For the Love of a Classic Car

by Brenna Holeman
Classic Car Winnipeg 1
Classic Car Winnipeg 2
Classic Car Winnipeg 3
Classic Car Winnipeg 6
 Classic Car Winnipeg 4
 Classic Car Winnipeg 31
Classic Car Winnipeg

Winnipeg, Canada

 

“What do you got under there?” The man asked me. The tone was lascivious. I doubted he would have asked the question in the same way if it were a man sitting behind the wheel, but perhaps he would have, I don’t know.

“A V8,” I responded, hardly taking my eyes off the road in front of me. This happened often, a person thinking that, while sitting at a red light, he or she had the proverbial green light to roll down the window and chat to me. I don’t mind, as it’s par for the course: drive a big black convertible, and people will look. People will stare. I know, because I’m one of them.

There’s never a time I can remember not loving cars. I grew up with books and Barbies and Playmobil, a dollhouse and cute dresses. But there was something always highly alluring about big, fast, loud cars. It couldn’t be just any car; I hated (and still do) the new, sleek Ferraris and Lamborghinis, and am not impressed by BMW coups or a sporty little Mercedes. There’s really only one type of car that turns my head: the classic car, specifically one from the late 40s, 50s, 60s, or early 70s. The Corvettes, the Caddys, the Bel-Airs, the GTOs. Even their names quicken my pulse: Super Bee, Roadrunner, Cobra, Thunderbolt, Rambler.

When I was a kid, my dad used to take me about four or five times a summer to see the classic cars at Pony Corral in Winnipeg. Every Sunday, the parking lot opened up for special interest cars, and men sat around in lawn chairs next to their ’63 Fleetwoods and their ’71 Chevelles, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. I used to walk around, marvelling at the shiny bright hoods, the glistening engines, the immaculate leather seats. When one would fire up and drive away, the engine so loud I could barely think, my heart would pound with adrenaline. I would see a ’66 Mustang and joke that if a date ever came to pick me up in one, I’d tell him to head straight to the chapel.

Almost a decade ago, my dad decided to buy a cheap and broken-down ’68 Buick Skylark. Knowing how much I loved it, he handed me the keys and told me it was mine, as long as he could drive it whenever he wanted. It was literally held together with cardboard in some places. Once, one autumn years ago, I tried to take it across Canada with a boyfriend – an ill-fated road trip in the midst of an ill-fated relationship. Travelling by car is my favourite type of travel, followed closely by train travel, but this journey was not meant to be. We barely made it through Saskatchewan before breaking down near the Alberta border. We cursed at each other as smoke billowed out of the car on the side of the road, nothing around us but wheat fields and the occasional herd of antelope. We limped into the tiny town of Fox Valley (population 326), and, two hours of repairs and three Coca Colas later, we were told we could probably make it to Medicine Hat a few hours away. I’ll always remember those mechanics, the ones who worked on the car and patched up the radiator hose and filled it with antifreeze, all for free. It was like I was back in time, back when cars were the size of tanks and when people did kind things just because.

We had to leave the car in Medicine Hat, and rented a 2005 VW Jetta to take us through the Rocky Mountains. The new car ran smoothly, didn’t break down, and certainly used less petrol, but I missed my Buick. When we finally returned to it, over a month later, I ran up to it in the parking lot like an old friend. It has since been fixed (and fixed again), and runs much better. As this was my first summer back in my hometown in eleven years, I finally got to drive her again. She’s been mine, all mine, for two months. I can’t put my finger on how it feels to be behind the wheel, only that I love the purr of the engine, the wind whipping my hair around, the fact that the radio plays only AM stations.

Those classic cars still show every Sunday at the Pony Corral, and I went a few weeks ago. I played a game: I’m rich, and I can buy five of them. I kept changing which five as different cars pulled in, each seemingly more magnificent than the last.

An appreciation for cars is like an appreciation for a piece of art, or for an interesting building, or for an attractive person. Your eyes are drawn to it, to its beauty and its uniqueness. And, for that one moment that you see the car drive past, you’re drawn to the promise of adventure, to the glimpse of a life on the open road.

Classic Car Winnipeg 8
My car
 

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10 comments

Traveling Man Child August 13, 2013 - 10:11 am

When asked what my passions are, there are two things that have consistently been #1 & #2. Cars & Traveling. I’ve had a ’67 Mustang Fastback since 1998, unfortunately it lives with my parents, but I visit it when I go home. I was one of those kids that just had a natural attraction to cars like it was ingrained in my DNA, sitting on mom’s lap to drive when I was 3 years old, hot wheels, and all toys car related. There is something romantic about a classic car though, opening the heavy doors and the solid thud upon closure which once served as a metric of quality. The smell of old vinyl interior along with the rumble and uneven idle of a big V8 is like stepping into a time machine.

I’m finishing up a 9 month trip in 2 weeks and moving back in with the folks while I look for work….and looking forward to firing up the Mustang and taking it on the old cruise route from high school 🙂 Another great article Brenna!

Reply
Brenna Holeman August 17, 2013 - 12:42 am

I’d have to say that my passions are travelling, writing, and cars, so I’m right there with you. I totally agree with your description of your childhood – I think I’m the same way, with a love of cars ingrained in my DNA. One of the things I love most about coming home is getting to drive the Buick again… My dad currently has a ’66 Mustang signed by Carroll Shelby. It’s so beautiful, I can hardly stand to look at it, ha ha. Enjoy your time with yours, I hope you take her out for some good cruising! Thanks for the comment.

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Andi of My Beautiful Adventures August 17, 2013 - 12:48 am

My hubby is obsessed with cars too!!! Over the last couple of years I’ve definitely fallen in love with road trips, because I’ve wanted to show him the US since he moved here. I’m sorry you have to say goodbye to your baby.

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Brenna August 18, 2013 - 5:58 am

Road trips are fantastic! I’m sure you guys will take some amazing trips through the US.

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Naomi August 17, 2013 - 12:52 am

BALLER.

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Brenna Holeman August 18, 2013 - 5:08 am

This made me laugh.

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Jackie DesForges August 17, 2013 - 12:55 am

Haha I like Naomi’s comment. I’ve never really been a car person (like…in terms of knowing what they are/having a favorite kind. I LOVE driving though), but I have to admit, these are all really pretty. I do like pretty things. I also liked the “proverbial green light” part — you master of wordplay, you.

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Brenna August 18, 2013 - 5:58 am

Ha ha, thanks, Jackie! I would love to do a road trip with you one day.

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Why London Deserves Love - This Battered Suitcase September 18, 2013 - 8:14 pm

[…] wardrobes in London and how it represents who they are. Much like appreciating a piece of art or a classic car, people-watching here is […]

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Caleb October 18, 2013 - 3:34 pm

I love classic cars. Thanks for the post. I enjoyed reading it and the taking a look at the pictures.

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