I love cars.  I love the memories of cars too.  A lot of the cars I drove overlapped with my siblings, but I think many of the memories are unique.  I’ll give a run-down of each car I drove, what I loved about it, and a few memories.

This was Dad’s car, of course, but I appropriated it to drive my senior year.  At first, I was terrible with the thing; it took a while to get the quirks figured out.  I’d flood the carb and need rescue frequently.  I think I got it towed the first day I drove to school; maybe just the first week.  Dad did not pay the bill ($65, in 1993 High School Zach Money; it was a gut-twisting amount to me then).

I did eventually get the hang of the thing, though; I figured out what to do when the brakes and power steering stopped working (check vacuum hoses), or when the tail end started to sag (air shocks, pump them up).  I even began to do repairs; I did the water pump, plugs, etc. 

I loved that car, but I’m afraid I drove it hard.  I was young and stupid, of course.  I remember coming down the canyon and zipping down University Avenue before they had all those lights in.  I meant to turn on Center Street, but nearly missed it.  Rather than turning around or going to the next light, I pulled a crazy maneuver and got the car a little sideways to make the turn.  I was with a girl, and I apologized for crazy driving, but she just had a big grin on her face and told me she thought that was pretty good stuff (turns out she drove a ‘67 GTO). 

The first and only time I ever let someone drive the car was on a large group date.  We were doing a video scavenger hunt, and one of the requirements was a Chinese fire drill (where you pull up to a red light and everyone dashes around the car to different spots).  The retard I agreed could drive (after asking if he’d driven a stick, even) burned out the clutch.

One night I was at McDonald’s and was trying to leave the parking lot when the car in front of me just stopped, blocking our way out.  Someone ran into the store, so I figured they’d be right out.  Well, after a few minutes I got antsy and crept up to tap their bumper with mine.  (We used to do that all the time; we were teenage boys.)  Well, they were not amused and called the cops, reporting a “hit and run”.  Retards.

I used to love driving around the Alpine Loop in the Dodge.  I’d often go late at night after my shift at the pizza place.  I was on my way to do that one night when I got pulled over; I’d been going 65 on State Street going down the hill in Lindon.  The officer believed me when I said the speedometer didn’t work, and also when I told him I’d taken my seatbelt off when he approached (both true, but I could see how it sounded totally made up).  I got a ticket for being out after curfew.  Rather than going home, of course, I made my way around the loop anyway.

The Dodge had a hole in the fuel tank, so I could never fill it up higher than about 3/4 of a tank.  What was wonderful, though, was that gas was often as low as $0.89/gallon.

I know it was probably hard for Dad to let me drive it.  I know that when I was done with it, it wasn’t even a good candidate for restoration.  I’m grateful that I had a car that taught me how to troubleshoot and how to fix simple things to avoid getting stranded.  I loved having a big, fast American coupe to drive around.  When I think about the car I’d like to drive around the country during retirement and between missions, I think of a car like the Dodge; large, powerful, comfortable.

So thanks, Mom and Dad, for letting me cut my teeth and letting me be free to screw up so much.  Thanks for letting me fix the car and have some responsibility for its maintenance.  And thanks for letting me be free to explore and make mistakes.