I am musing on the cars, and their personalities, that I have owned as yet another one has bit the dust. This last car has only been in my possession a mere 29 days. This is a personal record. Prior to this, the shortest I have owned a car is six months. That was my first car: Chester the Molester. More about Chester in a moment. The demise of this last car is due to a crash on a highway as my son was driving home from school. Thankfully, no one (especially my son) was hurt. So, now a history of the cars, their personalities, foibles and demise.
Chester the Molester: Chester was a pale yellow Renault R10. I purchased him from a little old lady who went skiing on Thursdays. Literally. She was a professor at the local university and walked the three blocks to her office. Chester was 10 years old when I acquired him with about 40,000 miles. A unique vehicle for the time, Chester had a manual choke, could be plugged in during the winter to keep the engine warm (this is in Vermont and any help to get started in the morning is appreciated) and the tire iron could be used to manually crank the engine started. Also, the engine was in the back of the car, like a VW bug. This, unfortunately, was the cause of Chester's demise. A man ran a stop sign at 5 mph in an old Buick built like a tank and I was driving at 20 mph when I hit him. This pushed in the front end and with nothing up front to stop the frame from moving, Chester couldn't be repaired. It was a sad, sad day.
The Blond Bomb: This car hated women. Hated women! It was a Mercury Capri based on the Mustang and it was Lemon Yellow. I don't remember what year it was made. It spluttered, gasped, choked, coughed and wheezed every time I attempted to drive it. When any man drove it, it purred like a kitten being stroked and petted. It didn't matter whether it was my boyfriend, my roommate Jeff, my father, my brother. It would purr. If I, my sister, or my mother drove that car it would buck, stall and wheeze. It would stop dead in the middle of the interstate. Okay, maybe I exaggerate. It didn't stop dead in the middle of the interstate. But it did everything else. And it cost me so much money. I was taking it in for repairs every month. I only owned it for maybe a year. Eventually, a complicated car swap was completed in the family and I received a Toyota Corolla named McMurphy that used to belong to one of my sisters. Whew! Thank God! (One of my brothers eventually sold the Blond Bomb for actual cash! I couldn't believe it!)
McMurphy: I loved McMurphy. It was the start of my love affair with Toyotas. McMurphy was old when I inherited him but I loved him. He was such a joy to drive and own. Especially after the Bomb. Oh, he had his aches and pains. But he was such a great guy. But he was in his declining years. I only had him for 18 months. I was his third owner and this is New England, land of salt on the roadways. He was rusting out. There came the day when his engine fell out of the car. Well, not "fell out" as in landed in the road. More like "disassociated itself" from the frame of the car. With a big bang. When I got us to the mechanic's and we opened him up, at first we couldn't tell what was wrong. Until we stood back and realized that parts of him were no longer connected. Rest in peace, my dear friend.
D'Artagnan: D' replaced McMurphy and was another Corolla. This time a much newer car, though still used. I had D' for 9 years. Finally! Longevity! And the chance to burn out a clutch, which I never, ever did, by the way. We (by that time I had met and married my husband and we added to the family with the birth of our son, genius guitar player) drove that car into the ground. My husband eventually traded it in for a used pickup truck.
Okay, here's where the car stories get a bit weird: My husband buys a brand new Ford Escort that is supposed to be "his" car. Which I promptly appropriate as it has four doors and is easier for me to use since I am doing the day care run morning and night once we have expanded the family. He trades in my Corolla for a pickup truck. I am not enamored of the truck, it's a small one but it's also the ugliest pickup truck I have ever seen. However, the neighborhood kids are in love with it as it is base camp. It is just the right size to jump into the back and use for whatever reason they need. So, fast forward and now.......
The Minivan: Yes, a family of three needs a minivan. Don't ask me why. I decided we needed one. So, I trade in the pick-up truck for a minivan. And no, it is not revenge for trading in the Corolla. The truck was on its last legs and it was time. The amazing thing is that we hauled so many kids around in that minivan (well, my husband did) that it was a damn good thing I bought it. There were so many kids driven around in that van that sometimes there weren't enough seatbelts to go around. Hubby was available day and night and took the kids anywhere anytime. I think he deserves a medal. Or sainthood. I bought it when our son was 8 and kept it until it had to be taken out and shot (according to our mechanic). Actually, our mechanic said anyone who manages to get 150,000 miles on a Dodge minivan transmission is very, very lucky. Go buy another car. Immediately. So I said okay. Is it okay if I buy a Prius? He said yes.
So I did. Eleven months later I didn't see a red light. So I bought another Prius as I managed to walk away mostly uninjured (you should have seen the car).
Meanwhile, our Ford Escort dies and we inherited my dad's Ford Taurus. A long, long time ago, my dad had told my son that someday his red Ford pickup truck would be Paul's someday. This did not come to pass. But eventually, Paul inherited his grandfather's Taurus. Kind of nice.
Now I have another Prius. I cannot tell you how much I love these cars.
Of course, my dad's Taurus bit the dust. So I bought a Toyota Corolla for my son. This one didn't work out very well. At all, and after 18 months, it was time to take it out and shoot it, then call Salvation Army and say its yours if you want it. So in December, after looking for an inexpensive used car, I bought a 2000 Buick Park Avenue. The price was right. Very nice, luxurious car. It's huge. I gave it a nickname. The Barge. Hey, it had heated seats. But it takes forever to stop I guess. RIP Buick Park Avenue.
