My grandpa was a genius mad scientist when it came to tinkering with cars and just about anything else he saw room for improvement on. He had a slight case (ha ha) of OCD from living through the depression and pretty much held on to everything he owned whether he needed it or not. Gramps passed away a few years ago (RIP, Freeman). To put it lightly, he had a few vehicles laying around in his garage: I believe he had a few vans, motorcycle(s), a moped, scooter, snowmobile, various cars, and approximately 90 cases of motor oil - yes, NINE ZERO cases. Because it's always good to have a little extra on hand.
Pardon the digression... so anyways, amongst his vast collection of transportation devices was a lovely brown 1974 Pinto station wagon with wood paneling, AM radio.. the works. I remember taking many trips in that car with his dogs and his toolboxes - I reckon that car got me to Iowa, Wisconsin, and even up to his cabin in Orr, MN where I recently misplaced a boat.
One thing led to another and the Pinto ended up living on my parent's land after he died. It was recently unearthed and cleaned out by my Aunt Cookie ("the Aunt who took me to see KISS in 6th Grade," as I like to introduce her), whose name the vehicle was under. Last week she made me the deal of a lifetime: "I'll trade you a batch of sugar cookies for a 1974 Pinto station wagon!"
I know my sugar cookies are pretty good, but I'm not too sure they're good enough to trade for a near mint 1974 Pinto (or are they?) I made the cookies, we met at the license bureau, paid the $17.50 for title transfer, and the deal was done. I was the proud new owner of a goofy old brown 1974 Pinto Squire wagon with wood paneling and "optional AM radio" as the Ford Pinto manual puts it.
AWESOME.
I went out to the awesome-mobile and it was sitting there ready for me. Everybody else was gone. Just me and Grandpa's Pinto in the parking lot. It was now time for the official first drive alone in the car, and boy was it going to be fun ripping down I94 in this thing and getting strange looks from everyone. I put the key in the ignition and prepared myself to fire that baby up.
I adjusted the mirrors, fastened my seatbelt, and turned the key. I was salivating with delight.
*click* Nothing. No juice. I tried a few more times. *click* *click*
No Pinto starty start. No fun ride. Micycle go from very happy to very sad. Can everyone say "buzz kill"?
Thankfully it was just a dead battery, and the car was right smack dab in the middle of a Sears parking lot. $60 later (for a new battery and a wrench with which to install it), I sat back in the car and put the key in - and this time it started right up.
WOOOOOO HA!
I drove home blasting the AM radio and lived happily ever after. Even though the car is 30 years old, it was kept in a garage for most of its life and only has 43K miles on it. I'm sure it runs just as good (if not better) than when Gramps drove it out of the new car lot in 1974 when I was only 1.
Cookie: if you're reading this - thanks once again.
Gramps: wherever you are, if you're reading this, don't worry - I won't slam the doors, I'll keep it clean, and I'll be easy on the breaks. I'll change the oil every 3,000 miles for you, too.
To the guy I saw today on Hennepin and 31st that looked like a stagehand for the Scorpions and stuck his thumbs up when I drove by and yelled "ALLLLRIGHT - PINTOOOOOOOOO!!!!!":
HELL YEAH, BROTHER.
