Forty years ago in my '64 microbus, bunch of people in the back, late on Saturday night in that era when driving drunk and minor in possession didn't have all the legal penalties they (rightfully) do today. Following some guy in a worked-over Chevelle to a party. The steering box was worn out so it actually weaved slightly side to side and needed constant corrections on the wheel (
), hard right at a stoplight.
Hand over hand quick on that big flat wheel (how many turns was it lock to lock anyhow?), microbus leans outside at a crazy angle, inside rear wheel way unloaded, maybe off of the ground. Dim headlights sweep the windshield of a car waiting at the light, wide-eyed look of horror on the faces of said occupants clearly remembered.
It nearly died coming back from a trip up the Gaspe Peninsula along the St Lawrence after my freshman year at college, but got me safely back home before it did (on three cylinders at the end IIRC, and I had stretched the funds so far on that trip that the bridge toll coming back west across the Hudson near home woulda been a deal-breaker if they had charged east to west instead of just west to east
).
I cant imagine now why we sold it, looking back it actually worked like a champ on dirt tracks through the mountains crossing the Gaspe. To us at the time it was just an old and wore-out vehicle is all, I had nowhere to keep it at college, and my brother was already in to a new Datsun B210, plainly the next generation of vehicles. I think we needed the money for something else, disposable income being generally short.
My next vehicle was a rusted-out AMC Scout. No complaints except it was so rusted that the driver's side door lock fell clear out (the holes in the floor had been of minor import, folks was used to seeing the road through holes in the floorboards back then). Anyway, no worries on the door lock thing, I would just run my belt through the inside door arm rest and around my thigh to hold it closed (
).
Then came the little '69 Opel Kadette wagon, my home for some months in New Mexico, before I left for Africa. We didn't expect cars to go 200,000 miles back then, not even 100,000, and took for a given the necessity for frequent wrenching on 'em merely to keep 'em running. But they were simpler machines back then, and easily wrenched on.
Birdwatcher