I admit I’m a fan of older cars. You readers probably think that it’s because I’m old and decrepit, and you’d be right. But not so fast. That’s just part of it. All the doodads added to the interiors and dashboards of new cars to make cruising along at three miles per hour in rush hour traffic boggles my already boggled mind.
Gone are the days when I or any younger old geezer could get in a random car and know where every knob, lever and handle was located and what it was for. Put the key in the ignition, start it up, push in the clutch, shift into first, step on the gas pedal and head out. Yes, I do prefer a stick shift because it makes it seem more as if you’re driving the car rather than the car’s hauling you around.
Our current family vehicle is a Toyota RAV4 crossover. It’s a few years old and there are still features built into it that I’ve never used, similar to my smart phone. I want to make calls and send texts (with my phone, not my Toyota). The other stuff is wasted on me.
My personal car is a 1987 Oldsmobile 98 Regency Brougham, metallic blue with a blue vinyl roof and opera lights on the side. It’s an actual car with a trunk and no four-wheel drive, cushy velour seats inside (one mechanic told me it was like driving in an easy chair), smooth riding, and, although it’s a newer car than I would prefer, it’s one that you can get in and know how to operate without checking an owner’s manual or YouTube.
The other day I was exiting the Walmart parking lot in my Olds. I’d stopped to make a turn. On my left a lady was loading her SUV and her little boy, maybe five or six, waved and said hello to me. I waved back and said hello. Then he said, “That’s a very nice car you have.” Nobody’s ever said that when I’ve been driving the RAV4.
As a kid, one of my early cars was a 1951 Crosley convertible, a stick shift car you could drive and repair without a degree in Computer Science. A man in North Aurora sold Crosley parts (who knows why) out of his filled garage. Eventually I made a couple of trips out from the western suburbs to see him. Although the Crosley’s speedometer read 60, its top speed was 48 miles per hour, but it did get 40 miles per gallon and two guys could lift an end at a time to shove it into a miniscule parking space.
Another small, no-high-I.Q.-required for driving or fixing, was my 1962 yellow and white stick shift Nash Metropolitan. I could drive that one at 65 miles per hour all day long. It too got just over 40 miles per gallon. It had a back seat that was only useful for dwarfs, three-year-old kids, or adults without heads.
Just about my all-time favorite auto was my gold 1971 Buick Riviera. The boat-tail design was just like an old Auburn and the big 455 cubic inch engine let the heavy beast burn rubber off the starting line. One drawback was that it normally got eight miles per gallon in city driving, 11 miles per gallon on the road. I don’t want to think about how much it would cost to fill the tank and drive 18 miles to work today.
Modern cars just seem more generic to me. I used to be able to see a new car at a distance and identify it. Not now no more. Maybe it’s just because of permanent brain fog or too many plastic particles in the drinking water.
Speaking of gas, how are you all enjoying the high prices? Speaking of high prices, we can’t leave out groceries, and most everything else, as well as the Iran war with no end in sight and the fracturing global market that may keep prices high for many months or years even after the war ends? Thank the Lord above that we’re out of the horrible life we were living under Joe Biden. Our brilliant secretary of War Pete Hegseth has been using billion dollar weapons and ammunition to shoot down Iran’s 39-cent drones. Let’s keep up our sacrifice of health care and everyday necessities to teach Iran a lesson, shall we? Pete’s doing all right for himself, though. Allegedly he had his stockbroker invest in companies that produce those fancy weapons at the start of the war.
Maybe we citizens who invest in gold should put our money into gas. Then it would be a good idea to get a couple million 1971 Rivieras back on the road.