The car was definitely not much to look at: My first ride was a 1965 seafoam green Chevy Biscayne, a bargain-basement level Chevy sedan with minimal options. This was no Impala SS with the 400 hp, 409-cu.in. engine and a 4-speed… No! This car was packin’ a bottom-of-the-line 140 hp, 230 cu.in. straight-six and dog-dish hub caps. I bought her from a grammar school English teacher for a whopping $200, the high-end of a 17-year-old’s budget. You might be saying, “wow, a mid-sixties Chevy is pretty cool!”, but keep in mind this was in 1974. The car was almost 10 years old, we were just on the tail end of the muscle car era, and in 1974, a ‘65 seafoam green Biscayne was decidedly un-cool. 
But I loved her all the same, and did everything I could do to make her respectable. And I learned a lot about cars with her. I learned how you should remember to re-connect the fuel line after a fuel filter change and that a blazing engine fire can really be dramatic. I also learned that completely bald tires can cause hydroplaning, and being able to spin a full-size car around 360 degrees on a crowded one-lane street, without hitting anything, is nothing short of miraculous.
I also learned that body-modifications should not include a curved plexiglas nose-treatment bolted to the front to mimic a ‘74 Camaro. (Plexiglas cracks just looking at it). And I learned about cheap aftermarket parts. I though a set of fake-Cragar wheel covers would make the car look cooler, but when I tried impress the girls by doing a “burnout” only to have both of my rear wheelcovers fly off the car in unison like two tossed frisbees, causing the girls to roll over with laughter, I realized I needed to respect a car for what it is.