Today my (first) car tragically died on the QEW on the way into Toronto. It was 21. It was a 1988 LTD Crown Victoria that I got last year, coming off its first owner and 200 000km, it hit 320 before it died today [with what looks like a large collection of shrapnel in the engine bay] that said the interior was falling apart and I could never quite get the smell of curry out of the back seat [which was confusing seeing as the only prior owner was a Ukrainian living in Bumfuck Nowhere, Saskatchewan], and the steering had gone from "lists a bit" to "get an arm workout driving straight" Never had sex in it, apparently the ladies were too busy calling me Kerpal to get the feeling, despite the fact you could likely land a helicoptor on the roof [and a larger helicopter next to it on the hood]. FOCUS: Describe your first, or worst car
My first car was a 1992 Ford Explorer Eddie Bauer edition that was actually pretty nice. It was my second car that was a rolling piece of shit: That, plus a shitty old white toolbox on the back, and a big dent above the rear driver side wheel well. It was a standard transmission, and could only get up to 70 on the interstate if I had a tailwind. It was a piece of shit, but it did have a lot of character. When my sister was younger she gave it the nickname "little red poof-poof" which of course stuck. I traded it in for the car I have now and they did me a favor when they gave me $500 for it. It literally died right as I pulled it into the dealership.
I've had lots of shitty cars/ trucks. I had a 1978 Ford f-100. Thing weighed 3 metric tons. Got 5 miles to the gallon. But when I got drunk and rear ended some chick in a compact it was devastation. The Beast didn't even have a dent. I actually got the motor rebuilt on the thing. It was much cheaper than paying a note and insurance on something new. Did I mention I didn't insurance on that truck for years? I scanned a copy of my old insurance papers, edited the date, and would get the beast inspected at mom and pop auto places. Always worked fine. Now I drive a 1980 el camino. This thing was cherry. Notice I say was. I recently rear ended some compact. I wasn't drunk this time, but the 'mino didn't fare very well. Now, I'm riding around in a wrecked car, with a bright yellow rope tied to my hood and through/ around/ on the bumper, this way the hood doesn't fly up and smash my window. Oh yeah, I can't open my drivers side door. I have to crawl in and out through the passenger door. FML.
First/Worst car: Wasn't mine but it was the first car I used: was the parents'. Toyota minivan, and let me tell you, it was purple. They claimed it was maroon, but you'd have to be blind to not know it was purple. There was about a 1 week period where the side door stopped working and magically started working again. But most mysteriously was this one instance: I was out grabbing a bite to eat, and when I got back in the car, the key simply wouldn't turn the ignition. Couldn't figure it out, spent 30 minutes there trying to fix it. So I threw a hail mary, I was pissed, tired, and just wanted to drive home. So I got the passenger to open the sliding door, trying to think of things that had broken before. Turned the key. The car started. To this day I still have no idea why that worked, doubt I ever will. The ignition got replaced the next week though. Needless to say, a purple minivan that started with the side door open wasn't exactly the best way to roll in my teen years.
My first car was a 1991 Buick LaSabre. The thing was a tank and basically saved my life, I hit someone head on going about 70 (their fault, not mine) and sure, I was trapped in the car 20 feet off the road into a field, but all I had was bruising after the accident.
1970 Mercury Capri. Sexy European my ass, money pit for a poor high school senior is more like it. I remind my father on a monthly basis that the only mistake he ever made raising me was to give in and let me buy that piece of crap. He should have let me buy that Lotus Europa like I really wanted.
Thanks to the magic that is Google Maps StreetView, I actually have a (pixely, grainy) picture of my first car to save forever. A hand-me-down 1991 Mazda Navajo. My stepdad was planning on junking it and, when I got my license, decided to see how long I could keep the thing alive. Ended up getting a solid two years out of it. And by "solid," I mean extraordinarily fun. We ghetto-packed close to a dozen people in the car on several occasions, went off-roading at any opportunity we could, and even went on a few ill-advised booze cruises that could've easily landed me in jail. Also, because the back seats folded down, it served amply as a bedroom on wheels. God damn, I miss that thing.
I used to drive a 1991 Honda Accord in period red. In a town like LA people thought I was a Mexican and would pass me on the freeway and call me a beaner. I couldn't get a break.
