My first car was a 1982 Chrysler LeBaron convertible that my dad bought new for my mom as a birthday/Valentine’s day present. (I was born nine months later.) It would refuse to start on cold mornings, and on Sanibel, cold meant lower than 60 degrees. The brakes were squishy and malleable, so you never knew exactly how much pressure to apply in order to get it to stop. Thankfully, it could only get to 60 mph with a tailwind. It was white with a burgundy vinyl interior, and kids at school called it the Pimpmobile.
The second worst car I had was a 2003 Accord, for two reasons: 1) The brake pads wore out every 10,000 miles and the rotors would warp at the slightest unevenness in the pavement. 2) When I leased it, I stupidly picked the green one with the beige interior instead of the perfectly good blue one with the grey interior next to it. Ever try to sell a green car? Especially one with brakes that squeak?
I bought a 1977 Chevy LUV pickup from a co-worker. I paid $150.00 cash for it. It was rusted out and broken down, but it always started. I drove it for four years and the only repair was a battery. At the end it suffered complete electrical failure. The scrap yard gave me $60.00 for it.
I had a Horizon of similar vintage - I actually liked it just fine, compared to the Pontiac Acadian I got rid of to buy the Horizon. I didn’t, however, like the way the door handles snapped off in your hand on a fairly regular basis.
My first car was a 1975 or so Datsun B210 that I picked up at an auction that couldn’t go above about 30 miles per hour (I think mine was even this colour). I still hated the Pontiac Acadian worse than the Datsun - I’m not even sure what it was about the Acadian (basically the same car as the Chevette) that I didn’t like; it was just everything, I guess. Everything was cheap, crappy, wrong size, in the wrong place, etc.
1991 geo prizm. I bought it for 300 bucks from a girl who has a medical condition which warps her depth perception. It was bumped and dented on all four corners. The passenger side headlight assembly had been destroyed and rebuilt TWICE, and the second time she just superglued the headlight casing to the body because it wouldn’t fit into the dented and warped slot anymore. The headlights therefore pointed in two different directions, which was convenient if you need to spot attacking ninjas in the trees overhead, but not so useful for determining what was in front of you at night. Also, the engine rumbled and shook so badly that the battery cable wouldn’t stay connected to the battery, so in order to start the car you had to open the hood and position the cable just right on the battery, and ask it real nice if it would please just go ahead and make the connection.
The worst car I ever had was a 1967 Chevy Malibu. I owned it from summer '80 to winter '82. When I bought it for $125, it didn’t run, had industrial indoor-outdoor carpet in it, and had the left hood scoop from an old Chrysler model stuck in the middle of its hood. I think its steering wheel was from a Vega GT. I bought a 350 for $65 from a buddy and installed it, got it on the road. In six months, the transmission lost high gear. Bought a powerglide from a friend to replace it. It lost reverse six months later. Put in a $75 turbo 350 that time. Somewhere along the line, I put in carpet from a Cadillac in the front of it- much better than the yellow and brown porch carpeting. Got rid of the bucket seats and installed a nice bench seat- unsure of the bench seat’s make, but it fit. The thing was forever eating starters. Finally figured that out and fixed it after about the fourth used ($15 in those days) starter and the third used ($10 each) flywheel. After two years of tinkering, it was running great and seemed reliable. I then wrecked it. My brother-in-law helped me buy a $450 '66 VW to replace it. I sold the Malibu to the buddy I got its engine from for $60 and a load of firewood for my parents. Those were the days-
1937 Chevy. It had running boards and real bumpers. Retired as my Dad’s work car, it became the chariot in which my brother and I learned to drive. I was 12 at the time. With a three speed transmission (no synchromesh), we learned to shift and double shift. Turning circles in the land behind the house was cool, but the car burned as much oil as gas, or so it seemed.
It came to its final rest in the storm drainage canal that lined all of the roads in rural Southern California at the time. Towed away for scrap, but still remembered.
Well I have a rusted up '88 Econoline van NOW. It still had all the blinds and curtains when we got it two years ago and Mig loves to point this out as if that was really something special. Didn’t make up for the fact that it’s a POS. We figure it’ll make a fine house though, if things get too bad.
My daughter paid 1000 for it and gave it to us when she got a decent car.
The starter fell off while on the road once. It burned through exhaust valves at an alarming rate. There were lots of scrapped British cars which used the same1275cc engine so we used to just swap the head rather than repair it.
We had this charming British mechanic who could change the head in 2-3 weeks while consuming many gallons of gin and tonic.
1970 Satellite 440 that my father bought for $50 back in about 1979 and spend about twice that getting running. The side panels were rusted out at the bottoms all around and flapping in the breeze. It drank oil almost as fast as it drank gasoline. The exhaust kept falling off.
But man, it could move.
