The year was 1963. Dad was taking me for driving lessons in his 1952 Chev 2 door sedan with “three on the tree” gear shift, and no power steering. He was down on his luck and the car reflected his decline. We started in shopping mall parking lots where I could make wide turns. I recall getting excited one day when I saw a cardboard box dead ahead and I couldn’t wait to line it up and crush it with my new found power. Dad saw my thoughts straight away, and calmly said that I couldn’t really ever tell what might be inside the box, and that maybe I should go around it….a cautionary tale that has stuck with me through the years. I got my drivers license on the second attempt just as I turned 16.
That year is of great significance because my Mother, who had a license but didn’t drive, decided to buy a car. Her first and only. She chose a 1962 Chev Impala with double blue leather interior and a white rag top. It was a dream car, of jaw dropping beauty.
“John, would you mind running me down to the Dominion store for groceries?
"Sure Mom, when you wanna go?”
“John, you can use the car to take the laundry over.”
“Sure Mom, be back soon.”
“John, drop me off at work and take the car to school. Afterwards, could you drive the girls to lessons and pick them up at five.”
“You betcha.”
I was 16 and driving around in a convertible, that definitely turned heads. A convertible in those days was exciting and dangerous, open and carefree. To own one guaranteed, a devil may care attitude in the driver. A rakish risker taking chances, testing fate. The car took me from responsible to perilous with all the lessons in between.
Canadian winters eat automobiles. What was once a dashing joy in summer became a salt crusted, leak-sprouting frozen shell of its former self in the final winters on the road. The beautiful '62 Chev rested in the garage for awhile then it was quietly hauled away. From the Chev I stepped almost immediately into a white 1959 Dodge De Soto that was called “Blanche” (people named cars readily back then). It was a friends Mother’s car who had recently passed away. It was badly rusted but it ran pretty well at first, and it was free. I narrowly dodged a roadside vehicle inspection station one day and decided to drop the car off at the Wreckers.
I had a brief encounter with a 1967 Olds 98 convertible. It was flaming red with a black interior, but with no weight on the rear wheels, one day she slid along a telephone pole. Dad had it fixed, but we decided to sell it and buy something less expensive and much less flashy. In some kind of a finance/trade deal, that I don't fully recall, I wound up with a 1958 Ford Custom, 2 door white and blue….and the "Shaker" became my new ride. The "three on the tree" and direct steering took me back to my roots, and the car's modesty was refreshing.
I don’t think people love machines, but I often hear it. I loved that old car…you hear it all the time. People certainly love their car experiences. We all look so fondly at our milestones. Taking the car on its first date, its first holiday, its first day at school, all so important. Have you ever heard yourself thanking the car for getting you home on a stormy night, or pulling through in a snowstorm. We thank cars for looking so good after their yearly simonizing polish, or for looking not so bad after surviving a head on bump. All my life I have owned older used cars and I can honestly say that I’ve never been stuck on the side of the road. Almost no vehicle has ever let me down.Today I drive a 2003 Tracker with a new/used engine. I thank the little bugger every time I think about deep snow.
So I guess there is love in cars. I can feel it more deeply in the older designs. The Volkswagen Beetle oozes with personality, practicality and modesty. We bought our "Bug" in 1983 and since then I have been captivated by the simple design, compact engineering, and remarkable endurance.The Volkswagen Beetle is regarded as one of the best produced vehicles of the century. The car has its origins in the 1930s where it was designed mainly by Dr. Ferdinand Porsche during that decade. Porsche had had dreams of creating an economical car for the masses in Germany since he was a young man. Our Bug had well restored surface features but the mechanics required a great deal of work. I spent many nights laying on the garage floor looking up and I was amazed to find out that the entire engine could be removed with only 4 bolts. Once restored it ran like a charm.
That Volkswagen, and so many since have been a source of artistic expression. From hand coloured black and white photographs , to collages in Photoshop the bug has captured my imagination and I guess, my love.
That Volkswagen, and so many since have been a source of artistic expression. From hand coloured black and white photographs , to collages in Photoshop the bug has captured my imagination and I guess, my love.