1989 Chevy Cavalier. Handed down to me from my sister, which was a good thing because I treated that thing like shit. Was backing out and I sideswiped my buddies grandma boat car (read late 70's oldsmobile) and his front bumper crushed my drivers side door. I told my parents that someone had hit it in the parking lot at school and had no idea what happened. That car got me accused of trying to abduct a kid when I was 16/17. Some little girl said someone driving a white car with black "scratches" (the black plastic parts in that picture) tried to abduct her by luring her with candy. Well I was driving home from my buddies one time and a cop saw my car and assumed her description of "black scratches" meant completely smashed in drivers side door, and apparently ran my plates. Cue me and my family going out of town for a week so we aren't able to answer our home phone and us getting back to well over 20 messages urging us to call the cops and meet with them. We finally met them and I got grilled for a good hour or so by the local county sheriff before he finally believed me that I was at our schools basketball game over a hour away from the town where the girl was enticed. What sucked is the cops had to call all my buddies I was with that night, so they all knew I was being questioned for trying to pick up a 6 year old girl.
1985 Volkswagen Vanagon. All the weird looks I got driving this, along with constantly being pulled over by the police made it all worth driving this mechanical nightmare.
My first car was a 1990 Honda Accord that my dad said, "Look, it's on its last legs, and will be facing 2000 bucks worth of repairs in about two months. You want it for those last months? Go ahead." It had 275,000 miles on it, was on its first clutch, and had more rust than an abandoned oil rig. Whenever I started moving, the transmission would slip, making a horrible chirping sound as it tried to hold on. I had a coat hanger jammed into where the antenna used to be, and the upholstery was stained from when my brother had a tantrum and spilled his juice box of orange juice everywhere. A month after I got it, the exhaust seals fell apart and I had to ditch it because it was so ridiculously loud. Rest in peace, Red Car.
That thing is fucking badass. My first car was a 1984 (coulda been 85, I forget now) Pontiac Grand Prix Brougham. 305 with jerry-rigged dual exhaust, man that sing sounded mean. Unfortunately, the thing had probably as much power as a Civic, with about twice as much car to move, so it was slow as hell. The suspension on it was pretty much shot, but that simply meant for an amazingly comfy ride down dirt and gravel roads on camping trips. The seats had essentially cushions attached to them, and was probably still to date, the comfiest car I've ever ridden in. People would call the backseat quite often if there was more than 2 of us riding in it. Had some good memories packing 6 or 7 people into that thing, riding into the school parking lot at the final bell, with my buddies head sticking out the sunroof, scraping the shitty exhaust on every single speed bump along the way, with all of us inside laughing our baked asses off, while getting stared at by everyone else. Coming home from a concert one night, the rev's started to really jump around and the throttle response went from decent to fuck-all in about 5 minutes. Turns out I had forgotten to check the tranny fluid, ran it dry, and blew the tranny completely. Stupid move on my part, but meh, you gotta learn from your mistakes and move on. Probably part of the reason the tranny blew:
My first and only car so far is a 1996 Mercury Cougar: Palm Beach Edition. The maroonish red Palm Beach edition comes with a nice black cloth top and gives the illusion of a convertible without all the joy that comes with driving around without a top on. On each side right behind the backseat windows the Palm Beach edition had a nice plastic badge of superiority that had a palm tree on it, then worded in plastic underneath it says "Palm Beach Edition". However, in the years of non-convertible fun, on one side the emblem fell off and on the other the words. The Palm Beach Edition comes with a fierce V8 that would be fast if the car didn't weigh more than most trucks, and dual exhaust. Although it was fast enough to beat an Asian kid in a Honda Civic. I have had sex in the backseat, which just happened to be on a New Years Eve right before driving home. Having sex in the backseat of a two door car is a feat. Having drunk sex in the back of a two door car with a not so skinny chick is a different story. It was so hot and musty in that thing that I had to turn the AC on max power to keep from dehydrating from sweating. I still have this car and it still runs like a beast. It has 190,000 miles on it and has never had a major problem. We got it from some old guy that used to drive it down to Florida every year (I live in Iowa), and for the 7 years that I've had it have loved it. The front seats are like fucking lay-z-boy recliners. Oh, and it still has the whitewall tires on it. Keepin it classy.
