Chevette memories, Part 2
In '94 I got my second car, a 1979 gray Chevette. Billy had bought it off a little ol' lady who never drove it, so the mileage was actually pretty low for a late-70s car. He had gotten into some trouble and couldn't drive, something about driving without a license and getting into an accident. He said I could have it for $375. I didn't have that much so my girlfriend paid for most of it. I think I paid her back. I can't remember.
My first Chevette was just rust pretending to be a car, a stack of paper clips waiting to fall apart. This one... this one was a tank! I couldn't kill it no matter what I did. I'd be driving down the road and on a whim decide to swerve off and try to flip it on the embankment, but nope, it wasn't having that. It'd keep trucking on, forty-five miles per hour at a forty-five degree angle, and I couldn't flip it for nothing. That surprised me too because Chevettes are really light vehicles. At school, about five of us got together and lifted Steve's Chevette and put it on some cinder blocks, as a prank.
In parking lots, when there's tons of snow they scoop it up into big piles that become solid ice eventually. I ran my little gray Chevette straight into one and, nothing, just plowed right over it. The thing was a pure tank. Mail boxes, railroad ties, street signs, mud, nothing stopped it.
It actually caught fire once. I was driving back from Columbus, smelled gas, and saw some smoke coming from the engine. I pulled over to the side of I-71 and lifted the hood to find the carburetor on fire. It was just a little fire, and I was able to pat it out. Got back in and kept driving. Like a tank, the car just kept rolling.
[Note: Hey Kaitlyn and Padrick. Skip reading the above. Your uncle is an idiot.]
Don't get me wrong, the car wasn't perfect. For one thing, it had the baldest tires I've ever driven on. There was this one corner over by Blue Rock Road where every time it snowed, no matter how slow I took the corner, the car decided it would keep going straight and run into a telephone poll. Every time. I can only imagine what the people in the house across the street thought when they'd see me come down the road, slide into the poll, get out to push the car out of the snow, come back a few hours later and slide right into it again. And again. And again. Not even on purpose.
The other problem with Chevette 2 is that the ignition system eventually went out. I tried to fix it but, again, I don't know anything about cars. The only way I could start it is by popping the solenoid, that is, taking a screwdriver and crossing two spokes to make a spark. This is done in the engine and the key needs to be turned to start when you do it, so you need a friend to turn the key for you while you damn near electrocute yourself. Luckily, Billy, license-free, was always palling around with me. But when you're by yourself, you have to come up with elaborate ways to keep the key in start while you're doing it.
Eventually, the ignition thingy didn't work at all and the car wouldn't start for me whatever I did. But, here's the thing, it did not die! Still! I couldn't kill it, but rather, it just got tired of me I guess. I got it towed out to my parent's growing car graveyard and left it there thinking it was dead-dead. But no, I learned later that my younger brother got it up and running and drove it, too, for the longest time. In fact, I don't know exactly what ever became of it. The tank is probably still out there plowing over stuff for some kid that just got his license.
Believe it or not, there's a part three.
My first Chevette was just rust pretending to be a car, a stack of paper clips waiting to fall apart. This one... this one was a tank! I couldn't kill it no matter what I did. I'd be driving down the road and on a whim decide to swerve off and try to flip it on the embankment, but nope, it wasn't having that. It'd keep trucking on, forty-five miles per hour at a forty-five degree angle, and I couldn't flip it for nothing. That surprised me too because Chevettes are really light vehicles. At school, about five of us got together and lifted Steve's Chevette and put it on some cinder blocks, as a prank.
In parking lots, when there's tons of snow they scoop it up into big piles that become solid ice eventually. I ran my little gray Chevette straight into one and, nothing, just plowed right over it. The thing was a pure tank. Mail boxes, railroad ties, street signs, mud, nothing stopped it.
It actually caught fire once. I was driving back from Columbus, smelled gas, and saw some smoke coming from the engine. I pulled over to the side of I-71 and lifted the hood to find the carburetor on fire. It was just a little fire, and I was able to pat it out. Got back in and kept driving. Like a tank, the car just kept rolling.
[Note: Hey Kaitlyn and Padrick. Skip reading the above. Your uncle is an idiot.]
Don't get me wrong, the car wasn't perfect. For one thing, it had the baldest tires I've ever driven on. There was this one corner over by Blue Rock Road where every time it snowed, no matter how slow I took the corner, the car decided it would keep going straight and run into a telephone poll. Every time. I can only imagine what the people in the house across the street thought when they'd see me come down the road, slide into the poll, get out to push the car out of the snow, come back a few hours later and slide right into it again. And again. And again. Not even on purpose.
The other problem with Chevette 2 is that the ignition system eventually went out. I tried to fix it but, again, I don't know anything about cars. The only way I could start it is by popping the solenoid, that is, taking a screwdriver and crossing two spokes to make a spark. This is done in the engine and the key needs to be turned to start when you do it, so you need a friend to turn the key for you while you damn near electrocute yourself. Luckily, Billy, license-free, was always palling around with me. But when you're by yourself, you have to come up with elaborate ways to keep the key in start while you're doing it.
Eventually, the ignition thingy didn't work at all and the car wouldn't start for me whatever I did. But, here's the thing, it did not die! Still! I couldn't kill it, but rather, it just got tired of me I guess. I got it towed out to my parent's growing car graveyard and left it there thinking it was dead-dead. But no, I learned later that my younger brother got it up and running and drove it, too, for the longest time. In fact, I don't know exactly what ever became of it. The tank is probably still out there plowing over stuff for some kid that just got his license.
Believe it or not, there's a part three.
Labels: random thoughts
posted by Jeremy at
6:10 PM
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