Agent M79
08-24-2005, 11:03 AM
It must have been about 1974 or 1975. That was about the time I started becoming aware of cars. I knew what cars were before then but they were anonymous props in my young world warranting no more attention than was necessary to avoid being maimed or killed by one.
It was my mom’s car. A 1971 Buick Skylark. Flawed memories and wishful thinking over some 30 years had mentally up-rated the car in my mind to the GS. Better and far more factual evidence has surfaced that correct those memories. It was a Skylark. Not a GS, not a GSX, nor even a convertible. It was red with a white vinyl roof. It had a 350 but I don’t know if it was the 2 barrel or 4 barrel.
None of the statistical stuff mattered much to me at the time. Even looking back those emerging auto-centric feelings I had for the car would not be impinged or enhanced by ratings or options (or lack thereof).
It was the first car I looked at and found it’s shape pleasing. It was that rise in the rear quarter panel just behind the door and over the rear wheel that really cinched it for me. I imagine it could be considered aerodynamic for it’s time. To me, it just looked fast.
I have clear recollections of all of the windows down and feeling the rush of acceleration as the wind whipped through and I was crushed back into the seat. I was just a little to short to see over the dash but things flew by on the side of the road.
It wasn’t a loud car, but it had a different sound. A deep grumble. It was far different in sound than the other family car, a ’74 Dodge Dart with a slant 6 (which tended to run on after the ignition was off). I always knew when mom was home because there was a subtle harmonic from that 350 that could be mostly felt rather than heard.
It was safe back then for a child to ride around in a car without need for restraint. I can recall hiding down in the foot well in of the front passenger seat. The sounds of the engine and road were clearer there and those early ‘70s car smells also more evident. Carpet stinks. I don’t know if it was a sign of the state of American auto engineering or if there was a problem, but I could easily smell exhaust and unburned gasoline better there too. I liked it.
Time passed and a lot of growing happens to a person from that age on. Circumstances, family, homes, jobs, and friends all changed many times over the ensuing years but I always loved that Skylark. Other cars caught my imagination. The ‘older’ kids were getting their hands on all of the notable (and not so notable) classics from the 60’s and early 70’s and putting their mark on them and driving them around in various states of repair.
Once I was nearing 16 and the legal age to drive, the Skylark was no long a full time driver. It was rough around the edges and some stuff worked sometimes and other stuff not at all. It burned oil at an alarming rate. That didn’t matter to me though and I would gladly attend to it enough just so I could enjoy it once from behind the wheel.
That was never to be.
A family member had it out for a drive in town and stopped at a red light. Unfortunately the driver behind him cared not to observe the world around him, most notably the red light and plowed into the back of the Skylark at 45mph without so much as braking. Everybody got out of it with no more than some bruises and minor scratches.
The Skylark was a smashed tangle of red, white, and rust right up to the back of the front passenger seats. The jack (which in ’71 were not the little light-weight affairs we have now) was lodged deeply in the middle of the dash board as a testament to how bad things could have been if one may have been leaning a few inches in the wrong direction.
And that was it. I felt angry and cheated. Over a car. At the time, had I desired, I could probably have sourced another Skylark. Maybe even a better one. But that plain red one with the vinyl top and the exhaust fumes in the foot well was the one that I wanted.
All this came back to me during a conversation with my wife. Not particularly as car centric as most of us, she expressed the desire to, at some point in the future, acquire a convertible. She said, and do please forgive her, she is not a car person, she wanted a “Miata, or a Mustang, …or one of those old cars.” After wincing at the inclusion of a Miata and a Mustang being on the same wish list I had to ask.
“What do you mean ‘one of those old cars’”?
She tried to describe it but I could not form a picture. She had missed the years she meant by about 6 or 7 but as we Googled about she stopped me on one that fit the bill.
“THAT’S IT! That’s the one!”
She was pointing at a red ’71 Skylark with a white convertible top.
Afraid that I would influence her expressed thoughts about the Skylark by being either positive or negative, I managed to contain myself and asked in as neutral manner as I could “What do you like about it?”
“I dunno. It mostly this…”, she pointed at the rear half, “…that kinda bump or upswoop thingy over the back wheel. I really like that.”
For 30 years I was never aware of the impact that Skylark really had on my appreciation for automobiles. A young mind only feels. It can’t quantify or express itself clearly or lucidly and bring forth cohesive understand of why it feels as it does. It either likes or it dismisses. It was in that framework that I had filed away memories of mom’s Skylark. It was my wife’s “…that kinda bump or upswoop thingy…” comment that brought it all back into my adult mind for me to understand in a entirely new perspective adding only more facets of insight into my car enthusiasm.
So when someone asks me why I have a Marauder today, I have a new answer.
