Interesting that my Intrepid's engine blowing would be the catalyst for me finding my dream car. More precisely, Jen finding my dream car. Evidently, she and Scotty have been conspiring for some time to find me a 66 Galaxie.
Now I own one again. A red 2-dr hardtop with a 289ci small block. It's perfect. A blank canvas.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
66?
"What's the significance of the number 66?", you may ask. Numbers, words, pictures - these and many other things can carry any amount of significance you choose to give them. There's a whole discipline (Symbology) devoted to it.
For me, 66 represents two things. A car and a trip. Both of those conjure grand ideas - freedom, big spaces, and Americana.
The trip is self-explanatory. A journey that many others have made before. A journey that my wife and I plan to take someday. That is not the purpose of this blog.
A CAR
Those who know me know that I've had cars with character. There was my first car - the Chaotic War Machine (also known as the Vova or the Dirty Snowball), my 77 Chevy Nova. A 4-dr straight-6 grocery getter with red-plaid bench seats was not my idea of a cool car when I was in high school, but my friends remember many hairy nights riding in (or on) that beast. It took all the abuse I could throw at it, and kept running.
There were less memorable vehicles - my 83 Ford F250 pickup, the 88 Olds Cutlass Supreme, the 83 Buick Skylark (totaled before I had it paid for), the 89 F150, the 2000 Ford Focus, and the Toyota Corolla.
The most notorious was my 1966 Ford Galaxie LTD 4-dr hardtop. 4 tons of Detroit steel with a 352 ci powerplant that woke every dog in 3 blocks when I'd fire her up in the morning. Scotty dubbed her my Hoopty, and it stuck. My then-wife was jealous of her (the Hoopty took better care of me) and finally convinced me to sell her. Years later the then-wife became my ex-wife and the Hoopty still haunted my dreams. She'd been sold in an auction and I bemoaned ever selling her. I could only assume she was at the bottom of a junk pile, victim of some demo derby.
My friends grew tired of me talking about it, and it became a dream best-forgotten.
For me, 66 represents two things. A car and a trip. Both of those conjure grand ideas - freedom, big spaces, and Americana.
The trip is self-explanatory. A journey that many others have made before. A journey that my wife and I plan to take someday. That is not the purpose of this blog.
A CAR
Those who know me know that I've had cars with character. There was my first car - the Chaotic War Machine (also known as the Vova or the Dirty Snowball), my 77 Chevy Nova. A 4-dr straight-6 grocery getter with red-plaid bench seats was not my idea of a cool car when I was in high school, but my friends remember many hairy nights riding in (or on) that beast. It took all the abuse I could throw at it, and kept running.
There were less memorable vehicles - my 83 Ford F250 pickup, the 88 Olds Cutlass Supreme, the 83 Buick Skylark (totaled before I had it paid for), the 89 F150, the 2000 Ford Focus, and the Toyota Corolla.
The most notorious was my 1966 Ford Galaxie LTD 4-dr hardtop. 4 tons of Detroit steel with a 352 ci powerplant that woke every dog in 3 blocks when I'd fire her up in the morning. Scotty dubbed her my Hoopty, and it stuck. My then-wife was jealous of her (the Hoopty took better care of me) and finally convinced me to sell her. Years later the then-wife became my ex-wife and the Hoopty still haunted my dreams. She'd been sold in an auction and I bemoaned ever selling her. I could only assume she was at the bottom of a junk pile, victim of some demo derby.
My friends grew tired of me talking about it, and it became a dream best-forgotten.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
