After a recent week of rain, my wife, Julie, and I were anxious to begin the annual task of refreshing the landscaping for what remained of the spring season—you’ll understand what I mean if you spend time in the upper regions of New England—and the summer to come. As always, it necessitated a trip to the local, family-run garden center for things like hanging annuals, some perennials, and nutrient-rich soil to rejuvenate the raised vegetable garden boxes. I admit it: I have a green thumb when my hands aren’t covered in old 10W-something motor oil. I thought we’d discuss what crops to plant while on our way there; however, Julie instead surprised me with an automotive question.
“Is there a way you can search for a car by the VIN?”
Well, that threw me for a loop. Usually, she asks what the next cover story is going to be in this magazine, or what show I’m going to next. But this was something completely different. I offered, “It’s kind of easy if the car is, say, a rare 1971 Plymouth Hemi ’Cuda that’s bounced from one public auction to the next. The same for serial numbers found on Duesenbergs, where recent decades of sale information have been permanently etched into digital cyberspace. Details beyond that are much harder to come by; it’s not as easy as it used to be. Why?”
“I was thinking about my first car and what happened to it,” Julie replied.
Full disclosure: I’ve made it obvious that I love station wagons, particularly a mid-Sixties Buick Sportwagon with the “Skyview” roof—the only GM equivalent to Oldsmobile’s Vista Cruiser. When I bring up the notion of buying one, even if it’s something from another brand built in the Seventies, I get that look we car types are familiar with: “Why?” In defense of Julie’s questioning, she knows me well enough to understand that I also yearn for a sporty two-seat convertible-anything that she says will better suit me. Whenever we get into the conversation, I laugh to myself knowing the basic story of her first car: a late-Eighties Volkswagen Fox three-door hatch (station wagon), which was plucked from the used car lot for a song. It was the kind of basic transportation that may or may not get one through college years.
Julie’s Fox was exactly that type of previously well-used transportation, which had already seen a fair share of Vermont winters by the time her four-season commutes began. She couldn’t remember exactly when, but soon after securing the VW’s title the driver’s door locked itself shut permanently, forcing daily access through the passenger door. Taking it in stride, she soon discovered the heater controls were not going to release their grip from “full blast furnace” setting; it was windows down all the time during the summer. As an added malady, the radio didn’t work; however, the cassette deck functioned perfectly— the ancient precursor to Spotify.
As one could guess, the list of operational issues grew from there, including the horn. One day, the simple, electrically controlled device in the Fox alerted everyone in town that Julie had left her apartment and was taking a very loud and unscheduled detour to the local mechanic to alleviate said cacophony. She was met with laughter, and soon enough the wire was unceremoniously severed. So, too, was a brake line, though that was the fault of rust. Julie was an hour’s distance away from the safety of home. Initially urged to continue driving with a dubious, “You’ll be fine,” Julie’s inner voice of reason prevailed, and she left it. It was the only time the Volkswagen left her stranded.
Her experience with the Fox has become entertaining in hindsight. It made me reflect on my own exploits at the helm of my first car, and countless others who have kindly shared their “Reminiscing” tales, whether it be a cobbled-together first car, or something deemed suitable for a cross-country trek.
“What would you do if you found your first car?” Julie asked.
I would drive it one more time as it was, and remember the ownership lessons of responsibility and maintenance it taught so subliminally well. Restore it back to new. Or, perhaps, do what so many others did on “Day Two”—personalize it with period accessories. Maybe, as so many owners have done previously, give it far more, such as character and power, as found in this month’s cover feature.
“I wonder what happened to mine,” she asked, staring out the window on a warm spring day.
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