Modus Vetatio

Our mode of transportation began with two feet and progressed to the internal combustion engine powering metal, plastic and rubber to shuttle us hither and yon.

The other night sitting with friends at a local public house, the conversation turned to bygone vehicles. This degenerated into a "can you top this" cavalcade of clunkers, jalopies and heaps. The air became thick with tales of mechanical legerdemain that would befuddle Rube Goldberg:

A 1962 Rambler with a push-button automatic transmission that would pop out of gear while in operation.

A 1964 Delta 88 which would not start unless the radio and heat were on and had a horn that sounded whenever the car took a sharp left turn.

A 1966 GTO with a bad starter. You had to make sure to park on an incline and have a couple friends with you to pop the clutch. Once running the carburetor occasionally needed adjusting. If the engine stalled during this process, the push-start was repeated.

A 1973 Vega that burned a quart of motor oil every 250 miles and had a large hole in the floorboard which facilitated emptying one's bladder without stopping. Great for road trips as long as you had a case of Quaker State in the trunk.

A 1975 Granada with power steering so bad Herculean strength was required to turn, brakes that had to be pumped three times before working and a passenger door tied to the floorboards and roof to keep from falling off.

As the evening deepened, our stories transformed from tales of terrible tribulation to paeans of past pals. We had advanced into middle-age; our lives filled with responsibilities to duty and humanity. Remembering these ersatz vehicles sparked a melancholia for an earlier time when the journey was more important than the destination, or the conveyance. As ever - BB

Darn the wheel of the world! Why must it continually turn over? Where is the reverse gear?" - Jack London