Jack inherited his father’s 1972 Mach 1 Mustang when he turned 16. He got it roaring and drove the rundown old car proudly until caught fire while idling in traffic. I can’t say I wasn’t surprised. The heat melted some of the wires so the poor old car was put out to pasture, patiently waiting until there was time and money to fix it.
Not that we had more time or money when we decided to move the muscle car, but a friend hauled it up for us so it could rest under the cover of a hog shed, away from the beating rays of the sun on solid concrete.
For a few years, the car just sat and watched us busily go by, hauling feed to the horses or mowing the grass or taking pieces of lumber from the barn. Most visitors didn’t know it was there until Jack pointed it out. Occasionally, it evoked a few other car lovers to trot over and drool at the hunk of metal.
One of those car lovers is a friend of ours that just happens to be a mechanic as well. He’s asked more than once if Jack would be willing to sell, to which Jack politely refuses. It’s more than a vintage car to him–it has sentimental value as a relic from father to son.
The next best solution came at the perfect time. Our mechanic friend accepted the offer to trade for some labor on the car. He’ll get it up and running, I’m sure lovingly repairing each nut and bolt and wire and filter. He came about week before we left to hoist the old car onto a trailer and tote it home. He was even kind enough to wash the grime off before storing it in his garage.
I’m more concerned with the aesthetics of the car myself, something that will, again, come with time and money. Jack is much more simplistic in his goal. All he wants to hear is the growling purr of the running engine once more.