Earlier Entry Blog***
I've loved cars for as long as I can remember. I've also loved either the idea or the reality of driving for equally as long. Once upon a time when it was safe to leave the kids in the car while the adults went into the store I would jump into the front seat as soon as I could where I'd immediately begin pretending to drive my younger sister and brother to parts unknown but enthusiastically imagined even though my feet couldn't yet reach the pedals on the floor. (I was a road trip kind of gal even then! *grin*) I spent many happy hours sitting in the front seat rambling roads to anywhere my fertile imagination would take me. I'd watch the beautiful cars and dream of one day owning them, taking care of them, showing them off and showing off in them.
When I finally became of age to learn to drive I did so in a boat of a 1965 Cadillac Sedan Deville! Serious land yacht (and it was purple!) but it had all the most modern of technologies for it's time. (It wasn't new; in fact it was just over ten years old when I was 16 and able to drive legally for the state of Ohio) If any of you are familiar with that car it had the very touchy power assist brakes, the tilting/telescopic steering wheel, the light sensors for the brights on the trim that topped the fenders, the "scan" feature on the radio, primitive power steering and could fit at least twenty people and their luggage! OK, so I'm exaggerating but not by much! This beast had a 472 big block and would run like a bat outta hell if you could manage to keep it on the road swinging on that steering wheel because the steering was so loose you looked like you were dancing with the car to get it to stay straight on the road! And Lord help you the first time you had to touch those damned brakes! You really were going to stop on a dime and you were going to need the change to buy new underwear because you'd soiled the ones you were wearing! Even though I learned to drive in that car at 16, I wasn't destined to get my license right away. My mom was a single parent, even though in those dark ages, I took drivers education through the school I wasn't able to go to the driving instruction lessons because they were scheduled on Saturdays. My mom always had to work and my getting my license wasn't as imperative to her as it had been for me. Does that mean that I didn't drive because I wasn't legal? NOT ON YOUR LIFE!!! Mom got rid of the grape monster after it had been stolen and stripped bare and left on cinder blocks and got a 1969 Chevy Impala. Oh what fun I had in that car! It had a 327 small block and my brother, who'd just started learning to tinker around with cars, built the top half of the engine as funds for a young man would permit. Mom never knew how many sets of keys I'd had made to that car or just how far and wide my travels took me along with anyone else who wanted to go and had the money for gas. (I didn't eat lunch so I could put that money into precious fuel) Mom also had a baby blue conversion Ford Econoline van, that was fun too but it didn't have the kick that the Impala had. Yep, mom would take off for work, I'd grab my set of keys and off my friends and I would go. She found out a few times that I had keys, even took them from me but I always had a backup. *grin* When I turned 18 I was at the license bureau taking my test - getting myself legal finally. That just made me worse! We lived in a boring little rural town, New Carlisle, Ohio, where the nearest life existed about 20 or so miles away in Springfield. I would drive that Impala on this hilly twisting back road to the big city and get there in less than 15 minutes. My brother eventually took his natural talents to the Joint Vocational School in Springfield where I was so proud to find out that he'd brag to his motor head friends that his sister could out drive any of them. And I really could! You can ask him! *grin* I'm sort of an oddity among women. Not that there aren't others like me out there who have the same natural affinities for this but we are a rare breed. I anticipated the road, felt the road through the car and the cars responses. I'm directionally literate and find it pretty hard to get lost which is another reason why I feel I was born to drive. I habitually hydroplaned that Impala, actually went airborne hill hopping just to get that tickle in mine and my passenger's stomachs. Oh yes, I was a reckless teen but then I was typical – I thought I was invincible.