That Skylark is why I have a Marauder today. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com[img] /><o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p></P>
</P>
<o:p></o:p></P></FONT>
It was my mom’s car. A 1971 Buick Skylark. Flawed memories and wishful thinking over some 30 years had mentally up-rated the car in my mind to the GS. Better and far more factual evidence has surfaced that correct those memories. It was a Skylark. Not a GS, not a GSX, nor even a convertible. It was red with a white vinyl roof. It had a 350 but I don’t know if it was the 2 barrel or 4 barrel.
None of the statistical stuff mattered much to me at the time. Even looking back those emerging auto-centric feelings I had for the car would not be impinged or enhanced by ratings or options (or lack thereof).
It was the first car I looked at and found it’s shape pleasing. It was that rise in the rear quarter panel just behind the door and over the rear wheel that really cinched it for me. I imagine it could be considered aerodynamic for it’s time. To me, it just looked fast.
I have clear recollections of all of the windows down and feeling the rush of acceleration as the wind whipped through and I was crushed back into the seat. I was just a little to short to see over the dash but things flew by on the side of the road.
It wasn’t a loud car, but it had a different sound. A deep grumble. It was far different in sound than the other family car, a ’74 Dodge Dart with a slant 6 (which tended to run on after the ignition was off). I always knew when mom was home because there was a subtle harmonic from that 350 that could be mostly felt rather than heard.
It was safe back then for a child to ride around in a car without need for restraint. I can recall hiding down in the foot well in of the front passenger seat. The sounds of the engine and road were clearer there and those early ‘70s car smells also more evident. Carpet stinks. I don’t know if it was a sign of the state of American auto engineering or if there was a problem, but I could easily smell exhaust and unburned gasoline better there too. I liked it.
Time passed and a lot of growing happens to a person from that age on. Circumstances, family, homes, jobs, and friends all changed many times over the ensuing years but I always loved that Skylark. Other cars caught my imagination. The ‘older’ kids were getting their hands on all of the notable (and not so notable) classics from the 60’s and early 70’s and putting their mark on them and driving them around in various states of repair.
Once I was nearing 16 and the legal age to drive, the Skylark was no long a full time driver. It was rough around the edges and some stuff worked sometimes and other stuff not at all. It burned oil at an alarming rate. That didn’t matter to me though and I would gladly attend to it enough just so I could enjoy it once from behind the wheel.
That was never to be.
A family member had it out for a drive in town and stopped at a red light. Unfortunately the driver behind him cared not to observe the world around him, most notably the red light and plowed into the back of the Skylark at 45mph without so much as braking. Everybody got out of it with no more than some bruises and minor scratches.
The Skylark was a smashed tangle of red, white, and rust right up to the back of the front passenger seats. The jack (which in ’71 were not the little light-weight affairs we have now) was lodged deeply in the middle of the dash board as a testament to how bad things could have been if one may have been leaning a few inches in the wrong direction.
And that was it. I felt angry and cheated. Over a car. At the time, had I desired, I could probably have sourced another Skylark. Maybe even a better one. But that plain red one with the vinyl top and the exhaust fumes in the foot well was the one that I wanted.
All this came back to me during a conversation with my wife. Not particularly as car centric as most of us, she expressed the desire to, at some point in the future, acquire a convertible. She said, and do please forgive her, she is not a car person, she wanted a “Miata, or a Mustang, …or one of those old cars.” After wincing at the inclusion of a Miata and a Mustang being on the same wish list I had to ask.
“What do you mean ‘one of those old cars’”?
She tried to describe it but I could not form a picture. She had missed the years she meant by about 6 or 7 but as we Googled about she stopped me on one that fit the bill.
“THAT’S IT! That’s the one!”
She was pointing at a red ’71 Skylark with a white convertible top.
Afraid that I would influence her expressed thoughts about the Skylark by being either positive or negative, I managed to contain myself and asked in as neutral manner as I could “What do you like about it?”
“I dunno. It mostly this…”, she pointed at the rear half, “…that kinda bump or upswoop thingy over the back wheel. I really like that.”
For 30 years I was never aware of the impact that Skylark really had on my appreciation for automobiles. A young mind only feels. It can’t quantify or express itself clearly or lucidly and bring forth cohesive understand of why it feels as it does. It either likes or it dismisses. It was in that framework that I had filed away memories of mom’s Skylark. It was my wife’s “…that kinda bump or upswoop thingy…” comment that brought it all back into my adult mind for me to understand in a entirely new perspective adding only more facets of insight into my car enthusiasm.
So when someone asks me why I have a Marauder today, I have a new answer.
That Skylark is why I have a Marauder today. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com[img] /><o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p></P>
</P>
<o:p></o:p></P></FONT>