Maybe we have started something here. One’s first car lives on forever, if not in body, then spirit. For some, this can be bittersweet…
Mentioned recently in the Gear Head Evolution series, my first car was a 1988 Pontiac Grand Prix. There weren’t any letters or numbers tacked onto the trunk anywhere. This was a plain Jane, base model Grand Prix. It was bright red with that classic, shreds-on-a-whim grey cloth apholstery anyone with an early nineties Pontiac will remember. The transverse-mounted 2.8L Multiport FI V6 sent a whopping 130bhp (on a good day) to the ground through a 5-speed manual transmission, which was surprisingly decent. No power windows or locks, just tacky little raised nubbins with a Pontiac badge on them that my friends would always mash into the door trying to get the window to work.
While my good friend Lloyd let me practice driving stick shift in his Dodge Omni hatchback (pre-Daytona, too bad we didn’t realize what it was back then), the Grand Prix represented trial by fire for me with a manual trans. My dad and I had gone out to look at cars and, upon the Pontiac being the best looking car in my price range, I came home for lunch a few days later from my shitty job at Wal-Mart, only to catch my dad bringing the Grand Prix home. No way I was going to drive mom’s Plymouth Sundance back to work if I had a bright red Grand Prix, right? After about fifteen minutes of either stalling or brutally slipping the clutch, I had it down.
The new for ’88 Grand Prix was completely new from the ground up. It’s predecessor was the formidable V8-powered, rear wheel drive super coupe. This car was nothing like it. Much more aerodynamic and futuristic looking, but there was much to be desired. One of the new features was a digital dashboard. WOW! A DIGITIAL DASH BOARD! Maybe, on the latter, up-rated models, this would be a comprehensive driver display area known for being buggy and error-ridden and costing a fortune to repair due to it’s being plugged into almost everything on the car, but on my base model car, it was the equivalent of $5 digital alarm clock where the speedometer should have been.
Seriously! There was a 3-digit LCD display of speed (the first digit only being a “1,” so more like 2.5-digits) with 1″ tall numbers, to the right was a segmented vertical LED bar representing the fuel level, and the odometer right below it. I had no tachometer, which made knowing how high I could rev the engine a mystery. There was this orange arrow pointing UP that would illuminate when the car thought it was time to shift up. Of course, this was programmed with fuel efficiency in mind, so the light was pretty much on all the time. It get’s better, though. When I first got the car, there was a blown fuse, which somehow meant that light didn’t come on, instead, the damn door open/keys in ignition/lights are still on dinger would beep at me. Thats’ right. For the first week I had the car, I would spend nearly half my commute to anywhere hearing ding ding ding ding ding!
I managed to clip the entire passenger side one time pulling out of a parking spot at school, actually creasing the rocker panel in from wheel well to wheel well on the bumper of a fellow student’s even older (and beefier) Parisienne. Insurance covered the repairs and, a surprise bonus, the body shop discovered the car had been previously repainted and the color blending was terrible. I was too young and clueless to appreciate what that meant, but the shop guy asked me if they could keep the car a couple more days and if I would chip in $200 towards them completely respraying the car because they didn’t want anyone to see a bad paint job and have their name mentioned. So for $200, I got the entire car repainted the original bright red and they even took out the little hail damage dings on the roof. It might have been slow as all get out, but the GP looked great.
The car would end up presenting me with multiple systems failing consistently (like complete brake job twice a year or more with siezing calipers, undersized rotors warping, et al) and I began to trawl the local used car lots looking for that perfect next ride when I learned the GP was paid off. I sold it soon after and bought a DSM. You know, Bobby Bolivia (RIP) was right. The car actually does choose the driver.
