Today’s Reason to Live in Alabama: Vintage automobiles are given the respect they deserve.
We don't have any of that pesky "vehicle inspection" baloney in Alabama. If it moves, you can drive it, and the Alabama highways frequently resemble living displays of car museums. I'm not talking about the exotic, rare, one-in-a-million kinds of cars that you might see only once in your life (a Bugatti or Lamborghini). I'm talking about the kinds of cars that you only THOUGHT you'd never see again in your life (a '68 Chevelle or a '53 Studebaker).
I mean, what's the point of having a '56 Ford F-100 if you can't drive it down the road, burning oil, and fumigating the entire countryside?
Plus, all American cars built before the mid-70's use conventional ignition (not any of that electronic crap). That means if any kind of nuclear device is detonated nearby, the resulting Electro-Magnetic Pulse will fry the circuitry of every modern car sitting in the driveway or on the highway, but not the old ones. Suddenly, the goofbag driving the '72 Ford Pinto Station Wagon will look like a genius, because his car will be the only one to still crank and run during the dreaded post-apocalypse.
And we recognize, honor, and respect that type of forward-thinking in Alabama...
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You know, my very first car was a 69 Plymouth Valiant. It had three snow tires on it when it was handed down to me. The first time I did any kind of automobile maintenance in my life I had to get a tire after the only non-snow tire blew out on me one day. Being 16 and no job, I asked my Old Man for some flash to get a replacement tire. My Dad's idea of 'new' was to give me five bucks and point me in the direction of the local grease monkey to see what he could scrounge up in the back. Sure enough, I drove home with a bald radial that had seen too many gravel roads and curbs, but it inflated and it was purchased for 5 dollars.
ReplyDeleteThat car had an AM radio and a heater and more rust than actual paint. However, it had an engine, a carburetor, tranny and exaust. I could find my way around when I opened the hood. I changed the oil, transmission and power steering fluid myself. I understood what was happening when it got overheated one time and switched out the thermometer on the radiator cap. Hell, I even saved up enough for a crappy Panasonic stereo and I put that thing in myself. If I had the right tools and a little direction, I probably could have tuned it up.
What I'm getting at here is this, when I open the hood of my Tercel, I'm friggen lucky to know how to check the damn oil. If it doesn't start and there's gas in the tank, I'll be damned if I know what the hell is going on. I'd probably have to have the damn thing towed so someone else can charge me $500 bucks to tell my my genekcthidooink is in flux and blocking the whatsis.
I know I'm sounding like an old codger ranting and raving about 'the good ole days,' but a regular Joe ought to be able to know what's happening when his ride is out of order. I'm just sayin.
Dude, I am totally with you there. My first car, by the way, was a '65 Mustang that my father gave me on the Christmas a month after my 15th birthday. I was told I could have it when I turned 16 the following year. In the meantime, my father drove the shit outta that car, and guess what? He sold the damn thing before I could make it to 16. I never even got to drive my first car.
ReplyDeleteBack on topic, my father used to BUILD cars in his spare time. I don't mean he worked for an assembly plant - he used to scrounge up spare parts and BUILD the damn things from the ground up. Eventually (long, long, long before my time), he started building hot rods and his best buddy would race them. There would be weekly drag races at the abandoned airport in Tuskegee (where the Tuskegee Airmen learned to fly in WWII), and his buddy would race the cars that my father built.
My point in all this is that when something goes wrong with any of our cars these days, my father looks at it and says, "Damned if I know what's wrong."
I'm with you, Cubby. I don't get it anymore.