TRAVELING IN STYLE : Summer Classics

In the pop-cultural lexicon, there is no more wantonly overused appellation than classic . Coca-Cola is classic. So is one of Wendy’s hamburgers. With classic status liberally conferred on the frivolous and ephemeral, classic itself is in danger of falling into the dustbin of platitudes along with gusto and deluxe .

Which brings us to summer classics. Can there really be such a thing?

Look at the cover of this magazine. Note the blue sky, the empty beach, the couple’s deliriously sappy expressions as they gambol toward the photographer. The image, captured in the 1960s for a stock-photography house, was meant to convey, instantly and forever, the message: This is summer. It did, and still does.

So, too, does a beloved passenger train whose name was taken from Zephyrus, the Greek god of the west wind; a 10,000-strong bicycle ride across Iowa now in its 23rd summer; an ageless gemlike resort tucked in the prettiest corner of the Canadian Rockies; an afternoon in Spain’s oldest bullring, where the matadors dress in suits of lights inspired by Goya; the guilty pleasures of Americans traipsing through England’s royal palaces; the winsome graphics of travel posters of another age, and a movie about a family’s farcical summer holiday that is uncannily true to life. All endure because they they satisfy palpable needs and because they were conceived to do nothing else. And though fresh “classics” are now christened practically on the hour, these summer classics are, finally, the genuine article.