My mom had gotten us each an insurance policy when we'd been born and the deal had always been that as soon as we were of age, working and could buy our own policies, we could cash the old one in and use it for whatever we wanted. It hadn't been for much, $1000, but I'd always known that I was buying my own car with mine. Oh and I did too! My first love in a car and a huge mistake all at once. The money was burning a hole in my pocket and I scoured the Tradin Post for weeks before running across the ad for a 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo. Oh what a dream she was! Black as night with an electric sun roof, plush burgundy interior, swivel captain seats, console with king/queen shifter, and under the hood was a roarin 454 big block. I should have known that she was too good to be true but I fell in love the moment I saw her. I have always and still now have a soft spot in my heart for the Monte Carlo. How could you not love those body lines? My dream car would be a 1987 Monte Carlo SS Aero Coupe, double induction hood, sort of like the style on the new Trans Am, in a flashy red with black interior, gold accents and a built 427 under the hood… *sigh* (Or I sure wouldn't turn down a cherry red Chevy SSR either! A gorgeous machine! *wink*) I've loved the Monte Carlo with a passion since and no matter what I'm doing they always catch my eye and make my heart skip a beat. But that black beauty broke my heart. My brother had warned me not to go out looking at cars unless he was with me. Oh I know it was because he wanted to prevent me from buying something he's end up having to work on if it wasn't what it should have been but when I wanted to go see this one he was no where to be found. I felt panicked because the woman selling it had someone else looking at it and I knew that if I didn't jump on it I would lose it. I was 19, impulsive and far too naïve for my own good. Besides, what the hell could my brother detect that I couldn't I reasoned. So my mom took me to see her. Hindsight being 20/20 I should have let that one go but I was captured by her other obvious charms. I did learn a few valuable lessons… 1) Don't buy a used car that hasn't been gone over by someone who knows cars better than you think you do. 2) Even if it looks fantastic there's gotta be something wrong with it if the seller is willing to take less just to get rid of it. 3) Fifty weight oil covers a world of sins when it comes to the sounds a spun bearing makes…
There was the problem. I paid the woman, got the title, got her home where my brother proceeded to rip my ass for buying it without him being there. Of course I was resentful because when I'd needed him to be there he hadn't been anywhere around. The next day, heart breaking, I tried to undo the damage. I called the woman who'd sold it to me to get my money back. She wasn't reachable. Seems her and her boyfriend had left the state that morning on my dime. Though I didn't really find that out till I'd shown up for court after filing in small claims hoping to get my money back. Needless to say, I never did. I won but what good is that when she didn't bother to show up and she wasn't even in Ohio anymore? I'd spent all I had on the car so I didn't have the money to have the engine either rebuilt or replaced. My brother had me spooked so bad telling me if I dared drive it at all that it was going to throw a piston right through the side of the block and out the fender so I parked it in the driveway and let it sit without driving it for months. I'd often go out into the car, sit in it and cry because it was just a sin that such a machine should be wasted sitting still and there was nothing I could do about it.
My mom had gotten rid of the Impala and had lost the van to the repo man when she'd injured her back at work and was unable to pay the loan on it so between her and I we had to drive an ugly little Vega wagon back and forth to work. Still ever the lead foot, I could ping that little tin can pretty good up and down that old country road back and forth from home to work. That is until that fateful day in August when I'd decided on a whim to run back home in the time I had between when I got off work to when I had to go pick my mom up from her job. Another lesson to learn… Bald tires have no traction and they are especially useless when you hit fresh tar and gravel at 70+ mph! I was on the last leg home when I came over a hill and hit that fresh stone. The back swung to the right, I compensated but the front right tire blew and I went nose first into a six foot deep and wide drainage ditch. The car flipped end over nose and then rolled, they tell me, a couple times sideways till it landed right side up, nose in ditch facing back towards the road. Now let me tell you just how very lucky I am to be here today… I didn't wear seat belts then and again I'm told, in this one instance that may have been what saved my life. I remember that as the car rolled sideways I was freefalling inside the car like tumbling inside a dryer, rolling across the emergency brake on the console and into the passenger seat. At one point my head went out the side passenger window, hitting mud. The resilient ground bounced my head back into the car just before the top of the car would have come down and crushed my head. I remember hearing the crush of the metal behind my head right after I'd bounce inward again. When the car stopped and I opened my eyes all the windows had been popped out of the car and the top was totally bent sideways. There is a humorous side – when I realized what had just happened I looked around and I began to cry pitifully. There was someone running down to me from the road telling me that an ambulance had been called and was on their way. I kept crying and when the paramedics got there they started asking me if I was hurt. I remember telling them that I was ok, I could get out of the car myself if they'd just let me, I didn't feel any major pain. THEY so?Easy answer in my mind, when my mom saw the car SHE was going to kill me! She didn't obviously but at that moment I didn't know she wouldn't. I really was very lucky, I escaped with nothing more than being covered in mud, bruised horribly like someone had beat me and a set of stitches across my backside from having slide across that emergency brake. I also became a hell of a lot more of a cautious driver after that incident.
