Cedar Shavings in the Garage


Wherein Our Heroine Gets Inappropriately Nostalgic about a Pretty Crappy Vehicle.
Like most people of my generation, I have owned my share of beaters, clunkers, and rustbuckets. I actually own a car now that I like - it's been referred to as a "Suburban Mom-Mobile," but that's a bit of an outdated reference. All the suburban moms I've seen lately don't drive station wagons anymore: they drive SUVs, which means my little wagon is an "Outdated Suburban Mom-Mobile." But my little station wagon has a zippy motor and heated seats, so my inner speed demon is soothed at the same time as my frozen behind. In my youth, however, I was perfectly happy with whatever had four wheels and took me somewhere more or less reliably.

My first car was a diesel Volkswagen Rabbit, color red, top speed: 65 MPH (0 to 60 in about 20 minutes or so), max. capacity: 8 bendy teenagers (over a short distance, that is, and forget about getting over a speedbump). The aftermarket stereo that was in the car had a stupid bit of design: the Rewind/Fast Forward controls were accessed by twisting a rather stiff knob up or down. Due to my family's tendency to obsess over a single song, the rewind/fast forward control button had cracked, leaving a hostile and intransigent little stem of metal sticking out of the dash, not unlike a miniature version of the metal bit that sticks out of your stove if you remove the knob. No problem for your average multitasking teenager: I simply commandeered a pair of pliers to twist the bit of metal and rewound my obsession du jour to my heart's content. Little Red Rabbit met its death at the jaws of a Buick whose owner thought stop-signs were optional. RIP, little crapmobile.

Living in the country means that if your parents want to be let off the hook for driving you everywhere, it is the better part of valor to get the teenager some wheels. The insurance money from Little Red went to Bailey, a tan Subaru station wagon that was completely unremarkable. Its blandness was eclipsed by the acquisition of a truly cheapo bit of engineering: a Subaru "Justy." Five-speed, four-wheel drive, and three honkin' cylinders of power. Who could blame me for passing up Bailey's beige comfort for the golf-cart soul of the Justy? My inexplicable preference for the little 2-door must have been a matter of discussion, but I can't remember the details.

That little car ended up being one of the best idiotic decisions I ever made. During my post-college years of penury, it asked next to nothing of me. It filled up for a fiver. Replacing all four tires cost less than $100. Despite its three-cylinder gutlessness, it got stuck exactly once, thanks to the little four-wheel-drive that could. It served me well from 1990 to 1994, and despite my friends' razzing about "winding it up" or "feeding the hamsters" when it came time to fill the tiny tank, it got me from here to there with raffish reliability. I may not miss it, but I sure have a nostalgic fondness for that little bucket.

Posted: Wednesday - January 26, 2005 at 08:04 AM         | |

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