Most of us of driving age can all fondly recall our first car.
You’re probably picturing yours right now. Somewhere in a junkyard lies a barf-orange 1972 Toyota Corolla that cost me $900 of burger-flipping cash, drank more oil than it did gas and topped out at about 85 km/h going down a decent hill.
But while that particular ‘first’ tends to get all the sentimental vehicle love, I have fonder memories of another old beast.
What was the car (truck, Jeep, whatever) that you learned how to drive in?
I technically began my driving career at about age five, when I was behind the wheel and ‘stopped’ by police after somehow crawling into my Grandpa’s old Chevy Nova, slipping it into neutral and rolling into the middle of the street.
But I can’t count that, or the tractor on my buddy’s farm, or the go-karts at the track they should bring back just outside of Mill Bay. I’m talking which wagon (after finally passing your learner’s test) did you first take out on the road to begin acquiring the skills that would eventually enable you to drive with your knees as you ate a burger with one hand and displayed special signals to annoying drivers with the other?
For me, it was an old Plymouth Volare station wagon. Our glorious family ride back in the day. Sing it with me:
‘Volare, oh oh
The new Plymouth Volare, oh oh oh oh’
What I recall most about that beauty was the wheel-gripping fear I first felt in the driver’s seat.
See, my Dad was a pretty no-nonsense guy. None of this ‘let’s start slowly in a parking lot or on some backroad’ stuff for him.
Nope.
16-year-old me, 1.3 seconds after coming home with a learner’s permit: “Dad, when can we go driving?”
“How about now?”
So off we go, him behind the wheel briefly to explain how everything works. Then, on the highway to Lake Cowichan, he pulls over.
“OK, your turn.”
Seriously?
So off I went, straight down the highway, oncoming trucks and all. We’d then take some side roads to practise parking on hills, parallel parking and the like. Every day after he got home from work, even though I’m sure he just wanted to relax and have dinner.
(Side story: each day while we were driving down that highway, the same song came on the radio, ‘Africa’ by Toto.
Dad passed away earlier this year, and on the way home from saying our final goodbyes to him, we turned onto that very highway I turned up the radio and guess which song was randomly playing?)
His patient teaching paid off and I somehow got my licence, parallel-parking the Volare like a champ.
In those days, there was no graduated licensing with ‘Ns’ and the like, you just hit the road by yourself. Unfortunately, that didn’t last too long for me.
If I was going to be allowed to drive the Volare, Dad said I had to wash it. So, maybe a few weeks after getting my licence (and with a friend watching), I went to back it out of the garage, but caught the bumper on the garage door track and caused all kinds of damage.
Oops.
Soon after, we had a new car (which I soon deftly drove through a fence into a farmer’s field and then wasn’t allowed to drive again until I was 17), so I never got to spend any more quality time with the Volare.
But it will always retain a special spot in the memory bank.
• Readers, what kind of vehicle did you learn to drive in? Please share, I always love to hear your own tales.
PQB News/Vancouver Island Free Daily editor Philip Wolf welcomes your questions, comments and local story ideas. He can be reached at 250-905-0029 or via email at philip.wolf@blackpress.ca.