Erin, who is a real writer and has serious talent (she makes me jealous) writes about your car and what it says about you. The first vehicle I ever owned was a 1966 Chevy C10. It looked like the one there in the picture only it was black and the stripe down the side was red. The roof was white though. I paid $400 for it. It was a total piece of crap. The floorboards were completely rusted away, you could see the middle stripe in the road from the driver's side and the right hand stripe from the passenger side. Through the floor. I taped rugs over the holes in the winter to help keep out the cold. The gas tank was in the cab, behind the bench seat. It was partially rusted so that if you had more than a half tank of gas you were nearly overcome by fumes. The bed was plywood over rusted beams. The truck was a three speed on the column.
I bought it from a mechanic. The bumper and front end was dented in from pushing cars and buses. The headlights pointed in different directions, never at the road. It ran like thoroughbred. It would speed down the highway at 70 or 80 mph without a hitch. I do not know how fast it would really go because the body would shake and vibrate so bad at 80 you would have to hang on to the wheel for support. The passenger door had neither a window crank nor door handle. I had vice grips in the glove box if you wanted to roll down the window. I usually just threw my empty beer cans on the passenger floor.
Once my dad and I were going to Otter's to help him move some furniture. We placed a cooler in the seat between us and started off in the light rain. I had filled the tank full for the drive, so gas fumes were strong. I stopped at an intersection and noticed smoke coming up through the floor behind me. I shouted that we were on fire and bailed out of the cab. I forgot there was no door handle on my dad's side. The seat was blocked by a large cooler. He began to shout for me to let him out. I started laughing as I realized the situation. Water in the bed had sloshed when I stopped, hitting the hot exhaust, sending steam through the rust hole in the floor.
Climbing back into the drivers seat as I explained it all to my dad. He did not find it amusing. Ashen-faced he cracked open a beer as we accelerated onto the highway. He called me an SOB and a few other select names. He was shaking as he asked if I thought it was safe to light a cigarette. I laughingly told him to go ahead, we would know in an instant if the fumes were too strong. When you are young you really do not give a shit about stuff like that -- you think you are immortal.
I had a lot of adventures in that truck, including the time I drove over a cow. I will tell you about that sometime. The truck finally blew the engine a gloomy fall day as I drove to work. I sold it for $50. I would like to say I watched it go teary-eyed, but that would be a lie.
What was your first car?
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