There was a time
when my sense of self preservation was almost nonexistent. It was not uncommon for me to flip or roll a car, and I went through rides like clean underwear.
Of course, at the time, you could buy a reasonably reliable used car for$200. That was a weeks wages, in the day, and so long as I managed to get a few weeks out of a car I was ahead.
My insurance provider (My mom’s best friend) assured me that as long as the trashed cars went to the yard and not to a police impound, my rates wouldn’t rise. I had a friend with a truck and a towchain and whatever I managed to trash, we got it to the yard, and more than once the yard gave me almost what I had in it.
In retrospect, I sent a dozen cars to the yard with nearly full gas tanks. Well, it was only 60 cents a gallon then, I suppose.
Nowadays, like most people, I’m much more sedate, because I cannot afford to damage my daily driver. Oh, I still drive, but I don’t take any chances that might result in sufficient damage to immobilize it.
I still work with people who have an income level that would allow them to destroy cars- new cars! At the rate I used to, and some of them still do. Two of my co workers cannot get anyone to ride in a car with them at all, including their own families.
I often think of buying one of those old beaters again. I think about the times I regained consciousness in the car on it’s side running because I pushed it too hard around a curve and ended up in a cornfield. I think about the understeer in the Escort as i tossed it around the local farm roads until I snapped the suspension off the right hand side. I think about the local cop who pulled his gun and pointed it at me and said “LET ME OUT OF THIS CAR RIGHT NOW”. I think about the pee stains he left on the seat.
I drove and trashed a lot of cars. A friend has a Corvair I could put my hands on but I’d have to get it across the country; it would be perfect for those purposes and no doubt a hoot to drive. I love tail heavy cars and that’s the grandmother of them, here in the US.
There aren’t as many places to do those things, anymore. And frankly, driving like that is safest when limited to closed roads of tracks, there are too many idiots.
But I do miss the days of driving cars like I stole them, title in the glove box already signed ready to take to the yard, mismatched tires and rims, smoking exhaust and steaming radiator and carpet that smelled like cheap cigars and cheaper booze. I had a lot more fun driving then than I do now.
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I’ve only had two cars that I purposely tried to drive to death.
One was a ’78 malibu that just pissed me off one too many times. A friend and I tore around the countryside till we got tired, parked it in front of the bar then watched it puke all the coolant out onto the street.
The other was a ’79 Volare(oh oh oh oh….). That car I liked, but had picked up a newer, nicer replacement so thought I’d thrash it one last time. I ran through a whole tank of gas with my foot to the floor, rowing the gears without bothering to clutch and the engine just screaming. When I finally pulled over the tires were smoking, but the car itself just sat and purred – well purred as a sewing machine might. Solid lifter slant-6’s are hard to kill.
I once drove a car that had been hit everyplace but the ashtray, was rusting through the quarter-panels, and had a non-functional driver’s side door, and I piloted it accordingly…
…and it was a ’73 Dodge Dart 340 Sport.
Oh, the tales I could tell if this comment form weren’t so small!
By the time I got to my 30th birthday and my second Porsche, I learned the difference between spirited driving and willful vehicle abuse.
Just because you can afford two excellent hammers doesn’t mean you smack their heads together for no reason.
I am constantly reminded of what tame teenage years I had… And 20’s and 30’s for that matter.
Lol. You say “willful vehicle abuse” as if it were a bad thing. I learned my vehicles limits by pushing beyond them. And i own 6 hammers that were designed to be hit with other hammers.
Someday i plan to take the ” old” explorer, and see just what it will do. If i can get some extra 5 points, ill see if i can make people pee themselves just like the old days.
It challenges my agnosticism to say that the universe had other plans for me and those who rode with me in my early 20s.
’66 Dodge Dart with a 225 slant six, cracked block, recapped tires and a tomato juice can repair to the exhaust pipe. Wheezed and chattered and clanked like a 1944 T34, so I turned WLS up louder and drove on, as fast as she’d run on the chip and seal roads. Still miss that car.
Heh. I learned from the best. That’s my Dad “leading the pack”.
http://www.3widespicturevault.com/50spics&vitals/c04.01.06_123_CLA_WAL_0052_1.htm
Say the word, brother, and we’ll hook up the trailer and go get your corvair.
THe Dodge will get 20 MPG on the highway with a trailer behind it. Maybe more with a car on the trailer.
Seriously, say the word….I need a break.
Ah, to be young again. It would hurt to much to do that shit now.
Maybe, if I had just left the doctor with the death sentence cancer provides, maybe.
I bought a 68 plymouth fury III in 1980 from a guy for $50. Over the next 3 years I put 40,000 miles on that car, half of that was on dirt roads. I took it antelope hunting several times. You ain’t seen nothing until you see a dirt brown fury III catch a little air as it comes flying over a ridge out in the middle of the Wyoming prairie with your Dad behind the wheel with the biggest grin I have ever seen on his face. (BTW, you can put six full grown, field dressed antelope in the truck along with all the other crap that was always rolling around back there.)
Near the end I kept a case of the cheapest oil I could find in the trunk -ritual was – fill up the gas tank – add a quart of oil.
Before all four tires started showing steel, I had it up to 115 on highway 87 between Clayton NM and Amarillo TX.
I loved the look on the guy’s face in the grocery store parking lot when his wife backed into side of the car and smashed in the passenger side back door. I got out of the car, met him by the damaged door. While he was fumbling for his wallet, I looked at the door, then walked around the car to the drivers side and said “It don’t look so bad from over here. Have a nice day.” And hopped back into the car roared off in a cloud of blue smoke.
When I finally got rid of that car, the kid asked me what was wrong with the car. I told him the list of what is right is a lot shorter. He asked what was right? I told him – the upholstery isn’t torn and most of the glass ain’t broken. He offered me $75 bucks. I took it. His Dad just stood there shaking his head.
My little brother rolled the ’68 Ford shop truck, T-boned dad’s ’56 Thunderbird into someone crossing against a red light, and ripped the undercarriage out of a ’73 Mustang convertible going over a highway median island, all over a span of about two weeks time.
Dad still permitted him to live to adulthood. He always liked him best.
A friend of mine’s dad owned a wrecking yard. We always had an ample supply of material on hand for impromptu demolition derbys around the place. Around Halloween, these vehicles would come in handy, since at that point they were deniable as well as disposable.
And the amazing part is we survived… AND didn’t end up UNDER the jail!
Ahh yes. The good old days when we would pool our money, go to the junk yard and buy a beater that ran, drive it out to a hill of plowed dirt and haul ass to about halfway down and crank her over. Whoever rolled the most times, won. [This with four kids in it and before seatbelts.]
Cars in those days could take it and all we ever got was a broken arm maybe and ate a lot of dirt.
Half the school would turn out to watch and give us a lift home.
Good times.
’78 pinto with a leak in the gas tank that didn’t allow me to fill it past 3/4 full.
Drove it for 6 years. I couldn’t kill that goddamn thing no matter how hard I tried.
Skip? Won what?
Street cred.
Or a ride the next time.