I suppose it could be said my family has hoarding tendencies. We're certainly packrats, although we don't get upset when it's time to purge some of the clutter. Mostly it's stuff acquired with a project in mind, and the project never really gets off the ground.
My whole life we've collected cars. Dad is an old musclecar fanatic, and he brought us up right. In my teens I drove a bevvy of classic muscle, mostly Mopar, that would make many a teen today drool, from the '74 Duster, to the '68 Coronet 500 convertible, Dodge Chargers in years ranging from '68 through '72, a Super-Bee, and a '73 Challenger. We even tore apart a mid '70s Sattelite to turn into a dirt track race car.
Oh, they were mostly half-junk beaters, but they were all undeniably cool.
After completing my Navy schools and being assigned to my first ship, I decided to buy my very first car all on my own. Well, mom and dad cosigned, but they never once had to make a payment on it or field a past due phone call. Go go gadget automatic drafts.
She was a Corvette (Banana) Yellow 1978 Chevy Corvette, and I loved her. She taught me much, like the feeling of accomplishment that comes with making, and completely paying for, a major purchase on one's own. She taught me to obey the speed limits, because bright yellow Corvettes are easy to notice. She taught me innumerable tricks to driving (and stopping) in the snow.
And she taught me that a Corvette will slide downhill on a thin sheet of sleet, even if placed in park.
Sadly, she isn't the most practical of cars, and when I became a broke college student I parked her at my parents' in favor of a much, much more economical Neon. I wasn't driving her, so I let the insurance lapse. Then the registration. Before I knew it, most of a decade passed without me even starting her up once. She became another rotting relic in my father's stable of cool but broken vehicles.
This weekend I decided to get off my ass and rectify the situation, so here she is, being prepped for surgery. I've washed off and vacuumed up years of dust and grime. I replaced her battery. My dad and I drained the gas tank (it was virtually empty). We found most of her hoses are rotting, mouse-chewed, or both, but we managed to get the engine to run for a minute or so on gas drizzled into the carbueretor.
Her heart still beats!
The really cool thing is I'm going to enjoy bonding with dad as we get her back into shape.
My whole life we've collected cars. Dad is an old musclecar fanatic, and he brought us up right. In my teens I drove a bevvy of classic muscle, mostly Mopar, that would make many a teen today drool, from the '74 Duster, to the '68 Coronet 500 convertible, Dodge Chargers in years ranging from '68 through '72, a Super-Bee, and a '73 Challenger. We even tore apart a mid '70s Sattelite to turn into a dirt track race car.
Oh, they were mostly half-junk beaters, but they were all undeniably cool.
After completing my Navy schools and being assigned to my first ship, I decided to buy my very first car all on my own. Well, mom and dad cosigned, but they never once had to make a payment on it or field a past due phone call. Go go gadget automatic drafts.
She was a Corvette (Banana) Yellow 1978 Chevy Corvette, and I loved her. She taught me much, like the feeling of accomplishment that comes with making, and completely paying for, a major purchase on one's own. She taught me to obey the speed limits, because bright yellow Corvettes are easy to notice. She taught me innumerable tricks to driving (and stopping) in the snow.
And she taught me that a Corvette will slide downhill on a thin sheet of sleet, even if placed in park.
Sadly, she isn't the most practical of cars, and when I became a broke college student I parked her at my parents' in favor of a much, much more economical Neon. I wasn't driving her, so I let the insurance lapse. Then the registration. Before I knew it, most of a decade passed without me even starting her up once. She became another rotting relic in my father's stable of cool but broken vehicles.
This weekend I decided to get off my ass and rectify the situation, so here she is, being prepped for surgery. I've washed off and vacuumed up years of dust and grime. I replaced her battery. My dad and I drained the gas tank (it was virtually empty). We found most of her hoses are rotting, mouse-chewed, or both, but we managed to get the engine to run for a minute or so on gas drizzled into the carbueretor.
Her heart still beats!
The really cool thing is I'm going to enjoy bonding with dad as we get her back into shape.
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