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"A cold car, regardless of vintage, is not a happy car. "
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Well, like my father said, "Wishin' the wood would chop itself will only make yer
family freeze," or something like that. Anyway, driving a thirty year old car year
'round in New England is a seasonal adventure. If you've never experienced the rhythmic,
synchronized scraping of windshields echoing through the neighborhood, then you just
haven't lived. Now as you may or may not know, when the temperature is hovering around
1, even owners of brand new cars cringe a bit before turning the key. So let's try to
start a car from 1971. First, I have to have faith in the battery. 600, 700, 800 cold
cranking amps? I forget what I bought in July. Worked great then. The vinyl interior feels like a glacier and my breath is condensing on the inside of the windshield. My Gortex-gloved hand fumbles with the key and I press my right foot to the floor. Requiring a true effort, the darn thing starts. A cold car, regardless of 
vintage, is not a happy car. Its' funny, in the summer months, I find my attention
focuses on the temperature gage and in the winter, I constantly feel the heater vents
for warm output. On a day when it really starts snowing and the roads begin to cover,
friends and co-workers ask me, "Oh my, are you going to be OK driving that old car in
this weather?" I suppose their concern is somewhat founded considering I have rear wheel
drive, box-like aerodynamics no power brakes and a slew of antiquated technologies. I
just reply, "Yeah it's amazing all those folks in the '70's didn't perish driving their
cars in foul weather."  Send it to us! We could publish your story here! |
