The Misadventures of Classic Car Ownership

Going to a car show today is a stupid idea. No matter how much we try, we cannot will the dark clouds from the skies overhead, and nothing in any of the high tech, weather-reporting apps says anything good. Of course, that doesn’t stop us. We pile five grown adults into the 1962 Thunderbird. Dad and Jason sit comfortable in the front, I’m wedged in the back between Robbie, his large camera bag on his lap, and Greg, whose left arm is in a hard cast that one, cannot move and two, cannot get wet. From the very start of this endeavor, the odds aren’t good.

Because despite nearly two decades of love and care, the Thunderbird shows signs of her age– one of which is in the way that the hydraulic top won’t go up, stuck permanently in the closed trunk, leaving us to the mercy of the weather gods. The other is in the iffy, sometimes, maybe brakes that would probably work just fine on a car half the weight, but chugging along with that much extra chrome and five passengers could be what pushes it over the edge.

And yet, we go.

It is both Jason and Greg’s first ride in a convertible, which is a little unfathomable to me, having grown up in the back seat, wind in my tangling hair, sun on my smiling face. We look to the sky and hope their first ride is a memorable one. What we should have hoped for is a dry one.

We make it out of town, out of the cluster of morning traffic in small town suburbia after stopping for coffee. We make it through the gas station and the shady neighborhoods leading to the highway. We make it to the highway, riding the right two lanes, hoping we can get up the hill.

An approximation of us trying to get home.

Robbie checks his phone and shows me the weather patterns. We are twenty minutes from home and there are threats of torrential downpours. I laugh and say I hope we’re lucky.

Robbie checks his phone and shows me the weather patterns. We are twenty five minutes from home and the rain is getting closer now. Everyone rolls up their windows and looks to the sky.

Robbie checks his phone and shows me the weather patterns. We are thirty minutes from home and he doesn’t need to, because fat drops of water are spilling across our hair and dad asks if we should pull into WaWa and wait it out. I give Greg my flannel to cover his cast.

Robbie checks his phone and dad doesn’t wait another exit, taking the corner in a reminder of just how iffy those brakes really are, the dampness of the road another factor in why we’d all be better out of the car than in it.

Robbie gives us the minute updates, and we are running just two minutes before the rain, hoping we catch every light, hoping we don’t get pulled over. We get amused and pitying expressions as we drive through town, not quite fast enough to avoid the drizzle, but hopefully fast enough to beat the deluge.

We avoid the steep hill and hope the longer, windier one won’t end poorly. Dad eases into the brakes and leave three car lengths before him at the light, but we come to a full stop.

And then it’s us and the elements, no time, unreliable brakes and rain promising so close that we can taste the metallic tang of the air. We laugh, we cannot help it. This virgin convertible ride has been a memorable one.

Dad throws the car into the driveway and we rush out like a NASCAR pit crew attempting a record. He gets the car into the garage with no less than thirty second to spare, caught in the rain that comes not a moment too soon.

We are wet, by the time we get inside, but nowhere near as wet as we might have been. Robbie decides to take his friends into New York for the day and Dad and I try again, this time in a car with a roof. 

Not a 1962 Thunderbird, but if you’ve seen one classic car caught in the rain…

We get two towns over before the skies open up and the heavens rain down and we throw in the towel on this car show, turning for home and laughing as we do. We gave it our best shot and it’s time to admit defeat.

So why do we do it, own these classic cars with all their obvious, sometimes dangerous faults? Why do we push the limits just to get to a car show, just to see more classic cars with obvious, sometimes dangerous faults. There are a thousand reasons– history, art, nostalgia, speed. The answer to why we love classic cars is vast and varied.

But one thing is certain, for every car enthusiast and person who get caught up in their mix. If a classic car is involved, the day is sure to be memorable.