One day on the freeway some stupid woman was driving 50mph in the left lane of the interstate, next to a slow moving old fart in the right lane, and refusing to budge. I got right up on her ass and honked. She reacted by jaming her brakes short and hard. I pulled my hands off the steering wheel and laughed my ass off. “Go ahead! Do you see this car?” She got out of my way in a big hurry after taking a hard look at the car.
I think the thing lasted about 4 months before my dad sold it for scrap.
I spent a number of years keeping an old hoopty and an old truck at the same time so that I would (usually) have one vehicle that ran.
The worst one would, without a doubt, have been the 1974 Dodge Dart Swinger.
It was an old-man-green, rusted out and bondoed POS that ate voltage regulators for breakfast. In 1983, when I bought it, it showed 67K on the odometer, but if that was the actual mileage, they sure were rough ones.
One of the rear windows wouldn’t go all of the way up (sucks in lake effects winters), the hood was held down by coat hangers and duct tape, the vinyl roof was peeling, the gas cap had been replaced with a rag and the trunk lock was bored out. It had no AC, the heat was iffy in the winter and the seats were duct taped vinyl.
The scrap yard gave me $35 for it when the last voltage regulator went out.
HA! My first car was also a '59 Dauphine. But I bought mine for $150 in 1975. I never could get the fuel pump to work reliably, despite several late night side-of-the-road rebuilding attempts. Once, I parked it in a friend’s driveway, a driveway that led down from the street into the garage. Not a real wise thing to do, considering that the engine was in the rear. Fortunately, the thing weighed maybe 700 pounds, so my friends and I managed to manhandle it back up to street level. That was the point when my personal mechanic (my Dad, actually, not really a mechanic, except by avocation), said “Screw it,” took me to a wrecking yard out in Wilmington, and had me pick up a rebuilt electric fuel pump.
Lessee, the pipe from the gas cap to the fuel tank was rusted through, so I had to be very slow when I filled up the tank, or most of the gas would go out on the ground. No climate control. No radio. I don’t think it had seatbelts, but I could be mis-remembering.
It had it’s charms, though, including the little hole in the rear bumper that led to a keyway in the generator. If I had the ignition key in the “on” position, I could insert the operating crank from the scissors jack, and crank it to life by hand.
I had 68 VW Bug whose battery fell through the floorboard.
My parents had a Renault (don’t know what year) that was owned my the mafia and my Dad got at a gov’t auction. (he was an FBI agent). The car would not go in reverse and gas gauge did not work. Mom always had to find a parking spot far away (two spotter) so she could pull through.
A 85 Ford Escort. Keep in mind that I’ve never paid more than a few hundred dollars for a car, so I don’t expect them to last long, but geebus. The front wheel drive fan conked out so often that I had someone put in a switch so I could turn it on and off manually; I know it had tons of other issues, but the one that killed it <sort of> was that it actually bottomed out over a speed bump, which put holes in the oil pan. It lasted about 20 miles after that…
Friends tried to re-do the engine after that, but after taking it apart and looking at it, it was decided that it wasn’t even worth it.
Addendum…My favorite car was also the cheapest An 84 Chevy sedan, for 200 bucks, that would have lasted forever except that my brother decided I needed more brake fluid, which he happily added from his Big Bottle O’Brake Fluid he had in his trunk. He topped his off at the same time.
Apparantly, brake fluid can go bad, as we both discovered the next day when suddenly our brakes were permanently ‘on’. Whatever was wrong with the fluid, it destroyed the brake lines in the whole system, on both cars, and was far too expensive to get fixed.
Chevy > Ford.
You know those little Calvin-pissing stickers? I had one of him pissing on the Ford symbol…on my Ford.
At one point I also had a Ford 1950 stepside kind of pickup, with a genuine ‘AhOOOOgah!’ horn. It rocked, when it worked. Even though I had to stand up on the brakes, wrapping my arms around the steering wheel, at stop lights, to keep it from just rolling on through.
Although, after all that, I’m about to vote for my sweetie’s PT Cruiser. Not only are parts impossible to find, but something is ALWAYS wrong with it, and it’s less than 4 years old.
Today the topper was the 300+ we’re going to have to spend to get a key made.
One. Key. 300+ bucks.
I will never by choice personally own a vehicle that requires a dealer create a g(&damn key.
My first car was a pos F111 70`s model Subaru
I promptly burned the cluth out of it and it was then i discovered you had to pull the engine to replace the damn thing.
I got rid of it and paid my mama $800 for her `68 GS 350 V8 buick Skylark
It was a damn good car for picking up girlies.
A Datsun station wagon. I have no idea of the model or year, but since it was the early 80’s it was probably from the 70’s. My parents paid my brother to fix it up for me. It leaked oil, brake and clutch fluid. I had to carry some of each with me at all times and frequently refill them. Fortunately, I wasn’t stuck with it for too long.
It lasted about 20 miles after that…
An 84 Chevy sedan, for 200 bucks, that would have lasted forever except that my brother decided I needed more brake fluid, which he happily added from his Big Bottle O’Brake Fluid he had in his trunk. He topped his off at the same time.
