This morning, my procrastinating 17yr. old left for school w/o a minute to spare. In 30 seconds, he comes back in in a panic asking me why his car wont start.
I slip on my shoes, and while walking out, told him it was probably because the battery was dead, probably because he left something on, probably because he was listening to his hoopty assed music w/ the car off. Basically, dogging him for what he "probably" did. He denied all of my possible scenarios, and asked how his lights, AC, and radio would still work if the battery was dead. I explained to him that it took alot of power to crank a car, and that those other things only required a fraction of that to run, so even if the battery was too weak to crank the car, those things might still work.
That all changed when I opened the door.
He had left the car in drive when he came home last night.
I look in, in my best sarcastic, condescending voice, I say "Put the car in park Connor," and turn and walk away. I hear him make a noise out of his window while he drives away before I get into the house, accepting his noob status for not catching what I saw in an instant.
What I didn't tell him is this:
When I was his age, I had "inherited" the family 4 door Nova as my first car. The parents had bought this thing new in 1962, and it had been lovingly cared for for the previous 12 years by my father. The same car that had made the trip from the states to Spain and back again on a ship, rebuilt engine at 100k,and was now at twice that. This car was an AF family car. Every time my dad changed duty stations, we all piled in this thing (Dad, Mom, my brother, the skank breath Skipperkee, and me) and drove. It had been to Texas, (twice) Arkansas, Iowa, up state New York, and Denver Colorado during those years, and now the thing was mine.
It had a 194c.i. 1 bbl I-6, w/ a powerglide auto trans. Factor in the fact that the "rebuilt" engine had an additional 100k miles, and then subtract the fact that this car was now living in Aurora Colorado, (at 5280' elevation) and you have the perfect first timer automobile. Barely able to get out of it's own way, wouldn't fall out of a tree, You had to drive stakes to tell if it was moving, slow as hell, 4 door plain white envelope 62 Nova.
Did I adequately paint that picture?
In Aurora back in the early 70's there were actually empty fields between subdivisions. At first take on this that really doesn't seem like any big deal, but the reality is we were actually not that far from Denver city center. Now after 40 years, all of that has changed, and there are houses, and business everywhere. But back then,....there were empty fields between subdivisions.
They weren't "fields" per se' this was actually the land that was always there, yet to be developed, as the new housing communities sprung up. Being at the foot hils of the Rocky Mountains, these fields were hilly as well, very sandy, and most of the time....big.
Read "Big" as in BIG. Big enough to fire an Estes rocket and be able to recover the thing after it landed, (did that) big enough to build a really cool dugout hangout where it was safe enough for "illicit teenage activities", (did that) and big enough for just about any dirt bike or 4WD vehicle that happened to want to ride there.
Some of these fields were very hilly, and very sandy. It was almost dune like. Absolutely the perfect venue for a dirt bike or a jeep. After enough time passed, these guys had paths, jumps, hills, obstacles and trails all cut through that field as a result.
I so wanted to ride on some of those trails, and jump some of those jumps, and tackle some of those grades.
But I didn't have a dirt bike. I didn't have a Jeep either.
I had the NOV.
If the Nova was a person, It would've been like "Sweet little 85 yr old aunt Harriet".
Now, me an my friends were jumping the old bag off of 4' high sand dunes, kicking up rooster tails in the sand while cutting the only cookie that tired turd was capable of, and attempting the steepest grades that could only be tackled by a 40 MPH charge.
One day were out there having big fun, when I nose dive that thing off of one of those jumps, and it dies.
And now it wont start back again.
I open the hood, check the battery. It's still connected. The horn, lights, radio still all work, but this damn car won't start. What could I have done to cause it to die? Did I break the engine in someway as a result of the nose dive that I just subjected it to?
None of my passenger friends had any solution either.
We must've sat there for what seemed like forever, and now I was starting to have to consider the possibility of having to walk home, and tell my dad that that I couldn't get it to start. And he'd have to walk back with me where he'd see first hand The NOV, sitting in a field at a most obvious nose down attitude at the base of the cliff that I just jumped it off of.
I was starting to consider suicide.
Out of frustration, I start pounding on the old lady, hitting the wheel, and the dash yankin' and tuggin' on what ever would push or pull. During all of my flailing, I managed to hit the shifter, and inadvertently caused it to return back to the park position.
And it hits me.......................... The car had been in Drive all this time.
I try to start it. It fires right up. We promptly return to cutting cookies in the sand.
That really only lasted a few minutes though, we soon decide not to tempt fate, and head for home.
I think I'll link this to my son, and let him know that every lesson has to be learned. For some, it's just a momentary reddening of the cheeks.
