The little ole lady who lived next door to me when I was growing up owned it. She worked in a library and bought it new. It had very low mileage and looked like it just rolled off of the showroom floor.
I was 14 and just discovered cars. There were lots of hot rod magazines out, and I was into it. I could recognize every model of Chevy from every year of the 1960's just by looking at the front end of the car. I liked cars. I wanted one.
I liked everything about cars. The smells were great: new car smell was the best, even now. I even liked the smell of gasoline. I liked the lines of the cars in the 1960's. Great swoops. Big old boats with tail fins. Those cars had lots of character. I was anxious from a very early age to see the world, and I knew that a car would be just what I needed to do that.
It was a Chevrolet Biscayne. Four doors and a manual transmission, three speed shifter on the column. I used to watch her drive it away in the mornings while I was on my way to school. It was a cool car. I could picture me driving it.
One day she sees me eyeing her car and calls me over. She asks me if I like the car. I say yes! Then she asks me if I would wash it for her. She'll pay me. Heh, I woulda washed it for free.
So I get out the hose and a bucket and sponge, and proceed to clean this car as well as I could. I spent some time doing it up right.
The car gleamed in the afternoon sun when I decided that I had done all that I could. I ran to her front door and rang the bell. I wanted to thank her for letting me wash her car. She thanks me, and hands me five dollars, which seemed like a million to me at that time. Then she TOSSES THE KEYS to me and tells me to drive it around the block to dry it off! Wow. Remember, I'm fourteen years old, and have no idea how to drive a standard transmission car. Does the lack of knowledge stop me? Hell no. I grab the keys and run to the car, a huge grin across my face. How hard could it be, really? I am determined to drive!
So I get into the car and adjust the seat and the rear view mirror. I sit there, looking at the dashboard, letting it all soak in. Man, this is great! I am gonna be cruising in a few minutes.
I twist the key in the ignition lock and the motor roars into life. OK so far, now how do I get this thing to actually move? Trying to remember the things I had read in magazines I push in the clutch and pull the gearshift into low gear. Give her a little gas and let the clutch out. BAM. I stalled it. Restart and try again. Anyway, to make a long story a little shorter, I got a good lesson in humility that day, as it took me 20 minutes to finally get the car going. It was a lot tougher than I thought it would be. I finally got it together, and I rolled off into the sunset, me and my car. This was it! From that moment on, I knew I would have a great car someday. I looked down my nose at my bicycle.
From then on, whenever I saw her taking the car out, I would smile and remember my first experience when it was just me and a car, a kid and his dream.
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