For the love of the Wagon
Like a great number of Americans, I've had a long-standing love affair with the automobile.
I'm not sure when that love started, I would guess sometime back before I even knew I had a love for cars. I'm more or less a reformed car junkie, though I do have a soft spot for certain combustion-engined vehicles. The "rumpty rumpty" sound of a big block running some clearly not street legal cam makes me laugh, manically.
While my testosterone and evil laugh belong to those big Detroit steel beasts, my heart belong to the wagon. Yes, you heard right, the wagon. Maybe as a kid I saw pictures of the Chevy Nomad and fell hopelessly in love. Looking at that picture of the cherry red and clean white, it's easy to see why I would have fallen in love. The car has gorgeous lines. It looks ready to hit the road and roll. It has the form and function I crave.
My first real-world experience with the station wagon was the 1971 Ford Torino wagon. We called it the White Whale. It was a whale. Growing up a child of the 70s, we owned our share of large cars (1977 Ford LTD, 1981 Mercury Grand Marquis) but the White Whale was THE biggest. Check these spec's out: 209 inches in length, that's almost 17 1/2 feet long. It was over six feet wide. Its curb weight was between 3,141-3,663 lbs! Though as a comparison, the 2011 Chevy Suburban tips the scales at 5846 lbs.
I have some fond family trip memories of this car. I remember at least on family camping trip where it stormed out hard and we all ended up in the back of the car. Well, at least us kids ended up in the back of the car. I'm sure it was long enough in the back for us to sleep. Whether or not my parents' slept, I don't know. Being a parent now, I'd guess they didn't.
We went for a while without a wagon, but we had two more family wagons, both of them Taurus wagons. They didn't really leave an impression on me, other than, whoever at Ford designed these cars should be tortured. If you've never changed oil on a Taurus, then you haven't lived. Easily one of the hardest to reach oil filters ever. Who needs to reach an oil filter right?
I'm not sure when that love started, I would guess sometime back before I even knew I had a love for cars. I'm more or less a reformed car junkie, though I do have a soft spot for certain combustion-engined vehicles. The "rumpty rumpty" sound of a big block running some clearly not street legal cam makes me laugh, manically.
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| Bad Ass Wagon! |
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| Capt Ahab's nemesis |
I have some fond family trip memories of this car. I remember at least on family camping trip where it stormed out hard and we all ended up in the back of the car. Well, at least us kids ended up in the back of the car. I'm sure it was long enough in the back for us to sleep. Whether or not my parents' slept, I don't know. Being a parent now, I'd guess they didn't.
We went for a while without a wagon, but we had two more family wagons, both of them Taurus wagons. They didn't really leave an impression on me, other than, whoever at Ford designed these cars should be tortured. If you've never changed oil on a Taurus, then you haven't lived. Easily one of the hardest to reach oil filters ever. Who needs to reach an oil filter right?
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| It hard to get more boring |
The first Taurus wagon was a late 80s version. It was tan. Inside and outside. A rolling sea of tan. With tinted windows. I remember thinking when we first got the car that it must have been used as a drug runner vehicle. Or something illicit. I never found traces of anything that could
directly be linked to it, but that car sure gave off that vibe.
The only other memory of that wagon I have is, driving it was about as exciting as it's color. It was just blah. The Grand Marquis had better handling than that car. It was as boring as boring gets. Turkey with mayo on white bread boring.
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| Not quite as boring, but close |
The second Taurus wagon was an early 90s wagon. Part of the reason this car isn't memorable in my mind is at this point I was out of the house and in college. Sure I came home from time to time, but I was busy out in the world exploring anything I could get my hands on and my mind around. All I really remember about this car is that it was slightly less bulky compared to its predecessor.
You can tell at this stage of the wagon, the traditional Detroit wagon was at the end of it's rope. Sales were lagging. People start sucking from the SUV teet. Dark days for the wagon, not doubt.
