Cars: Ah yes, the good, the bad and the beautiful

A bargained-price book caught my eye the other day at Barnes & Noble. I bought the book called “The World’s Worst Cars.” Perhaps it was the “Amphicar,” a German-made half-car, half-boat, described by the author as not being good at either, that caught my eye.

The 2005 stumpy, picture-table book by British auto writer Craig Cheetham, has all the famous flops as well as many obscure one. Perhaps it is the British eye that makes me part ways with Cheetham on some of his conclusions.

Not so with the Ford Pinto.  The writer notes the early Pinto’s tendency to burst into flames when struck from the rear due to a lack of gas tank protection which was well-known. It was also well-known to me as a 72 Pinto was my first car. I can’t remember whether it was the 1.6-liter version or the 2-liter. The metric system was completely foreign to me as a high school graduate and were it not for the Internet it would still pretty much be that way today.

But my Pinto got me from East Texas to the Mississippi Gulf Coast and back at least once a month for about a year while I was in the service. And even though Cheetham’s top-speed listing for the Pinto is 82 mph, I used to drive I-12 and I-10 and Texas 87 at a pretty steady 70 mph with no problem. Of course, I was 19 and nuts.

Several years later I would see my first “roast,” a black-humor firefighter term for someone burned to death, in the back seat of a Pinto. The corpse was the first I ever handled and I will never forget the smell, the texture, the ash and the unworldly countenance of the young man whose name I have written down somewhere. As taught in fire rookie school, I wrote down all the details of what I found upon the scene if I ever was required to testify in a court case. I wasn’t. I thought sure this man’s family would sue Ford. If they did, I never heard of it.

The experience left me with bad dreams for awhile and a thankfulness my Pinto, which I traded in for a new Toyota Corolla in 1975, was never rear-ended with me inside it.

I have owned  11 automobiles: 7 2 Pinto, 75 Corolla, 79 Corolla, 84 Datsun/Nissan Sentra, 82 Toyota pickup, 80 Ford Granada, 72 BMW 2002, 89 Jeep Comanche pickup, 92 Nissan pickup, 96 Toyota pickup and 98 Toyota Tacoma. Yes, they are in chronological order, unfortunately, but sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures. As far as I know, however, none of these autos are on Mr. Cheetham’s worst car list excepting my first. That I still drive — though not to work because the air conditioning went out — a 98 Tacoma with at 163,000 miles is a testament to the road-worthiness of the vehicle. My friend Keith, who lives in Arlington, has what? 300,000 miles on his “Taco?” I don’t know, but he has a bunch.

All of this car madness surfaced after reading Cheetham’s entertaining book. I don’t agree with everything he concludes. I have to guess sometimes what he is talking about because this is written in Brit, not English as we know it. Sorry, I know that sounds so ethnocentric, but that’s show biz.

I am hoping soon that my mechanical mastermind friend Rick will replace my air conditioning compressor and accessories while leaving me financially with both my arms and legs in tact. We are in negotiations right now. It’s nice having friends who are competent. And Rick’s also a registered nurse. The dude can change your oil and give you a transfusion, at the same time I’m not certain.

In the meantime, I was given authorization to get a rental car for work until I can get my A/C fixed. But, I was told it had to be a compact. Unfortunately, the car rental place didn’t have a compact handy so I had to settle for a 2010 Dodge Challenger SE.

The SE carries a V-6, 250-horse, 3.5-liter, high output, single overhead camshaft (SOHC). What the hell all that means, I am not sure. But I know this is not quite or not very close to, say the Challengers of old. You hear numbers like 318 (cubic inch) and mechanical idiot that I am, I know this was a very reliable engine used by Chrysler. My Dad had a 72 Dodge pickup with the 318. My friend Waldo had the 318 in his 73 Plymouth Duster.

One thing about my rental that I will say, it’s a damned pretty car, solid black and has the lines of the older muscle car. I have noticed a few people staring at me with envious looks today. It is kind of a nice feeling, no matter how reliable your old * “hoopie” may be.

*”Hoopie” is what my Dad called an old car. The term is known in some places as “hooptie” or “hoopty.” I have seen hoopie used to describe something like a box van. So hoopie may be a regional term or it might be a contraction for “hooptie,” if so, that’s pretty damned lazy. Then again, it might just be one of the odd words and sayings my Dad used to come up with like, “a whole flock of bird dogs flew over.” Who knows?