In the glovebox:
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Uberingram
I consider myself lucky to really have 2 “first cars” and both left imprints on my future car-guy self. Technically my first car was a 1986 5-speed Subaru GL-10 Turbo wagon. Despite growing up in the car I only owned it for a scant 36 hours (more on that later). This car was a geek's dream. It featured a full digital dash and when I say full I really mean FULL. Speedometer, odometer, a full “map” of the car showing which of the 5 doors were open or even unlocked, gas level and even BOOST! She came equipped with 4WD-on-the-fly that could be activated via a slick button, aptly labeled “4WD”, on the top of the shifter. The little Subaru trucked my family around for nearly a decade before it came into my hands. I remember being mesmerized by the dash on road trips. I would wait for the little turbo light to kick on when my mother went to pass someone or went on a hill. I would memorize shift points on the RPM readout for different gears and so on and so forth. I couldn't wait for this superior piece of Japanese engineering to become mine.
That time finally came on a summer Friday afternoon in the late 90's. Mom handed me the keys, kissed my forehead and told me to stay safe. It took less than 2 seconds for me to bolt out of the house and into the car. Did I know how to drive a manual? In theory. Did I care? Not in the slightest. I fired her up and limped her off to a friends house for a few hours. Freedom never tasted so good and it was named Subaru. Bright and early the next morning I was going to drive myself to bowling practice for the first time ever. I was ecstatic. She reliably fired right up. I started to back her out into the street when she sputtered and died. Uh oh. Tried turning her over for a good 10 minutes before giving up and getting a ride from my mother in her shiny new Intergra LS. My father later tore into the engine only to find that not only had both head gaskets blown but one of them had been blown for years. This in turn severely lowered the engine's expected output and caused the turbo to be spooled damn near all the time and was almost completely cooked. It's surprising the car lasted that long but at long last she was dead and the cost of repairing her far outweighed her worth and she rotted away in a side yard for another few years before being sold for scrap. Sad.
Shortly after the death of valiant Subaru I purchased a 1988 Isuzu P'up. This wasn't any old Isuzu P'up. She came equipped with an OEM off road performance package. 36″ tires, slight lift, 5 speed and a bigger 2.6L 4 banger. I got it for a screaming deal but there was a catch. The truck ran fantastic but it had no torque. Confident that either myself or my father would locate the small problem causing the power loss I quickly snatched the truck up. Sure enough the truck ran great but any hills required 2 to 3 down shifts and a snail's pace to climb. During the subsequent repairs I should mention that this is when my father bought me my first Craftsman automotive tool set. It doesn't sound important on the surface but I never really bonded with my father before this and receiving his praise for wanting to work on the truck AND a useful tool set got him back in my life. 6 months and nearly a thousand dollars later we found out that the power loss was due to some ham fisted mechanic had not torqued down the harmonic balancer causing it to not sit on the crank key correctly. At full tilt timing was almost 6 teeth off and a miracle to be running.
I owned this truck for a good 4 years and never had a real issue with it that wasn't caused by the inherent ownership of a stupid teenager. It survived drunken offroad escapades that involved rope and toboggans and it survived being driving through a GameStop front window display (ssshhhh don't tell anyone). There were many a high school shenanigan experienced either in the cab or bed of that truck and I'm actually getting a little misty eyed thinking about all the good times that revolved around that truck. I later sold it to an old high school buddy for a mere $500 and I can look back and say it was the stupidest vehicular decision I've ever made. Every once in a blue moon I still see it driving around in my old home town and I'm half tempted to be super creepy and follow the owner around until they stop and beg to buy it back. So there you have it. When Subaru makes a lifted Brat with a turbocharged engine my soul searching will be complete. Until then I will simply love all things turbo Subaru and all things small import truck.
http://carthrottle.com/ James
you know the first thing I did when I bought my SPG?
PULLED THE FUSE FOR THAT STUPID SHIFT-UP LIGHT.
seriously. Thing comes on at 2500rpm. I didn't even leave the PO's driveway before i disabled it.
funny that you buy a DSM to replace something unreliable, amirite?!?
http://dr1665.com DR1665
LOL! Would have been awesome if I could have done that! Instead, someone thought it would be a good idea for the car to ding at you when that indicator was out. Talk about annoying! First thing I had to do on my first car was make sure the fuse for the shift light was actually THERE!
http://dr1665.com Brian Driggs
LOL! Would have been awesome if I could have done that! Instead, someone thought it would be a good idea for the car to ding at you when that indicator was out. Talk about annoying! First thing I had to do on my first car was make sure the fuse for the shift light was actually THERE!
