March 25: I have a disease. It’s recurring, relapsing and sometimes fatal, although not usually. I’m a gearhead. Since public school, I have daydreamed, doodled, and schemed about things mechanical: cars mostly, motorcycles often and even planes from time to time.
I see the similarly-afflicted everywhere: the recent-vintage Camaro parked in the driveway next to a tarp-covered 1965 T-bird; the bright red Golf in front of the garage that opens to reveal a mint Porsche 911; the spotlessly clean Audi moving through the worst snow storm of the winter.
My first experience with this addiction was a Yamaha 100 cc motorcycle I bought when I was 16. Since then, there has been a parade of cars: a Mini Cooper S, a pair of Alfa Romeo GTVs, a couple of Mercedes, an Alfa Spyder and, of course, the current fixation – a 2001 BMW convertible. They were all mostly impractical, and bought precisely because there was an emotional connection.
This 1997 Plymouth was a different beast. Bought for $2400 as the Winter Beater while my BMW was stored away, I just wanted something reliable with 4 wheels and a good heater. Basic transportation. The ultimate practical car. She did it mostly without complaint, and few problems, for a car with more than 205,000 kms on her. In a way, it was a relief to be driving a car that didn’t provoke a strong emotion because I cared less about whether she got banged up or rusted out some more. But last month problems started to accumulate. In total, she needed almost $4000 to fix brakes, tie rods, ball joints and power steering. It was the automotive equivalent of breaking your hip when you’re 85 years old. So she had to go.
She was sold for scrap in return for a charitable tax deduction. Taken away by strangers, it left me feeling a bit like having an old friend put down. It certainly felt wasteful – disposing of something that I no longer needed rather than putting it to good use. In the end, it surprised me to feel a loss as she was taken away – a testament perhaps to the strength of the addiction that even this most lowly and practical of cars finds a place in my heart. So I will have a kind thought for her whenever I see a Plymouth / Dodge of a certain vintage. The Black Beauty lives on, in memory at least…..