The saga of my first car.....

[fasstrack]

My first car (I didn't drive til my early 30s) was a Camaro. An '81 and this was '91. The

frickin' gas indicator moved faster than a clock and it was always

stalling. I maxed out a credit card putting that bitch in the hands of

lying, dishonest mechanics and it was never fixed. I did learn that

when the words 'water pump' come from the lips of any mechanic they

really mean 'cash register'.....

I finally decided to get rid of it but right before I did I was coming

back from a rehearsal with pianist John (somebody) at a bassist's mom's house

in Armonk. Smoke suddenly started coming through the dash. John was driving.

We were on the Henry Hudson and pulled off the nearest exit. John

started to freak because the cruise control was on and he said he

couldn't turn it off (all he had to do was hit the brake). He panicked

and within one minute some Hispanic lady saw the smoke and said 'wait

right there', got a fire extinguisher out of her car, and doused the

flames. (I think I had picked up some cardboard or something and the

smoke found its way to the manifold). So John, good citizen that he

always was, immediately grabbed his f**ing keyboard and said "I have a

gig" and went off to hail a gypsy cab or a gypsy or something. I was

left sitting there with my car one saved by one second from blowing up.

Now I had the problem of getting it off the highway (it was in the

right lane on the off-ramp, stalled as usual). Then the vultures

descended, claiming they are the only ones with the authority to tow a

car on a US highway on NY. Bullshit, I'm sure, but who had time to

argue? They towed me to some scumbag-owned-scumbag operated garage in

the South Bronx. The driver all the way there is making me offers in

broken English for my Camaro: "A car without a motor is like you

without a heart, poppito"...

I went to pick it up with my own tow truck guy, who turned out to be

this mean hitter kid who spends the entire f**ing ride telling me how

he beats up on his girlfriend. Approaching the toll plaza of the

Triboro Bridge I hear a thud. Someone hit the Camaro and truck both.

The guy scoots out of the truck and tells the guy 'show me some ID,

dude'. The driver was looking real scared, and I soon found out why. I

drive his Caddy to park it while he's working it out with this other

asshole. I look on the floor and see a pile of money and a beeper. I

look up and see blood on the rear view mirror. Hellooooo---drug dealer,

plus he probably got so high he fell out and then hit us.

I get closer to the conversation and I see the tow guy threatening to

call the cops. "No cops. I'm on parole".The dealer pulls money out of

his pocket and hands it to the driver. Then he finds a viaduct or

something and escapes, leaving his Caddy and all the money and drugs.

Last I saw him he was running down a hill to freedom.

The dealer gave this guy $2000. The c**ksucker hands me $300 and says

'Isn't this great? I can take my kid on vacation!" There was a

humungous dent in my door. I said "$300? Is this a joke, dude? Look at

the damage!" But the scumbag beat me all the same beause he was bigger

physically and I'm not the fighting kind and he knew it. He bullied and brazened my rightful half of

the bread. It was dirty money anyway. God talking, I guess. (And

saying 'f... you'....)

Like Bobby from Drugstore Cowboy I took it all as a sign. I sold the

car to the first circus freak I saw. Only instead of a pack of chewing

gum I got $1,200.

Edited June 16, 2006 by fasstrack

[Werf]

I bought my first car in 1980, a 69 Buick Skylark, for 125 bucks, it was rusting, with a trunk that wouldn't close. I used a bit of rope tied through the empty lock hole, and the license plate. I called it the Doorsmobile, because the guy who sold it to me had two Jimmy Morrison stickers on it. I drove it back and forth from Carbondale, Illinois and home to Michigan for three years before the radiator started leaking. Instead of replacing it, I travelled with several gallon jugs of water. The trip from SIU, in Carbondale, to Grand Rapids, was about nine hours. For a while I could drive the whole way, before refilling, but the leak got bigger and then I had to stop every two or three hours. The final trip I was stopping to cool it down and then refill every hour or so. Finally the car crapped out twenty miles from home, at about 3am; I got out and the engine was glowing in the darkness. There weren't flames, just this orange glow. I was travelling with a friend and we took off running, thinking it was going to blow. After a while we crept back, I looked in and the glow was gone. We waited until the cap was cool, put in some water, could literally hear it leaking and then straggled onward, made it home. The next day it wouldn't start. The block was cracked.

[fasstrack]

I bought my first car in 1980, a 69 Buick Skylark, for 125 bucks, it was rusting, with a trunk that wouldn't close. I used a bit of rope tied through the empty lock hole, and the license plate. I called it the Doorsmobile, because the guy who sold it to me had two Jimmy Morrison stickers on it. I drove it back and forth from Carbondale, Illinois and home to Michigan for three years before the radiator started leaking. Instead of replacing it, I travelled with several gallon jugs of water. The trip from SIU, in Carbondale, to Grand Rapids, was about nine hours. For a while I could drive the whole way, before refilling, but the leak got bigger and then I had to stop every two or three hours. The final trip I was stopping to cool it down and then refill every hour or so. Finally the car crapped out twenty miles from home, at about 3am; I got out and the engine was glowing in the darkness. There weren't flames, just this orange glow. I was travelling with a friend and we took off running, thinking it was going to blow. After a while we crept back, I looked in and the glow was gone. We waited until the cap was cool, put in some water, could literally hear it leaking and then straggled onward, made it home. The next day it wouldn't start. The block was cracked.

