shoot the car off the time clock.

What makes this Bel Air so cool in a Two-Lane Blacktop and American Graffiti kind of way is how it emulates an almost lost look of '60s hot rods of yore. Note the raked stance, moon tank, missing front bumper, Corvette grille, air-cleaner scoop, and the requisite hood delete. We see the current Torq-Thrust II wheels as a slight anachronism, but like it or not, the car exudes a uniquely different character compared to typical Pro Street and Pro Touring trends. "I wanted to build a true '60s hot rod, something you don't see anymore," says owner Luke DeNitto.

The exposed Rat mill is bored to 468 ci and refreshed to serve streetable and reliable cruising duties. You won't find any trick parts in this equation. The slugs are cast, the heads are iron, and the cam profiles are just big enough to dole out the right volume of lope. A polished aluminum intake adds visual flash, and the end product is about 500 horses. The pipes spit out plenty of rasp like the days when noise ordinances, fix-it tickets, and sensitive-eared softies weren't of concern.

The interior boasts practicality without modern frivolities to detract from the vintage feel. Stock bench seats? Check. Moon gauges? Check. Rear-seat tonneau? Check. A/C and mega-watt stereo? No thanks. It rolls down the street, windows down, with a lumpy bumpstick belching a deafening bark from the cherry bombs interrupting motorists' cell-phone conversations and pissing off bystanders. Oh yeah. You could take it down to Van Nuys Boulevard and cruise up and down like the '60s never ended. With a vanity plate inspired by rebellious roots, what else can you expect? It's all part of the lost look.