I must confess - I’ve got gasoline in my veins. From as far back as I can remember playing with my Hubley metal models as a little kid, to drawing cars instead of taking notes in chemistry class (sorry Mr. Yost), I’ve been hooked. Instead of excelling academically in high school, I worked as a pump jockey in a service station - remember them? I bought my first car while working at the Skelly station. It was a yellow and white ‘56 Plymouth Belvedere - 4-door hardtop with no back window (never could find a replacement). It had a “power pack” V8 and pushbutton transmission, and couldn’t have passed a VW Bug going downhill with a tailwind. But, it ran and sounded hot with its blown-out glass pack mufflers and rusty tail pipes. It was junk, but it was mine and I was in heaven.
Fast forward thirty years and now I’m a “practical” family man, a college degree (or two) under my belt, and some relatively forgettable years playing a mechanical engineer behind me. But still crazy enough to have built a garage bigger than the house I grew up in and filling it with cars and more car stuff than I can keep track of.
The problem with cars and me is that I want one of each. But I have to settle with what will fit in my garage - and what I can afford. But I can dream and lust in my heart for the cars that I can’t have, at least not today.
And I do like writing about cars, fixing cars, buying cars, selling cars, disassembling cars, assembling cars - well, you get the picture. Now you know the “why.”
Thank you for taking some time out of your day.
