Wheels

I was thinking recently about "wheels" -- that's what we used to call cars (as in, "Does your date have wheels?").

Have you ever had a special relationship with a particular car? Does it give you a natural high to ride in a convertible with the top down along a coastal highway or through the redwoods? Or to drive in a meandering fashion through picturesque small towns, stopping wherever and whenever you please? If I'm feeling a bit low, for example, even taking a short car trip seems to revive my usually exuberant Spirited Woman self.

Also, I've always had an affinity for vintage cars. Yesterday my husband and I visited a vintage/muscle car show in a nearby shopping center's parking lot. Right away, I was drawn to a candy-apple red 1939 Studebaker, which was in mint condition. My husband made a beeline for a 1932 La Salle convertible, painted in an eggshell color, with a butterscotch leather interior and a gorgeous hood ornament. The side windows of a 1930s Plymouth in the show were etched with a beautiful floral design -- outstanding! And I even thought a typical 1950s low-rider "muscle car" with blue flames painted on the sides was nifty; the grillwork was ornate and classy, and I liked the way the back taillights were encased in separate enclosures.

When my Dad was a senior at Cornell College in Iowa in the mid-1920s, he had a Model T Ford that played an important role when he was impressing many of the Betty Coeds on that Cornell campus. My parents said they themselves couldn't afford to own a car until I was a teenager, when they bought a two-tone green 1956 Chevy. Until that Chevy entered our lives, we took a bus or streetcar everywhere, or walked, or rode in friends' cars.

My Mom, and many women of her generation, never learned to drive. I could see how dependent that made Mom on other people's schedules, particularly when she had an appointment to get to. I learned to drive as soon as I became 17. After I got my driver's license, it was fun to chauffeur my high school friends to school or to a drive-in movie.

I think of my car as a faithful friend who takes me to wonderful places. I'll celebrate my car right now, by (figuratively) turning cartwheels in honor of my "wheels"!

- Linda Jay Geldens, www.LindaJayGeldens.com
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Comments

[Linda Jay Geldens]

Thanks for sharing about "Mighty Gunther," Suzanne!

[Suzanne Arruda]

When my twin sons were 6 or so, we got a used Chevy station wagon - wine colored. That car lasted and lasted. Joe took the boys on a guy camping trip while I dug dino bones. We went to Mesa Verde, the Grand Canyon, visited relatives. The car's name was "Mighty Gunther" and he was. The boys learned to drive in it. By that time, the side view mirror was duct-taped on, plastic folders replaced lost taillight plastic and the ceiling fabric was stapled up where it drooped. That was the boys' car to share. I painted red and orange flames coming from the wheel wells for them and they loved it. Even after they left for college, we drove the car in town. I cried when it no longer worked and had to be towed away for scrap. Taking the $60 made me feel like Judas.