That color is called Pegasus Red and it got me more women during my college days, to whit:
My dad was a maintenance supervisor in the Mobil refinery in Beaumont, TX for 34 years...it was one of the largest in the world until Exxon built their mega-refinery. The have a storage tank farm that goes as far as the eye can see, square miles of 300,000 to 400,000 barrel storage tanks, and the red Pegasus is prominantly emblazened on the side of every one of them, about 20 foot tall. If you saw the movie "Urban Cowboy" then you are familiar with the landscape I'm describing.
Mobil makes paint in this plant as well, and they call that color Pegasus Red. I can remember several gallons of it in our toolroom at home, "borrowed" from Uncle Mobil.
Anyway, I quit a full swimming scholarship, attended the University of Texas, and not being one of the rich blue-bloods that inhabit its halls of learing, I had to drive my Dad's old work truck, an old, worn-out Ford Courier. Rightly so, he so much as disowned me after I turned my back on a free education, and I pretty much had to foot the bill myself. So I was happy to have the truck, ugly as it was. It had been driven into the refinery five days a week, had seen too many days of sandblasting, paint overspray, and constant driving through puddles of Lord-knows-what that collected in the plant potholes. I mean, when it was so used up and ugly that it could no longer be driven to the coal oil factory, then it was good enough for my son to drive to the University of Texas. This man would have made his own lightbulbs if he could. And this is the truck that I had to take my potential brides-to-be on dates in, my wingman from Hell. Once they saw what I was driving, that was the end of getting laid, much less a relationship. Raised during the depression, a truck was just transportation in his value system.
So one Suday afternoon my Junior summer, before taking a nap prior to have to go to work that night I made the comment to my Father that I couldn't get a date due to "that truck", and at least he could do was to help me out with getting it painted. His reply, "I'll see what I can do."
When I got ready to leave later that evening, he threw me his keys and said, "Here, take mine tonight...I don't think the paint is dry on the Courier yet." While I slept, he took a paintbrush and a can of Pegasus Red, and brushpainted the truck. I went to inspect it, and true to his word the paint wasn't dry yet. Probably took him at least five minutes to paint it, don't even think he washed it. He made sure one coat would be enough, time-management guru that he was, brushmarks in every direction, paint so thick it ran to the bottom of the body and dripped on the lawn... it forever had little red drops dried along the bottom of the body, icicle-like, frozen in time and dried just before they dripped.
That little red truck with the Pegasus Red drips frozen in time and the story behind it got me more ***** the next year than a college student needs. The girls thought it was cute as could be, with the line of drips from front to back. When I graduated and packed my stuff and left Austin, it all went in the back of that little truck.
GOD BLESS MY DAD, MOBIL, AND PEGASUS RED!