For others, ( myself included).........they may need more than one lesson.
I slip on my shoes, and while walking out, told him it was probably because the battery was dead, probably because he left something on, probably because he was listening to his hoopty assed music w/ the car off. Basically, dogging him for what he "probably" did. He denied all of my possible scenarios, and asked how his lights, AC, and radio would still work if the battery was dead. I explained to him that it took alot of power to crank a car, and that those other things only required a fraction of that to run, so even if the battery was too weak to crank the car, those things might still work.
That all changed when I opened the door.
He had left the car in drive when he came home last night.
I look in, in my best sarcastic, condescending voice, I say "Put the car in park Connor," and turn and walk away. I hear him make a noise out of his window while he drives away before I get into the house, accepting his noob status for not catching what I saw in an instant.
What I didn't tell him is this:
When I was his age, I had "inherited" the family 4 door Nova as my first car. The parents had bought this thing new in 1962, and it had been lovingly cared for for the previous 12 years by my father. The same car that had made the trip from the states to Spain and back again on a ship, rebuilt engine at 100k,and was now at twice that. This car was an AF family car. Every time my dad changed duty stations, we all piled in this thing (Dad, Mom, my brother, the skank breath Skipperkee, and me) and drove. It had been to Texas, (twice) Arkansas, Iowa, up state New York, and Denver Colorado during those years, and now the thing was mine.
It had a 194c.i. 1 bbl I-6, w/ a powerglide auto trans. Factor in the fact that the "rebuilt" engine had an additional 100k miles, and then subtract the fact that this car was now living in Aurora Colorado, (at 5280' elevation) and you have the perfect first timer automobile. Barely able to get out of it's own way, wouldn't fall out of a tree, You had to drive stakes to tell if it was moving, slow as hell, 4 door plain white envelope 62 Nova.
Did I adequately paint that picture?
In Aurora back in the early 70's there were actually empty fields between subdivisions. At first take on this that really doesn't seem like any big deal, but the reality is we were actually not that far from Denver city center. Now after 40 years, all of that has changed, and there are houses, and business everywhere. But back then,....there were empty fields between subdivisions.
They weren't "fields" per se' this was actually the land that was always there, yet to be developed, as the new housing communities sprung up. Being at the foot hils of the Rocky Mountains, these fields were hilly as well, very sandy, and most of the time....big.
Read "Big" as in BIG. Big enough to fire an Estes rocket and be able to recover the thing after it landed, (did that) big enough to build a really cool dugout hangout where it was safe enough for "illicit teenage activities", (did that) and big enough for just about any dirt bike or 4WD vehicle that happened to want to ride there.
Some of these fields were very hilly, and very sandy. It was almost dune like. Absolutely the perfect venue for a dirt bike or a jeep. After enough time passed, these guys had paths, jumps, hills, obstacles and trails all cut through that field as a result.
I so wanted to ride on some of those trails, and jump some of those jumps, and tackle some of those grades.
But I didn't have a dirt bike. I didn't have a Jeep either.
I had the NOV.
If the Nova was a person, It would've been like "Sweet little 85 yr old aunt Harriet".
Now, me an my friends were jumping the old bag off of 4' high sand dunes, kicking up rooster tails in the sand while cutting the only cookie that tired turd was capable of, and attempting the steepest grades that could only be tackled by a 40 MPH charge.
One day were out there having big fun, when I nose dive that thing off of one of those jumps, and it dies.
And now it wont start back again.
I open the hood, check the battery. It's still connected. The horn, lights, radio still all work, but this damn car won't start. What could I have done to cause it to die? Did I break the engine in someway as a result of the nose dive that I just subjected it to?
None of my passenger friends had any solution either.
We must've sat there for what seemed like forever, and now I was starting to have to consider the possibility of having to walk home, and tell my dad that that I couldn't get it to start. And he'd have to walk back with me where he'd see first hand The NOV, sitting in a field at a most obvious nose down attitude at the base of the cliff that I just jumped it off of.
I was starting to consider suicide.
Out of frustration, I start pounding on the old lady, hitting the wheel, and the dash yankin' and tuggin' on what ever would push or pull. During all of my flailing, I managed to hit the shifter, and inadvertently caused it to return back to the park position.
And it hits me.......................... The car had been in Drive all this time.
I try to start it. It fires right up. We promptly return to cutting cookies in the sand.
That really only lasted a few minutes though, we soon decide not to tempt fate, and head for home.
I think I'll link this to my son, and let him know that every lesson has to be learned. For some, it's just a momentary reddening of the cheeks.
For others, ( myself included).........they may need more than one lesson.
