March 26th, 2009

Roman

Auto Stress

I have known many beaters in my life. The first car I called my own, sort of, was a Ford Falcon station wagon bequeathed to me by my sister Mary when she went into the Peace Corps. I honestly don't remember what I did with that car - I may have given it back to her when she returned. I do remember that I never liked it, that it did not do anything particularly well, and I do remember a frightening incident:

I was moving. I dumped many boxes and bags of things into the back of the station wagon and I added in my cats. I did not have cat carriers (did they even exist then? this was some time around 1967). When I was on a Los Angeles freeway, headed for my new place, I discovered that I had neglected to close the back door, the hatchback. I was frightened for my cats, afraid that they had fallen out onto the freeway.

I got off as soon as I could and discovered that they were all alive and well and inside the car. It was a great relief.

After the Falcon I owned a 1958 black Volkswagen beetle. I banged that baby up every which way and it still drove. But I didn't do regular maintenance on it. And when the oil light stopped working I did not get it fixed. And so when the oil ran out and the engine threw a rod...Collapse )