Anybody got a reasonably priced used car out there?
Chester the Molester: Chester was a pale yellow Renault R10. I purchased him from a little old lady who went skiing on Thursdays. Literally. She was a professor at the local university and walked the three blocks to her office. Chester was 10 years old when I acquired him with about 40,000 miles. A unique vehicle for the time, Chester had a manual choke, could be plugged in during the winter to keep the engine warm (this is in Vermont and any help to get started in the morning is appreciated) and the tire iron could be used to manually crank the engine started. Also, the engine was in the back of the car, like a VW bug. This, unfortunately, was the cause of Chester's demise. A man ran a stop sign at 5 mph in an old Buick built like a tank and I was driving at 20 mph when I hit him. This pushed in the front end and with nothing up front to stop the frame from moving, Chester couldn't be repaired. It was a sad, sad day.
The Blond Bomb: This car hated women. Hated women! It was a Mercury Capri based on the Mustang and it was Lemon Yellow. I don't remember what year it was made. It spluttered, gasped, choked, coughed and wheezed every time I attempted to drive it. When any man drove it, it purred like a kitten being stroked and petted. It didn't matter whether it was my boyfriend, my roommate Jeff, my father, my brother. It would purr. If I, my sister, or my mother drove that car it would buck, stall and wheeze. It would stop dead in the middle of the interstate. Okay, maybe I exaggerate. It didn't stop dead in the middle of the interstate. But it did everything else. And it cost me so much money. I was taking it in for repairs every month. I only owned it for maybe a year. Eventually, a complicated car swap was completed in the family and I received a Toyota Corolla named McMurphy that used to belong to one of my sisters. Whew! Thank God! (One of my brothers eventually sold the Blond Bomb for actual cash! I couldn't believe it!)
McMurphy: I loved McMurphy. It was the start of my love affair with Toyotas. McMurphy was old when I inherited him but I loved him. He was such a joy to drive and own. Especially after the Bomb. Oh, he had his aches and pains. But he was such a great guy. But he was in his declining years. I only had him for 18 months. I was his third owner and this is New England, land of salt on the roadways. He was rusting out. There came the day when his engine fell out of the car. Well, not "fell out" as in landed in the road. More like "disassociated itself" from the frame of the car. With a big bang. When I got us to the mechanic's and we opened him up, at first we couldn't tell what was wrong. Until we stood back and realized that parts of him were no longer connected. Rest in peace, my dear friend.
D'Artagnan: D' replaced McMurphy and was another Corolla. This time a much newer car, though still used. I had D' for 9 years. Finally! Longevity! And the chance to burn out a clutch, which I never, ever did, by the way. We (by that time I had met and married my husband and we added to the family with the birth of our son, genius guitar player) drove that car into the ground. My husband eventually traded it in for a used pickup truck.
Okay, here's where the car stories get a bit weird: My husband buys a brand new Ford Escort that is supposed to be "his" car. Which I promptly appropriate as it has four doors and is easier for me to use since I am doing the day care run morning and night once we have expanded the family. He trades in my Corolla for a pickup truck. I am not enamored of the truck, it's a small one but it's also the ugliest pickup truck I have ever seen. However, the neighborhood kids are in love with it as it is base camp. It is just the right size to jump into the back and use for whatever reason they need. So, fast forward and now.......
The Minivan: Yes, a family of three needs a minivan. Don't ask me why. I decided we needed one. So, I trade in the pick-up truck for a minivan. And no, it is not revenge for trading in the Corolla. The truck was on its last legs and it was time. The amazing thing is that we hauled so many kids around in that minivan (well, my husband did) that it was a damn good thing I bought it. There were so many kids driven around in that van that sometimes there weren't enough seatbelts to go around. Hubby was available day and night and took the kids anywhere anytime. I think he deserves a medal. Or sainthood. I bought it when our son was 8 and kept it until it had to be taken out and shot (according to our mechanic). Actually, our mechanic said anyone who manages to get 150,000 miles on a Dodge minivan transmission is very, very lucky. Go buy another car. Immediately. So I said okay. Is it okay if I buy a Prius? He said yes.
So I did. Eleven months later I didn't see a red light. So I bought another Prius as I managed to walk away mostly uninjured (you should have seen the car).
Meanwhile, our Ford Escort dies and we inherited my dad's Ford Taurus. A long, long time ago, my dad had told my son that someday his red Ford pickup truck would be Paul's someday. This did not come to pass. But eventually, Paul inherited his grandfather's Taurus. Kind of nice.
Now I have another Prius. I cannot tell you how much I love these cars.
Of course, my dad's Taurus bit the dust. So I bought a Toyota Corolla for my son. This one didn't work out very well. At all, and after 18 months, it was time to take it out and shoot it, then call Salvation Army and say its yours if you want it. So in December, after looking for an inexpensive used car, I bought a 2000 Buick Park Avenue. The price was right. Very nice, luxurious car. It's huge. I gave it a nickname. The Barge. Hey, it had heated seats. But it takes forever to stop I guess. RIP Buick Park Avenue.
Anybody got a reasonably priced used car out there?
great list!
ReplyDelete