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Car Memories

Why must you fight me?

Tell me this car does not have soul!

Sometimes a project will fight and fight and fight until you just give up. Luckily (or is it unfortunately), I don’t give in easily. I have been fighting my Buick wagon for months, trying to get it finished and ready to drive. What should have taken a few days has taken 6 months. Some of this is due to other projects and deadlines, but most of it is just because the damn thing is mad at me. I think Buttered Toast is upset that I yanked it’s engine and stabbed a newer model, (some 10 years younger, I might add) under the hood. While that could be taken as a euphamism, it was kind of intended as such. Fact of the matter is, the wagon will have more power, better economy due to the overdrive transmission and still, it fights me. I will triumph because I am stubborn. And because I have a lot of money tied up in this beast and I need the story to be finished after beginning this journey one year ago. I love that wagon, but it can be a pain in the ass some times.

I know I am not the only one that believes cars have a soul. I don’t know that all cars have one, but many do. Most of the ones in my driveway, shop, backyard, front yard, my friend’s yards (OK, so I have a lot of cars) have demonstrated on more than one occasion that they really do live. Some cars are witty- lights blinking at odd moments. Some cars are assholes- refusing to start when you need it to, only to fire right up after your ride shows up an hour later. Others have diseases- cancer (rust), diabetes (thirst for all fluids), incontinence (persistent brake failure).

The best personality traits are ones that endear you to the car. My dad had little Pontiac Phoenix, 1980 model. I remember laying in the rear hatch (yeah, that was perfectly OK back then) next to my older sister watching the midnight sky as we drove along the highway. For a kid, it was magical, and that car knew it. There was a kinship between that car and my dad. He loved that car, it would only run for him. One day, my dad had taken it to his buddy, who was a mechanic, to change out a part (I have no idea what it was, I was not a gearhead as a little tyke), and the mechanic called my dad to tell him that it wouldn’t start and he couldn’t figure out why. My dad laughed and said I’ll be there in a minute. Once he got there, he hit the switch and it started. It would only run for him (and my sister later when she drove it in college).

When I was 14, my dad and I went storm chasing (it was part of my dad’s job). We took the Phoenix. This was my first time chasin’ with my dad, and the storm turned out to be a doozy. A tornado was ripping through the countryside, and we were on a direct path to get some killer photos (I was on the school paper, this was going to be awesome!). Then the car just spun out on a country road as we were on our way to intercept.  It took us an hour to get out of the mess. Turns out, the tornado was 1/2 mile wide and we would have ended up being right in it if the car had not lost control. I have the pictures of the freight train it turned over, spilling a few hundred cows into a field. It could have been ugly. 

Was it all the car? probably not, but had we taken our suburban, we wouldn’t have got stuck in the mud. Cars most definitely have souls.

What is your favorite car story? Comment and let us know.


One Response to “Why must you fight me?”


    Posted by jeesrajan | June 2, 2011, 12:22 pm

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