Brian DR1665′s First Car
Maybe we have started something here. One’s first car lives on forever, if not in body, then spirit. For some, this can be bittersweet…
Mentioned recently in the Gear Head Evolution series, my first car was a 1988 Pontiac Grand Prix. There weren’t any letters or numbers tacked onto the trunk anywhere. This was a plain Jane, base model Grand Prix. It was bright red with that classic, shreds-on-a-whim grey cloth apholstery anyone with an early nineties Pontiac will remember. The transverse-mounted 2.8L Multiport FI V6 sent a whopping 130bhp (on a good day) to the ground through a 5-speed manual transmission, which was surprisingly decent. No power windows or locks, just tacky little raised nubbins with a Pontiac badge on them that my friends would always mash into the door trying to get the window to work.
While my good friend Lloyd let me practice driving stick shift in his Dodge Omni hatchback (pre-Daytona, too bad we didn’t realize what it was back then), the Grand Prix represented trial by fire for me with a manual trans. My dad and I had gone out to look at cars and, upon the Pontiac being the best looking car in my price range, I came home for lunch a few days later from my shitty job at Wal-Mart, only to catch my dad bringing the Grand Prix home. No way I was going to drive mom’s Plymouth Sundance back to work if I had a bright red Grand Prix, right? After about fifteen minutes of either stalling or brutally slipping the clutch, I had it down.
The new for ’88 Grand Prix was completely new from the ground up. It’s predecessor was the formidable V8-powered, rear wheel drive super coupe. This car was nothing like it. Much more aerodynamic and futuristic looking, but there was much to be desired. One of the new features was a digital dashboard. WOW! A DIGITIAL DASH BOARD! Maybe, on the latter, up-rated models, this would be a comprehensive driver display area known for being buggy and error-ridden and costing a fortune to repair due to it’s being plugged into almost everything on the car, but on my base model car, it was the equivalent of $5 digital alarm clock where the speedometer should have been.
Seriously! There was a 3-digit LCD display of speed (the first digit only being a “1,” so more like 2.5-digits) with 1″ tall numbers, to the right was a segmented vertical LED bar representing the fuel level, and the odometer right below it. I had no tachometer, which made knowing how high I could rev the engine a mystery. There was this orange arrow pointing UP that would illuminate when the car thought it was time to shift up. Of course, this was programmed with fuel efficiency in mind, so the light was pretty much on all the time. It get’s better, though. When I first got the car, there was a blown fuse, which somehow meant that light didn’t come on, instead, the damn door open/keys in ignition/lights are still on dinger would beep at me. Thats’ right. For the first week I had the car, I would spend nearly half my commute to anywhere hearing ding ding ding ding ding!
I managed to clip the entire passenger side one time pulling out of a parking spot at school, actually creasing the rocker panel in from wheel well to wheel well on the bumper of a fellow student’s even older (and beefier) Parisienne. Insurance covered the repairs and, a surprise bonus, the body shop discovered the car had been previously repainted and the color blending was terrible. I was too young and clueless to appreciate what that meant, but the shop guy asked me if they could keep the car a couple more days and if I would chip in $200 towards them completely respraying the car because they didn’t want anyone to see a bad paint job and have their name mentioned. So for $200, I got the entire car repainted the original bright red and they even took out the little hail damage dings on the roof. It might have been slow as all get out, but the GP looked great.
The car would end up presenting me with multiple systems failing consistently (like complete brake job twice a year or more with siezing calipers, undersized rotors warping, et al) and I began to trawl the local used car lots looking for that perfect next ride when I learned the GP was paid off. I sold it soon after and bought a DSM. You know, Bobby Bolivia (RIP) was right. The car actually does choose the driver.
In the glovebox: