Love the Beast is a must see movie for any gear head or anyone with a gear head friend. There. I said it. I can’t think of another movie that’s ever shared the importance of cars to some of us on the same level as this film.
After the Beast is wrecked, Bana spends some time speaking with noted gear heads Jeremy Clarkson and Jay Leno, but also with Dr. Phil McGraw. Clarkson and Leno relate their thoughts on our relationships with our cars as we’ve known them to do. This is why we love those guys. They get it. What surprised me was something Dr. Phil said.
After Bana learns that his Beast is essentially a complete wreck, he begins having doubts about restoring it again. He basically asks Dr. Phil if his not fixing the car again would have some sort of psychological affect on him. This is where Dr. Phil blew my mind.
You would have a strong sense of betrayal if you put these parts in a box, slid ‘em under a work bench in a deserted garage and forgot them. … You must honor the continuity in your life. This is a car that was everything in the world to you when you got it. It was first for you. It gave you that independence. It gave you that mobility. It gave you that identity. It came through that maze of life with you.
“Daisy” was first for me.
I had been driving a tired, but good-looking, 1988 Pontiac Grand Prix when I decided to unload it on a stranger and drive to Wichita to buy myself a brand new Jeep Wrangler. Upon getting to the dealership, and even telling the salesman that I was there to order a Wrangler, I passed this 97 Talon on the showroom floor and it was love at first sight. I took delivery with just 7 miles on the odometer the weekend after Labor Day, 1996.
“Daisy” gave me my independence.
Daisy gave me independence, not only through the freedom to come and go as I pleased, but a greater independence that comes from knowing that you can do anything you put your mind to doing. To the inexperienced, the engine bay can be an overwhelming place. The thought of accidentally messing up anything is a terrifying notion, yet I know that I can pop the hood and have the engine sitting on the pavement in front of the car in less than three hours. That sort of knowledge is real independence.
“Daisy” gave me my identity.
I was one of the all motor DSM guys. My Talon was a base model, non-turbocharged car that only came with air conditioning and rear window defroster. Over time, I bumped up the compression ratio and installed a head that cost more than the car I drive to work today. Daisy wasn’t the fastest car out there, but she was nothing like the vast majority of 2GNTs on the road. It feels good to be different, to turn the key of your efforts and be rewarded with the sounds of success.
“Daisy” came through the maze of life with me.
From learning how to fix (and modify!) my own car, to getting through college, to getting married, two miscarriages, a divorce and remarried (to the most wonderful person in the whole world), Daisy was there for me. She never passed emissions in Arizona, and she might have leaked a little oil here or there, but she always started up on the first try and took me anywhere I wanted to go without any worry of breakdown. (She’d also go 500 miles on a tank of gas, which was nice.)
The vast majority of my friends were either there, turning wrenches and busting knuckles with me on Daisy or supporting me online with technical information and the sort of encouragement that can only come from having been in the same situation. These are the friends who attended my wedding. These are the friends who I travel halfway across the country twice a year to be with. These are the friends who scheme and plot behind my back to get plane tickets for Vanessa and I to get together with them when we weren’t planning on doing so and therefore didn’t save up for the trip. These are the most important people in my life and they are all because of Daisy.
“Daisy” meant everything in the world to me.
And I sold her to buy a second Galant VR4.
Betrayal? Continued on Tarmac & Gravel.
