My Roots Are Showing

Commentary:

Although my first car was a Chevy Nova and my last car was a Subaru, most vehicles in between were Fords. For whatever reason, I gravitate toward that blue oval.

Most often, I'd drive a new one off the lot and straight into immediate and drastic depreciation. That new car smell was a soothing scent to my younger nose. But even then, my eyes twinkled at the old models.

Somewhere along the way, I'd say by 1980, we lost the voluptuous curves of the classic cars and trucks, which coincides with the completion of major sections of the interstate highway system. Driving just for the thrill of it began to lose its appeal. Modern amenities and increased aerodynamics were in greater demand. Soon, slowly cruisin' the streets with the windows down and the music up was a thing of the past.

I was coming of age during that time and, while I thought it a bit sad, I kept pace along with society. The cold air, quieter ride, plush seats and power steering couldn't be beat. I wanted to fly low at a comfortable 78 mph everywhere I went and I wanted folks to get out of my way while I was doing it. I'd tailgate Sunday drivers. (Seriously, the left lane is for passing! Passing, I tell you!). I'd drive with my knee while eating a cheeseburger, drinking iced tea and applying lipstick. I was a driver's education teacher's nightmare.

Since living in my little loft downtown, however, I find myself needing to drive less and less. I'm just a few footsteps or bike pedals from most everything I need, so days go by when I needn't drive at all.

But on those few occasions when I do, what would I drive if I just wanted to?

That thought did wheelies in my mind as I began to look at old trucks over the past several months. I poured through ads, telephoned sellers and drove hours to look at rusty hunks of junk in my price range. I even found one I liked so much I ended up convincing the guy he shouldn't sell it.

But a couple of weeks ago, a sky blue beauty caught my eye. I drove south to take a look at a 1978 Ford F100. It was love at first sight.

"Hello, Blue Belle," I whispered as I got behind the wheel. Her 460 engine purred as we traveled down back roads. "Let's go home."

The father and son selling her were precious people, even if they did think the cheese had slipped from my cracker. They kept telling me most folks trade in a '78 for an '09, so I offered him that. With a little money handed my way, we traded keys.

I took his breath away when I told him I was driving the next day to my uncle's farm 300 miles away.

"The farthest she's ever been is Siloam!" he bellowed from his barn. "I can't vouch she'll make it, but I reckon you're about to find out!"

Blue Belle made it fine. With windows down, music up and Baxter beside me on the bench seat, I drove -- really drove -- for the first time in years, smiling the whole way in the slow lane.

NAN Our Town on 05/14/2015

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