'Just an orange glow'

I knew this was gonna be a classic thread. Can't wait to hear other stories. Bring 'em on.....

[fasstrack]

I also emailed my own story to a friend. If I get any stories back I'll ask permission to post them. I'm sure I'll get some pips....

[Dan Gould]

After graduation from Florida State and before starting Grad school in St. Louis, I bought a '76 Mustang II. I truly believed it was a great deal and would be a great car, as not only was it owned by the figurative "little old lady in tennis shoes" but the little old lady was the bookkeeper of our trusted mechanic, and he had taken care of the car all those years. 12 years and less than 55,000 miles, so who could blame me for thinking this was a great deal, at $1000?

Well, the car ran beautifully - for about three months. Seriously, that V-6 had some serious life to it, along with the lightest gas pedal I've ever known. Just barely touching it, and you'd take off like a shot. Had no problem blowing the doors off just about anything that raced its motor next to me at a stop light.

But that was when it was running. I remember taking it to "Larry's Auto Center" in University City. Larry was an awfully pleasant guy, and honestly I can't tell you whether or not it was truly a case of a dishonest mechanic or a piece of shit American car built in the mid-70s. But I do know two things:

1) I spent enough money at Larry's that I ended up on his Christmas card list.

2) You know how academic departments have "Endowed Chairs"? Well, the joke around the Poli-Sci department was that I had my own service bay at Larry's: The Gould Endowed Service Bay.

Long story short, it barely made it through the two and a half years I was in St. Louis, including a couple of trips back to Connecticut. When I finished up, Mom drove out so we could load up the minivan and caravan back home. That was a trip from hell. I drove point, just in case something might happen, and outside of Reading PA, on the PA turnpike, I think the bearings in the tires froze (?). We got a tow and got ourselves a room at a motel and it ended up taking two days for the mechanic to find replacements at a junk yard. We limped the rest of the way home, where I took it back to the mechanic who'd vouched for its great condition three years earlier. They gave me a long list of the problems, some of which I knew about (like the fact that I had to add oil at least once a week - there was a leaky seal and to fix it would have meant removing the engine, so $1 a week for oil seemed a lot better than $700 to fix it) and one thing I didn't know about:

They strongly recommended that I not put any passengers in the front seat. Seems that the rust was so bad that they could not only see the carpet, they could see through the carpet. I could just picture having a friend's feet fall through the floor. Would have added the Fred Flintstone Brake System to my already crappy brakes.

So later that summer I got rid of it and bought my first new car, a Plymouth Colt, which was actually a Mitsubishi model, and aside from ending up in Florida with no A/C (couldn't afford the car with that option package) that car drove like a champ and barely ever gave me a lick of trouble.

[fasstrack]

1) I spent enough money at Larry's that I ended up on his Christmas card list.

2) You know how academic departments have "Endowed Chairs"? Well, the joke around the Poli-Sci department was that I had my own service bay at Larry's: The Gould Endowed Service Bay.

[porcy62]

Should I go on?

[porcy62]

...but this was my first motorbike

[Jim Alfredson]

My first car was a '78 Buick Skylark 4-door that I bought while in college. It only had 33,000 miles on it, and looked great and I bought it from my family's then-landlord. But I later found out the under carraige was rusted out like mad. It actually ran pretty good, but you couldn't really get it up past 70mph on the highway. It would start rattling and shaking like it was about to pull a "Blues-mobile" at the end of the original Blues Brothers.

Eventually the bottom rusted out so bad that when I got in the car I had to be careful not to put any weight on the floor because my feet would be touching the ground. I sold it for nothing and bought a '98 Dodge Intrepid. When I sold the Intrepid to get my minivan back in 2002, it had 176,000 miles on it and still ran like a champ. That was a great car.

My minivan currently has 144,000 on it, which means I've put 102,000 on it since I've owned it. The transmission went out on the way to Ann Arbor, in the dead of winter, on the highway, just outside of town, as I was passing a semi. That was at 61,000 miles. Luckily I had bought the extended 20,000 mile warranty (and I was just under the 20,000 miles!). Other than that, I've been happy with the van. I'm hoping to get another 75,000 miles out of it.

[slide_advantage_redoux]

This wasn't my first car, but the tale is worth sharing.

When I joined the West Point Jazz Band, I was planning on driving from Dallas in my '65 Dodge Dart, which was actually a good little car. My girlfriend and parents convinced me to fly up, save some money and buy a newer car (they didn't share my confidence in a then-16 year old car). So I did what they suggested.

After a few months in the band, I made a deal with a retiring concert band euphie player for his project car, a 1962 Plymouth. Slant 6, push button tranny. The car had lots of rust on it, but it was only $300. Gas mileage was decent and when I drove into NYC I could park anywhere and never worry about thieves messing with it. Its ugly factor worked in my favor.

