Relationships

Your author with the second Fiat, 1984

My first car was a 1971 Jeep Commando. I don't really regard it as my first car though as it was actually what my father picked out for me. My desire to own a small convertible sports car had fallen on deaf ears. Dad bought the vehicle he secretly wanted, knowing I would have to share it with him. Much could be written about the Jeep and my relationship with it and perhaps someday I'll delve into that. Today, however, I want to talk about my first car...which in a weird way was also my fifth car. I'll explain.

Predictably dissatisfied with 'my' Jeep I continued my quest to obtain The Perfect Car which in my mind was a Fiat 124 Spider, color red. Within a year I located a truly sad example for sale for all of $300. It was awful but to me it was The Perfect Car. Requiring much work that I was completely unqualified to do, I wound up having my poor father work on it in between writing checks to a local imported car repair shop. If suffered numerous maladies including catching fire at one point. In my naive belief that anything could be fixed I disassembled it to do a restoration only to find it was rusted beyond any hope of reclamation. The parts went into storage, the body carcass chopped up and discarded and I began a search for a replacement. Ironically I would find a very solid example the same exact year and, unlike my Bondo-filled first one, had actually been born a red car. The replacement car barely ran and cost all of $450 but it's bones were solid. I brought it home and set about making it a decent car.

At this time in my life the relationship with my father was tenuous at best. We did not work well together. I set about rebuilding my new prize armed with a Made In China ratchet set and a Haynes shop manual. Out came the oil burning twin cam engine; in went the relatively healthy identical 1438cc lump from my first car. I swapped out seats, dashboard, roof, windshield and countless other parts and wound up with a car that looked decent and drove well. Though I didn't do every single thing myself I did perform the bulk of the work. I learned how to envision sub-assemblies coming apart, developed a feel for when bolts were satisfactorily tight and not twisting to the point of snapping and--most importantly--honed my ability to string together multiple colorful curse words. Eventually I had the body straightened and painted and installed new chrome. The car wound up being the beautiful vision I had long held in my head. In the process of working on my Fiat as well as several others I learned nearly everything there was to know about these particular cars. No task proved too daunting. When something broke I very quickly and efficiently fixed it.

After twenty-three years of owning a car I swore I would never sell one day I was laying underneath the rear replacing a torn exhaust hanger. With sudden clarity I realized I was no longer excited about the car. There were no new challenges to be had. I'd saved it from the scrap heap and enjoyed it for over two decades but my tastes had changed while the car had not. It was time to move on and I sold the Fiat to a new owner. Though I expected to regret the decision, I never have. Our time together was simply over.

I've had similar relationships with many other cars over the years though none have been as long. My 1965 F100 pickup was around for about ten years. I do sometimes pine for another but that particular truck was better suited to someone else. I have fond memories of the Austin Mini, Ford Fiesta, BMW E30 and Audi Coupe GT. I don't think much about the Honda CRX Si, Dodge Charger 2.2, '65 Buck Skylark Convertible or my current 1993 Ford Lightning. Though they are all interesting vehicles the latter group are ones I spent very little time working on. The first grouping I all spent many hours underneath, replacing engines or rebuilding suspensions among other tasks. The second group I've done little more than change fluids and replace brake pads. Though we had relationships they were not very intimate in a machinery sense.

When I crashed my newly purchased 1997 BMW M3 on the track last year I was annoyed with myself and dismayed by the expensive repair work I created. The one thing I was surprised by was my lack of emotion about it. At first I thought it was maturity but eventually decided that it was because I had not yet built a relationship with the car. I had merely bought it. I had not taken it apart and put it back together. It still remained 'just a car'. I had not put anything of myself into it. No blood had been spilled in the engine bay, so to speak. Having now spent many hours piecing it back together I suspect I will be more emotionally involved. Maybe that is what was needed to prevent my recklessness in crashing it the first time.