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vanillafluffyAbout a mile and a half away, there's this very informal used car lot...and as I was driving by this afternoon on the way to work, I saw it: a classic Impala, "For Sale" sign on the front windshield.
Now, lest you envision the Metallicar, I will be scrupulously honest and say, NO. For starters, the original paint job was either white, pale yellow or beige---it was difficult to say from the glimpse I got while driving past doing 30---and it wasn't merely faded paint, it looked gnarly.
My brain immediately boggled. Visions of acquiring it danced through my head.
Given the nostalgia market, I'd be amazed if the car was remotely affordable for yours truly. Possibly, but in that case, I'd guess that it would not be running, and might, in fact, be lacking an engine or transmission entirely. I'm not a bad diagnostician, due to a series of crappy cars that have developed almost every known automotive ailment, but I'm slow with tools even when I'm right about the problem.
This is the point where I must confess that, while I know quite a bit about cars, it's largely theorhetical knowledge. As far as hands-on experience goes, limited sums it up fairly well. I have no problems changing out a battery (including new clamps), I've replaced starters and alternators (okay, one starter and one alternator), assorted bulbs, and I once rebuilt the head for a 1974 Mercury Comet with a straight-six engine. (I had access to a machine shop at the time and was supervised by an instructor.) And less than two years ago, I wired up a muffler with a coathanger and a pair of pliers; it took me less than 20 minutes, and that sucker STAYED wired.
However, the prospect of yours truly bending over an engine compartment with a wrench---or madder yet, crawling *under* the vehicle---is only marginally less daunting than the prospect of landing a jet plane. Blindfolded. At Orlando Airport. During a hurricane.
And yet---my inner badass grins. She's wearing overalls and a grimy tee shirt and shit-kicker boots and is already looking forward to opening it up on US 1. She has a pair of fuzzy dice earmarked for the rearview mirror and wonders if it'll attract the southern-fried equivalent of John Winchester. And she---I---have already decided that the name on the vanity plate in front will be "Christo". To the people who look confused, I'll just smile and say it's an inside joke. To the ones who get the reference, I'll say I don't know *what* possessed me to buy that car....
In my head, it already has a coat of flat grey primer curing while I work on the mechanical problems, with some DIY tribal in matte black just for grins and giggles.
I know perfectly well that if it needs, say, a rebuilt engine, I haven't the tools, the physical strength, the experience, not to mention the money to take on such a challenge. And that it probably needs extensive body work before that hypothetical primer coat. Seductive as the thought of my very own Impala is, it's also completely insane. Even if it did, by divine intervention, move under its own power, the gas milage would suck ass. I've owned and operated a V-8, and I know this for a fact. I'd be doing good to get half the milage of my Honda (twice as many cylinders; the math is a no-brainer).
Proving to myself that I haven't completely taken leave of my senses, I stopped on US 1 to take a look at a CRV that's parked just off-road. It's been there for about a week now, and was recently joined by a 1/2 ton Chevy truck. The Honda was $2200 and the truck was $2000. I can't afford either one at the moment, and to be honest, I don't really *want* either one. For one thing, I'd prefer a standard shift to an automatic. For another, God help me, I want an interesting car/vehicle. Those two are parked a good stone's throw from an old International pickup truck (circa 1948). I've been eyeing that one, too---now, that's interesting!
Now, lest you envision the Metallicar, I will be scrupulously honest and say, NO. For starters, the original paint job was either white, pale yellow or beige---it was difficult to say from the glimpse I got while driving past doing 30---and it wasn't merely faded paint, it looked gnarly.
My brain immediately boggled. Visions of acquiring it danced through my head.
Given the nostalgia market, I'd be amazed if the car was remotely affordable for yours truly. Possibly, but in that case, I'd guess that it would not be running, and might, in fact, be lacking an engine or transmission entirely. I'm not a bad diagnostician, due to a series of crappy cars that have developed almost every known automotive ailment, but I'm slow with tools even when I'm right about the problem.
This is the point where I must confess that, while I know quite a bit about cars, it's largely theorhetical knowledge. As far as hands-on experience goes, limited sums it up fairly well. I have no problems changing out a battery (including new clamps), I've replaced starters and alternators (okay, one starter and one alternator), assorted bulbs, and I once rebuilt the head for a 1974 Mercury Comet with a straight-six engine. (I had access to a machine shop at the time and was supervised by an instructor.) And less than two years ago, I wired up a muffler with a coathanger and a pair of pliers; it took me less than 20 minutes, and that sucker STAYED wired.
However, the prospect of yours truly bending over an engine compartment with a wrench---or madder yet, crawling *under* the vehicle---is only marginally less daunting than the prospect of landing a jet plane. Blindfolded. At Orlando Airport. During a hurricane.
And yet---my inner badass grins. She's wearing overalls and a grimy tee shirt and shit-kicker boots and is already looking forward to opening it up on US 1. She has a pair of fuzzy dice earmarked for the rearview mirror and wonders if it'll attract the southern-fried equivalent of John Winchester. And she---I---have already decided that the name on the vanity plate in front will be "Christo". To the people who look confused, I'll just smile and say it's an inside joke. To the ones who get the reference, I'll say I don't know *what* possessed me to buy that car....
In my head, it already has a coat of flat grey primer curing while I work on the mechanical problems, with some DIY tribal in matte black just for grins and giggles.
I know perfectly well that if it needs, say, a rebuilt engine, I haven't the tools, the physical strength, the experience, not to mention the money to take on such a challenge. And that it probably needs extensive body work before that hypothetical primer coat. Seductive as the thought of my very own Impala is, it's also completely insane. Even if it did, by divine intervention, move under its own power, the gas milage would suck ass. I've owned and operated a V-8, and I know this for a fact. I'd be doing good to get half the milage of my Honda (twice as many cylinders; the math is a no-brainer).
Proving to myself that I haven't completely taken leave of my senses, I stopped on US 1 to take a look at a CRV that's parked just off-road. It's been there for about a week now, and was recently joined by a 1/2 ton Chevy truck. The Honda was $2200 and the truck was $2000. I can't afford either one at the moment, and to be honest, I don't really *want* either one. For one thing, I'd prefer a standard shift to an automatic. For another, God help me, I want an interesting car/vehicle. Those two are parked a good stone's throw from an old International pickup truck (circa 1948). I've been eyeing that one, too---now, that's interesting!