Eventually, when I finally realized that there was not going to be some sudden windfall of money that would allow me to make the needed repairs I sadly sold my Monte for $500. (I also thought of killing my brother when a couple months later after getting my tax return he pointed out that if I hadn't sold her, which he had harped on me to do because he wasn't going to work on it, I could have used the return to get another engine. Grrr!!! Not that I think he wouldn't have put it in for me if I'd been able to get it but I think he still wanted to punish me for getting it without him being there in the first place. Not like he ever worked on it anyway but the point was moot by then. It had been worse for it to sit there tormenting me - a constant reminder that I couldn't be out driving her and there was nothing I could do to fix her either. Every other aspect of the car was perfect. It had only been that damned engine!
I had some other beaters along the way, a couple more Montes in fact but they were sadly lacking in the class that first one had even though they at least ran! It wasn't until 1987 that I felt like I'd finally gotten my dream car. An older friend of my brother had a constant turn over of cars that he'd buy, redo in one form or another, drive them a short time then sell them so he could be on to a new project. Oh that man put together some gorgeous rides! I was friends with both him and his wife so when they had problems and she'd left him I'd spent a lot of time talking to him and her on the phone trying to get them to work things out. It was during that time that he'd decided to put together a 1982 Monte Carlo. As soon as he'd told me his plans I told him I was going to buy it from him. That's how this car was put together specifically with me in mind. He'd consult me on what he was doing and asked me what I'd like. He took out the six cylinder and put in a 350, put a shift kit in the transmission, popped and filled the trunk lock, added a Hurst spoiler to the back, shaved and filled all the emblems, put in a toggle for the trunk, power antenna and had the hood louvered. I think he had it painted blue to match my eyes. *wink* She was my baby. Of course not every thing that could have been done was because we all had limited incomes so we did what we could afford. I bought the car for $3000 but she was worth so much more to me. I used any excuse I could to drive that car anywhere I could. *grin* And I should say now that by then I'd gotten married and my husband was not allowed to drive my car unless under dire emergencies. I figured we'd bought him two new cars since we'd been married so he didn't need to touch mine. Besides, he was safer in his economy cars, mine was too much for him to handle. As I said, she wasn't perfect. When Mike had changed out the engine he'd not changed any of the suspension or steering components so I had to be extra cautious of dips in the road which cause the wheel well to slam down on the suspension. Within the first year I'd put almost another $2000 in replacing that as well as new shocks and tires. I loved the looks and comments I got with that car. No matter where I'd go people would crane their necks to get a look…
Now, the not so nice part of my story… There has always been something lurking on the edge of my passion for cars and driving… When I was nine years old I was diagnosed with a genetic vision disorder called Retinitis Pigmentosa. The best way to describe it is that it's a reduction of the circulation in the eye. Just like any other cell in the body those in the eyes produce waste that has to be removed. Unfortunately for those of us with RP the waste isn't removed fast enough so that eventually a plaque builds up on the rods, which process light for night vision, and cones, which process light for day vision, of the retina and causes them to atrophy and die. RP is a fickle thing. It can progress very slowly or rapidly and differently for no apparent reason. There is no cure and it does lead to eventual blindness by reducing visual fields and the ability to process light and images, though thankfully, not usually total black blindness as most people would imagine it to be. Most with RP are still able to read with assistive devices and hold jobs in the workforce but they will use some sort of assistance, more so as the disease progresses. The first indications were when I was little I'd walk into things in a dark room because I couldn't see them. The night vision is the first to be affected. Because of this I never drove at night. Of course when I was a teen I thought this was the most horrendous injustice there could have been and spend plenty of time throwing myself pity parties. Again with that gift of hindsight I realize that not being able to drive at night most likely kept me from getting into trouble of one kind or another that was a bit harder to find in broad daylight. It also meant that I had to chose my friends more carefully because even if I weren't driving someone else was and I had to literally trust the people I was with to be my eyes if I was with them at night. Of course teens want their independence which means I felt isolated even more at times because sometimes those friends simply didn't want the responsibility of looking out for me. I think that's why my ability to have that freedom that driving gave me, even if it were only during the day, was oh so valuable to me.
