I got a new Buick the other day. Seriously. I don't know if that's a nod to adult responsibility or the flight of youth. It's certainly a change of pace for this 55 year old dog. I've had more than a few cars but not much to compare with this blondey. This is definitely the ride of the responsible dad: Attractive, but not sexy. Fast, but not quick. Big, but not imposing. In short: Nice, not naughty.
My Dad loved his cars. He never had the means to go after something like the "little Mercedes," the SL, that he admired in the 60's. Nor did he have the ego to go after a Cadillac. No. My Dad chose, out of necessity as well as preference, subdued vehicles, but with a slant toward the sporty, and with an engine to match. He adhered to budget and paid with cash. So, when he bought a new Chevy in '67, it was a 2-door with a V-8 and air-conditioning. He followed that up a couple of years later with a V-8 Pontiac LeMans 350 Sport. And if you had ever ridden along with him on the old US 99 that paved 2 lanes of soil from southern California to Oregon, you would most certainly have witnessed a demonstration of those big iron American V-8s as he stepped on the gas and blew around all manner of truck and bus and any others going just too darn slow.
My new Buick is everything he would have wanted: Subdued. Well equipped, comfy, and super quiet. Everything he would have wanted except my car has only 4 cylinders. It's probably quick enough to have met my Dad's standards but it sure doesn't sound like a V-8. Not only that, the engine shuts off when you stop in traffic or at a light. If the radio is off the car is dead quiet. No rumble of exhaust, just the soft breathing of the air system.
My Mom was not a car person. She needed the car about two or three times a month to do the shopping and any errands-- Ralph's, Vons, the May Company. When my Dad put the pedal to the metal passing another car out there on the highway my Mom's hand would rise up on the dash as if to brace for impact. She wasn't smiling at the thrill of it. It wasn't fun for her.
Considering it all I may have bought the perfect car: My Dad would have been able to pass all those slackers up and down the San Joaquin Valley and my Mom would have loved the fuel economy and environmentally friendly nature of the car. The perfect car-- if I were my Dad. And Tam was my Mom. And this was 1969.
It's a three year lease. We'll see how it goes. I must say, though, it does have the best frickin' stereo of any car I've ever owned.
Drive it in good health! as my grandmother would say.
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