My Story in Lists|Cars I've Had Part II

After slinking home on the Greyhound, I was in need of another car. In fairness to me, I had checked the oil before the drive up to San Luis Obispo, but the damage had long been done and that trip was just too much for my little Capri.

Luckily for me, Eliz had been making much better choices and as a gift for her pending graduation from college, mom and dad were planning on buying her a brand spanking new car. With a grown up job in the horizon, she would make the monthly payments, but they would make the initial down payment. This meant I would inherit the reddish orange, Datsun 510 that three others in our family had already owned.

My Aunt Vickie was the originally owner of the car. I remember driving in it with her when I was little and it was still shiny and new. It was my Aunt's pride and joy as it was the first new car she ever bought. Sometime later, my Uncle Bob bought the car because buying used cars was his hobby. When mom and dad were ready to buy a car for Eliz, they bought the Datsun from Uncle Bob. It was a good, reliable car with great gas mileage. Not as sporty looking as my Capri and by this time, definitely looking worn (the sun visors had long broken off and the paint was faded), but beggars (me) can't be choosers.

I didn't treat the Datsun much better than the Capri. One spring day, I played hooky from work and drove up to SLO to catch up with some friends when just outside of Nipomo, my car suddenly made a strange little noise. The next thing I knew I was pulling the car over to the side of the road. I didn't know what to do. We didn't have cellphones at the time. I knew I was in a pile of trouble so I did the only thing I could do, I started walking towards the exit which was just ahead. I had taken no more than 10 steps when a Greyhound bus came down the highway and pulled over to the emergency lane. The kind bus driver asked if I could use a ride. As it turned out, the bus was in route to SLO so the driver told me he would take me there for free. I could not believe my luck. Now I know it was the prayers that my grandmother had prayed for me.

I was able to get my friends to come to the bus stop to pick me up and then called my cousin Mark who made a four hour ride up the 101 in the late afternoon to try to help me out. Unfortunately, the car needed more than anything we could do at that time of night so we left the car by the side of the road and headed back home. Dad was furious with me when I told them what happened and the next day mom, dad and I drove up to Nipomo to see about getting my car back. It was a silent, uncomfortable ride punctuated by periods of time in which dad was (rightly) chewing me out. For so many years I had been towing the line and suddenly I was making one horrible decision after another.

We arrived to the spot in the road where my car broke down to find...nothing. My car had been impounded which added to dad's displeasure. We were able to get the car out of impound costing a small bounty and find a mechanic who was willing to fix the car. Why dad helped me the way he did, I don't know. Mom probably made him. But he did and I kept the car until Matthew was born and dad decided that his grandson needed to be in something safer than a soda can with wheels.