The blue 82 Ford Escort was my next car. It was about 20+ years when it came into my hands. It had gone through a lot of amateur mechanics and sound system technicians. When you opened the door the wires and cables were everywhere. They looked like black spaghetti, tangled and twisted. It looped and hung in bunches, like garland on a Christmas tree.
I drove it back and forth to school. The fan kept running for a short time after the key was disengaged. Many people would come find me to tell me they thought my car was running. I explained often that I had removed the key and it would shut off soon.
One of my neighbors had his car in the shop and needed a temporary one to drive. I lent him the Escort. He still laughs about that week. He asked me if I knew where all the wires went. I told him not really.
Sometimes I wish those old cars could talk. What stories they would tell. I'm sure that Escort had a whole collection of stories of it's own to tell. Sadly they were ones I never knew.
I eventually gave the car to Dan's son. He promptly sold it to his aunt.
I drove it back and forth to school. The fan kept running for a short time after the key was disengaged. Many people would come find me to tell me they thought my car was running. I explained often that I had removed the key and it would shut off soon.
One of my neighbors had his car in the shop and needed a temporary one to drive. I lent him the Escort. He still laughs about that week. He asked me if I knew where all the wires went. I told him not really.
Sometimes I wish those old cars could talk. What stories they would tell. I'm sure that Escort had a whole collection of stories of it's own to tell. Sadly they were ones I never knew.
I eventually gave the car to Dan's son. He promptly sold it to his aunt.
yeah -- Old cars can tell some stories, can't they? I loved that phrase about "where the wires go," and the not knowing. I had a pretty good visual picture in my head.
ReplyDeleteKevin
Loved the description of the wires. Reading this brought me right back to our first truck, a F100...beat up, ugly to look at...but worth 10,000 miles and only paid 50 dollars for it:)
ReplyDeleteGreat post. I too love your description, and how everyone wanted to let you know your car was running. Thanks
ReplyDeleteIt's neat how vehicles become a part of our lives and a part of our memories. Great reflections that make a reader recall "that car" in their lives -- their first car, the used hand-me-down, whatever it may be. Sweet slice! :)
ReplyDeleteI wish old cars could talk too - especially the one I drove when the girls were little :)
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