I did not change the oil on my first car for two years. I refuse to take 100% of the blame for this. At some point during the head-jerking hours my dad was trying to teach me how to work the stick shift, he might have MENTIONED THE ONE THING you can do to keep your car from blowing up. Thankfully, for all its faults, my ‘91 Exploder was able to refrain from well…exploding…before my college roommate explained to me the merits of Jiffy Lube.
Despite this minor automotive transgression, I have been nursing a persistent urge to someday own one of these babies. I know, it’s sacrilegious to drive a classic car while knowing nothing about how one works. I’d rather just stick a Honda engine in the thing so I’d never had to deal with a mechanic. Instead of fine-tuning the innards, I’d rather color coordinate the accessories. Oh, there will be accessories.
Until I can afford a $25K+ hobby, I can rent the car of my dreams for a day. I think I’ll do the ‘62 Impala and studded white Rodarte gloves on my way to the Rose Bowl Flea Market. I’ll be trading that in for the forest green MGB Convertible and Fratelli driving gloves for wine tasting in Solvang. Look for me on the 101.
Clockwise from bottom left: L.A.M.B. Jacket, Silver Porche 550 Spyder, Eggplant 356 Porche, Light Blue Fratelli Gloves, Red Chevy Corvette, Yellow Gloves, Forest Green MGB Convertible, Orange Fratelli Driving Gloves, Lord Willy’s Driving Gloves, White Rodarte Gloves, Black Chevy Impala