As I got older more of my daylight vision was becoming affected. I began to drive less. Mostly out of the fear of what I might miss more than what I could no longer actually see. Common sense ruling out, if I wasn't comfortable with the conditions of the day then I wasn't driving. As much as I loved driving I loved living more. I hated that this disease was stealing this love of mine away from me. The Monte sat for longer periods of time in the garage. The paint was dying, the exhaust needed replacing and I simply couldn't afford to do anything but watch her suffer. The only reason I didn't sell her then was that I couldn't let her go and she did come in handy when my husband's car had to have work done on it so he'd have to drive her, still as gently as a baby, during those times. During her dormancy my mother passed away. My brother, sister and I got some money from the estate and after a time I decided to bring my girl back to glory. I had a custom exhaust put on her, new brakes all around, new headliner to replace the one falling down, and last but not least, a much needed and better paint job. Again she was gorgeous! We were taking her to cruise-ins now and showing her off. I'd never had the money to put into glaming up much more than the interior and exterior so under the hood didn't look like a jewel but she ran with all she had when I'd step into it. *grin* In the time that I owned her, from May of 1987 till March of 2003 I put just under 20,000 miles on her and she showed that she'd been loved. Maybe it's because she looked like such a jewel that again it broke my heart to have her sit in the garage. My husband, though a good man was never into cars. My brother had long since moved to another state so I no longer had him to share and feed my passion for cars. So in a decision that I regret every moment I decided to sell my beauty. I don't think I was all that serious to begin with. That's why I was asking $5000 for a car that was over 20 years old and still had some major flaws to be taken care of. I also hadn't foreseen how that body style in all the GM makes would become so popular and that so many of the young men where salivating to get their hands on one and mine was a big prize at that price. So I sold her to a young man who I was later told tried to pass himself off as being the one who put her together. Guess he hadn't counted on a woman taking her car to cruise-ins over the years so others going the circuit knew where she came from and who had loved her so.You may ask why I find it so important to be telling you this story… Because I know that some of you understand my passion for the cars we love and all they represent to our life. They are so much more than transportation. They're extensions of whom and what we are; they're our art, our power, our freedom and all on wheels which makes them a portable history of our life. I also tell you this because there's a thief who has stolen that from me. My passion remains but I no longer am able to see well enough to drive at all. It's like a piece of who I am has been wiped out along with my sight and I ache from the hollowness that remains. I still persuade my husband to go to cruise ins but it's not the same without having something to show off and oh what I'd give to have that again, even if I wasn't able to be the one behind the wheel anymore. Seeing a Monte Carlo now still tugs at my heart but it also reminds me of what I'm missing. Most of all I tell you this because this disease still exists. It's still robbing me and others of the loves we have and the dreams we once dreamed. I still dream of driving to those far away places in a glorious machine that others envy but I'm afraid they're only that now, dreams. If by chance this may have touched a kindred heart then please, just a request if you will – help put an end to this thief, give a donation, anything you'd care to give on behalf of the love of cars and the joy and freedom they bring, please do so at http://www.blindness.org/
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