My old car

There was an article making the Internet news rounds tonight about “10 Cars That Never Die.”  I half expected to see my 1973 Toyota Corolla on the list. Now that was a great car!

June, 1973. I was in the Navy but home on a 30-day leave. My ’68 GTO had given up the ghost in spectacular fashion and I needed a more reliable vehicle. Plus, I was going to be out at sea for an extended period and my bro would be able to use the car while I was gone. By the time I got back home, he would have the money saved for his own sled and any bugs in the Toyota would be known. Win-win, as they say.

So, I got this little Toyota. It was a five-speed manual with the stick on the floor and it ran smooth as grease so long as you didn’t grind the gears. It fit my lanky corpus like a glove.

Okay, so it wasn’t the most elegant ride. It was a god-awful orange color and shaped like a half-squashed beetle. But it ran well and forever on very little gas. And the front seats reclined all the way, which came in handy one time when I was between situations, so to speak. I slept in it more than once. Make that much more. I used to love parking on the cliffs above the beach at Santa Cruz and just snoozing away.

That car saw me through four girlfriends and three jobs. It survived my brother and his friend Greg rolling it on its side and me rebuilding the engine using those little number tags because I had no real idea what I was doing. It survived me and then my brother and then me again and then my friend Bill and then who knows who as its primary operator and took all we could dish out. Last time I knew its whereabouts, it had WAY over two hundred grand on the odometer.

I think my old Toyota should have made it into the article. I wonder where it is now.

I like things that work well. I really loved that little car.