To all the girls I have loved before

To all the girls I have loved before

The American obsession with the automobile is a well-studied, overly familiar, and hackneyed topic. I wouldn’t be bringing anything new to the table by discussing it in generalities, but my personal story of forty-plus years of driving and car ownership may be a bit unique for this region. It might warrant storytelling for a few car buffs, so please indulge.

An old friend of mine recently advertised his Sunbeam Tiger for sale. As of this morning, he said that he wouldn’t take less than $42,000 for it. I wanted to ask him what was the most he would take for it, but it is admittedly a bit more exotic than anything I have ever owned. I may have come close a few times, but never quite a Sunbeam.

My first car was a 1949 Mercury. It wasn’t quite as slick as the one James Dean drove in “Rebel Without a Cause,” but it came close. It was a four-door (with “suicide” doors), a visor, a push-button start, three on the tree, and a short-wave radio. Regrettably, I put way too many miles on the old girl and the flat-head engine developed a head gasket problem, overheated and seized.

At the time, I needed reliable transportation for high school, so my beautiful Merc was cast aside for a 1973 Ford Maverick. It was a base model and a relatively cheaply made car. Like too many things in life, I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but now those are sought after and command a pretty substantial price. Live and learn.

As soon as I was able to afford my way out of the Maverick, I went European and purchased a 1976 Peugeot 504. The French are an interesting bunch. They made an underpowered, somewhat unreliable car, yet it had a beast of a suspension system and was arguably one of the most comfortable cars I have ever driven. It was well appointed, had an amazing dash display and the bucket seat wrapped around me like a glove.

My roommate at the time had a Saab turbo, and (speaking theoretically, of course) there may have been occasional contests of speed on the Rock Creek Parkway out of Georgetown at 3:00 in the morning. The Saab got me in the straights, but I never had to let up the gas on my Peugeot on the curves.

As much as I enjoyed the Peugeot, it didn’t like wet weather, which is prevalent in the former swamp called Washington D.C. I replaced everything in the electrical system at least a couple of times, and it was still never reliable. That’s when I purchased my first and only new car, a 1984 Ford Tempo. It was junk; cheap junk. It had an unusual look for the time, but that was it. Not a memorable vehicle.

When I decided to go back to school and get a degree, I needed to eliminate that car payment and purchased the best car I have ever owned. It was a mint green, 1969 Sedan DeVille. I paid $400 for all 18 feet of it (which comes out to about $22 per foot). Despite my lack of aptitude for mechanics, I bought a Chilton’s manual and a couple of brake rotors from a junkyard. I clumsily did my own brake job but managed to drive that old car from Maryland to Loretto Heights in Denver, burning oil the whole way. What a fabulous, majestic vehicle.

Since then, I have had the pleasure of owning a Saab 99, a ‘67 VW Bus (split window), an Audi 5000 (huge sunroof), a Triumph Spitfire (very nice in the mountains), a couple of Jeeps (CJ7 and a Wagoneer), a Toyota van, and a Honda Accord. I also managed to land a Honda Elite Scooter, which was ultimately more reliable than any of the aforementioned cars.

I am pleased to say that now life has brought me around to my love, and I am driving a 30-year old Caddy again. Unlike my old 1969 sedan, this one is just a smaller, glorified Oldsmobile, but it has all of those little extras that make a luxury car special. The courtesy lights alone should be celebrated in song and story.

As I age, those (alleged) contests of speed are long out of my system. Instead, I am that one annoying guy who observes the speed limit while driving through the canyon on Norris Avenue. And yes, I brake for squirrels and turkeys. If you get stuck behind me, don’t take it personally. I don’t mean to hold you up. I just want you to check out my fins.