White, circa-1970s Buick Regal. Maroon interior with the back seat covered in white dog hair. Huge, cracked dash with every indicator light on all the time. Small wire fan bolted on top of the dash because the A/C didn't work. Windows wouldn't roll down. Which made driving in Las Vegas' triple-digit heat a real blast. Whenever I drove through an occasional puddle the car would stall, so the few times it actaully rained I had to cancel all plans and race home. That summer, I got a job as a runner for an Ad agency. Two weeks in, I braked for a stop sign and sailed through the intersection shitting bricks. I was able to eventually coast to a stop. By then I couldn't take it anymore and had it scrapped.
I'm blessed with driving my parent's 2002 Acura 3.5RL. But someday, I'll be able to get an old car/SUV, and hopefully weld steel to it in places so I may have as close to a armored personnel carrier as possible. Also, don't bother painting any of that welded steel, the rust will "give it character". That or find some '70s car similar to a Ford Falcon and go all Mad Max Pursuit Special on it.
1986 Pontiac Parisienne Brougham My father bought it for me to keep me safe. Which was wise, 'cause I can't drive for shit. To this day. I hit everything with that car. Telephone poles, a fire hydrant, curbs, my orthodontist's building...you name it, I've driven over it. Never hit any humans, animals, or other cars though! I know my limits. (Not my actual car. She was navy blue. Her name was Prudence. USS Prudence.)
My first car was a 1990 Toyota Corolla that had over 200k miles on it when I inherited it. The best part about it was that it had a busted muffler, so people from miles away could hear me coming. If you heard it before you saw it, you would have expected a big ass truck with a flow master to come rolling up. Though it was a source of embarrassment, the great thing about having a piece of shit car in high school was that I could tear it up without worrying about the consequences. I ended up with about 260k miles on that car before the alternator finally went out and I traded it in.
My first car was a total piece of shit when I got it. I found it sitting in a field with no engine or transmission and the interior was trashed. When I drove it during high school it was about 6 different colors and had several significant dents. Once I did a little (lot) of work, it was pretty sweet. It was a 1966 Olds 442. This car is now sitting in my parent's garage until I finally settle down in a place where I can keep it secure and work on it without apartment management hassling me. I don't have a picture available at work so this isn't my car. Mine is blue, not teal. My current car is significantly less cool but more reliable. A 2002 Chevrolet Malibu.
That beauty was $600 and was unbelievably comfortable to drive. Unfortunately, it overheated and the power steering went while on the highway doing 70. It's tough to get to the shoulder without power steering and smoke billowing out of the hood.
The first car that I owned was a 1985 Ford Tempo. Nothing special. Bought it for about $1000 off some old lady my dad knew. Was a stick shift and lasted me 6 years. I only had to replace the muffler and the clutch. I only got rid of it because the chassis cracked and it wasn't worth fixing. But, when I was 16 and got my license I had only this to drive. It's not this exact car, but my mom had a 1977 or 78 Mercury Bobcat Wagon. The official color of this car was rust....fucking RUST! I have no idea where my step dad got it, but it only had about 36k original miles on it. It was stored in somebodies garage that he knew for years and my mom needed a car. Well, I hated it. I was embarassed to be seen in it. It was miserable at first. Turned out, everybody thought it was the coolest car ever. It was so bad that it ended up being cool. Nobody I knew had ever seen something so embarassing. But, being a wagon, we could fit a shitload of people in the back. That car had a crazy old garage smell of oil, old leather and just oldness. My one friend had an old 350 engine from a wrecked 70's Camero in his garage and a group of us talked about putting the engine in it as it should of fit, but we were 16-17 at the time and were too lazy and distracted by pussy and whatever else consumed us at the time to really work on it. I got my own car about 6 months later. I would of kept it, but the newer vehicle had air conditioning, an actual radio and not an 8 track player and even though all my friends seemed to love it, it wasn't the best vehicle to pick up dates with. They didn't quite see the charm. I'll have to try to find a couple pictures of the actual car next time I'm home. I'm sure it's still on the road somewhere. I think my step dad gave it to a friend when they needed a car and it's probably still being passed around.