The car that never really knew what it wanted to be, an aimless after thought from the bad old 1970's car industry. My dad's Chevy Nova, circa 1977 if I remember correctly, was a nondescript grey hunk of metal on wheels. Not a big car but today it would be considered full size I think. And it wasn't small either, it would laugh at a Golf or Tercel if it pulled up beside one. It was an enigma of a car...I loved it for all of its faults.
It seems that the day after I got my license gas went from 32 cents a litre to 54 cents a litre, as if the driving gods knew I was coming and they better make it worth while for all to be on the road with me...a little skin in the game if you will. It should be said that I am a kick ass driver, I simply feel comfortable and confident behind the wheel. Maybe a little less so now because of the lack of clear vision in my left eye (fuck cancer) but back in the day and especially with that Nova...I was king. I pulled a few movie quality driving stunts, taught that thing to let go of its inhibitions and feel the wind through its hair, errr, grille.
That car went everywhere with me for a few years. All the parties, the escapades with my friends, it took me to the prom and the after prom party at the cottage. Run ins with the police, donuts in the winter where donuts really shouldn't be done. If there would be a symbol for that time in my life it would be that car...or a beer bottle. OK Both. With its hot vinyl bench seating and crappy handling, that six cylinder horse was an extension of me.
My dad being my dad had only the standard radio in that car, AM and FM, no tape deck. How can you get your motor running when you can't listen to your own music? By the way, mixed tapes had two reasons for existing back then. One was for the girls, how else would they know you liked them? And the other was for your car....music you drove to, music you chose based on mood and other occupants. I had the Best of Rush 1, 2 and 3. Metal Mix. Mellow. Comedy. A tape I called RAW. And simply Tunes. The added benefit of tapes was that the box was a good stand in as an ice scraper...see, we could think sometimes. So obviously driving a car without a tape deck was unacceptable. I asked my dad if he would buy one, he said no. I'll go halves on it, no. OK, I'll buy it, no. What? Don't put a tape deck in that car. My dads word was law, so I did what I usually did at that point in my life...yep, got myself a tape deck. And since gas was so expensive I decided to install myself. Well, well, well. My dad blew a gasket when he saw what I had done to his car. The deck went in rather easily, it was the speakers that were the issue. I'm not much of a measure twice cut once kind of guy so you can imagine what the holes for the speakers looked like and the bolts holding them in place were jagged little shards of metal waiting for an unsuspecting hand. If you weren't careful you could lose a finger with those bolts hanging down and you could lose small animals in the gaps I had left where the speakers had gone in. Whatever...listen to that music baby. I think the only thing that saved me from running around the house with my dad chasing me is the fact that my mother seemed to have given tacit approval...it was really her car as my dad was driving the Vega....ahhhhh the Vega.
Music at the ready I went forth to live the life I was meant to live. That car has seen kegs in the trunk, musical instruments everywhere, too many people to count it would seem and a few drag races. I beat Zvonko's Camaro, my claim to fame really. Always the car and the music. As if a vortex of stupidity engulfed me and my friends when we got into the car and hit play on the tape...how else can you explain Rudy getting flung across the back seat, smacking his head hard on the window, 2112 blaring as I pulled a perfect movie like manoeuvre to transition from a side street to a main street, doing 50 and not stopping for the lights. We, especially me, had no fear....we were protected by the car and our wits. Sorry about your head Rudy. I had so many speeding tickets that I lost track of them all, actually gave up driving for one year because I got kicked off insurance and couldn't afford my own...go figure right.
There was some sort of goopy crap in the trunk interior that was a sort of rust proofing, that crap got on everything and especially Danny's keyboard case it would seem. That's where I should have locked him up in hindsight. I think the goop gave the car it's special powers. It was seriously fast for a piece of shit and as far as American cars went I could coax it into any direction I wanted, but let go of the wheel and the stupid thing would make a left turn by itself. That car was me...old school, rebel in disguise, hand crank windows, no ac and heating that was suspect in the winter. But it moved like crazy and it had my music and my soul in it. I miss that car.
Those few years together were magical, like Costanza's perfect high score in Frogger - the perfect combination of Mountain Dew and mozzarella, in my case, the wheels, the music and the gang. Perfect.
To my faithful steed, I hope you fell doing what you did best....driving the roads like a maniac with the volume on 11. Cheers
Ciao
D
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