One problem was that when the floor boards rusted through, the previous owner just tacked down some sheet aluminum, and threw carpet sample squares on top. It was fine unless I drove over water puddles. When I did, my shoe soles would get wet.

The day it died I was driving over Storm King Mountain from Cornwall-on-the-Hudson (where I lived) to West Point for a jazz band concert. My passenger was the jazz tenor player Doug Lawrence.We were in full dress blues, driving in a horrible rainstorm. Halfway up the mountain road which overlooked the Hudson river), the radiator sprung a leak, and the temp gauge started rising.

Before we got the top of the hill, the temp needle was pegged. And on that county road there are no gas stations or payphones, and very few places to even pull over.

Doug had been written up so many times that he was urging me to "keep going. because if I am late for any more gigs, I'll get an Article Fifteen." So, against my better judgement I forged ahead.

Soon we reached the apex of the mountain and as I started to coast down the other side, the temp came down a bit. When we reached post, the ground leveled out and up came the temp. At every stop sign the car would die, and everytime I cranked it, it started back up. I finally pulled up right next to Eishenhower Hall, and as I parked it, it died the last time. We were on time, but the car never ran again.

It gave its life for the military. I sold it to a junkyard for $30 the next week.

Edited June 14, 2006 by slide_advantage_redoux

[7/4]

I drove point, just in case something might happen, and outside of Reading PA, on the PA turnpike, I think the bearings in the tires froze (?).

The bearings in the tires are always first things to go. Can I be your auto mechanic?

[Dan Gould]

I drove point, just in case something might happen, and outside of Reading PA, on the PA turnpike, I think the bearings in the tires froze (?).

The bearings in the tires are always first things to go. Can I be your auto mechanic?

Why not? You've been f*cking with me since day one.

[7/4]

I drove point, just in case something might happen, and outside of Reading PA, on the PA turnpike, I think the bearings in the tires froze (?).

The bearings in the tires are always first things to go. Can I be your auto mechanic?

Why not? You've been f*cking with me since day one.

Sounds like your Time Lag Accumulator needs to be adjusted. It's gonna cost ya though.

[fasstrack]

....My passenger was the jazz tenor player Doug Lawrence.....

Hey, where is Doug now? Chicago? I used to know him in NY. Good swinging player, nice cat.

[connoisseur series500]

I drove point, just in case something might happen, and outside of Reading PA, on the PA turnpike, I think the bearings in the tires froze (?).

The bearings in the tires are always first things to go. Can I be your auto mechanic?

Why not? You've been f*cking with me since day one.

[Son-of-a-Weizen]

My first car, a blue '72 Torino, wound up attached to the rear of a Boston police cruiser on the Southeast Expressway in mid-Winter '77. I still blame the snowstorm and those blasted snowplows.....and am still pissed that we missed the Outlaws who were playing that night at the Music Hall (or was it the Orpheum?).

[BERIGAN]

My 1969 Impala Convertible. I know I have mentioned it before on this board. My Grandmother did most of the body damage. If it hadn't been a convertible, my Dad no doubt would have junked it. But, it ran great and I wanted it when I was old enough to drive. The very first time I drove it without a family member, I went to pick up my friend Brad(Had lots of problems behind the wheel when Brad was along)

We went out cruising for girls, and cars to race(this was the early 80's, almost everything was slower than my 350 Chevy back then) No luck with the ladies, but an older fellow in a Fairmont station wagon tried to race me away from a light. He didn't do very well, beat him by several car-lengths. It was getting dark, so I was going to drop Brad back home, and I almost missed the turnoff for his street, and make a sharp turn in to the street on the left side of the road....the guy in the Fairmont slams on his the brakes from the lane to my right, tires smoking, and is on my tail! YIKES!!! He must have had a bad day at the office. As your typical 16 year olds, Brad and I get scared shitless(Bet he has a gun!) and I tear thru the burbs at a high rate of speed. At one point, the old car bottoms out, no doubt leaving a trail of sparks from the rear end scraping the asphalt.

Shit, the guy is still fairly close behind! Next thing I know, I have just blown past a stop sign and crossed a busy intersection in U-City (St. Louis) at around 60 MPH! Quadruple Yikes! I was shaking like a junkie needing a fix after realizing what I had done... some Angels must have been working overtime to keep us alive. The guy behind me must have thought I was nuttier than he was, didn't see him after me anymore...but every set of headlights behind me on the long drive home had me convinced he was still after me. It taught me a valuable lesson. I bet I didn't race anyone away from a light for a full week!

Oh, drove the car for about another 10 years, and sold it to someone who could fix it up. Could not kill that car.

[Larry Kart]

My first car was a used 1962 or '63 Peugot (sp?) sedan, whose soft, comfortable front seats reclined 180 degrees, which came in handy in certain circumstances. Then, in early summer, it developed some significant mechanical problem, and I discovered that 1) a part needed to fix it had to be ordered from the factory in France and 2) the factory, like much of France, was essentially closed down until autumn. Also, it turned out that the reason the significant mechanical problem cropped up was that the car had been in accident that badly damaged its frame. So I traded it in on an used MG 1100, which I literally lost in Chicago's fabled 1967 snow storm. But those reclining seats were nice.