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| Isn't she lovely? |
Regardless of that, I finally owned my first wagon sometime after that. This was right around 2000 when I picked up a 1991 Toyota Camry wagon. It was love at first sight. I realize that to everyone one else, it was just another wagon. A boring one at that. Metallic red. Red interior. But, to me, it was heaven.
The car carried me, literally, through some once-in-a-lifetime experiences both good and bad.
When I got the car, I was making the transition from newspaper reporter to bike shop geek. It was the perfect car to help facilitate that change. I could stuff three bikes in the back while still leaving enough room for gear as well as two people up front. Not too shabby for the family truckster.
Speaking of bikes and the Camry, a couple trips stick out in my mind. One of the was a trip to Marquette, MI with my Luby . We got some great riding in thanks to the guys at Quick Stop Bike Shop. Hit up trails that you'll only find if you're lucky enough to cross paths with those guys. It was a great weekend. Living out of the tent/wagon, living on MRE's and riding some fabled dirt.
The other bike-related story is heading down to help support a few folks doing the 24 Hours of Afton, now know as the Salsa Two-Four Fest. Several of the folks from ONAG (RIP) were riding it and myself and Jeremiah Johnson drove on down after work. On the way down, kept seeing flashes of lightening off to the south, the direction we were heading. No big deal, we get thunderstorms all the time. As we're heading closer to the race, the lightening becomes closer and more frequent. Flip on the radio and, sure enough, there's a doozy of a storm headed our way. We sally forth just the same. Several hours later, it starts to rain. And then the winds pick up. And they keep picking up. And the rain comes down harder. Soon it's horizontal. Not long after that, the main area everyone was camping was in knee-deep water, apparently it was a low spot. Other tents were flying away or close to flying away. We sought shelter in the car.
I'm not sure how long that went on for, but it was a while. When the wind and rain settled, tents were gone, everything and everyone was soaked. If I recall, the tents where they were keeping track of racers and laps, etc, were gone and computers had been lost. Some folks stuck around and raced. We stuck around and cleaned up for a bit and then headed out, like a lot of people that year. The next year, at the same event, the weather was perfect. I remember sleeping in the back of the wagon with a couple of other female co-workers. Nothing happened other than sleep. But...it was still pretty nice to snuggle like that.
That car also hauled my ass down to Milwaukee from St. Cloud. Sadly, it met the end of the road with me in Milwaukee. It was a morning, not unlike other mornings, bright, sunny, full of possibilities. I was working at Wheel & Sprocket in Brookfield, WI and didn't work until noon. Stayed over at my girlfriend's house and was riding my bike back to my place thinking, I'll change and get a quick bike ride in before work. Riding down my street, I notice my car is missing. I laughed thinking I must be going crazy. Then I realize the empty spot behind the Pontiac is where my car should be. It's not there. At all. No broken glass. No plastic. Nothing, it's just...gone. I head into the house and call the police, knowing the odds of them doing something are slim to none, but I'll take any odds over no odds.
How, you may ask yourself, did they get in my car? Well, there are a couple of possibilities, I'm not sure which one the thieves used. The simplest answer is they used the handle on the rear of the car. The lock had been broken and it never stayed locked. All they would have had to do was use that handle and they were in.
The possibility is Camry's of that vintage was notoriously easy to break in to. Add to that the fact that those same years were extremely simple to start without a key. I'm talking jam something, anything steel into the ignition and keep trying to turn it until it catches. Plus, the 91 Camry still is the 3rd most stolen vehicle in the US.
At this point, sadness and grief set in. My wagon was gone. Stolen. By people of dubious character. I was heart broken and angry. I spent a month wrangling with the insurance company before I got my check. Several days after getting my check from the insurance company, I get a phone call from my roommate, excitedly telling me they found my car and I needed to call the city impound lot. I was certain that when I went to it, it would be stripped of all it's parts and just be an empty shell. It wasn't. At all. I looked the same as when I had left it. It had several hundred more miles on it than when I left it. It was missing my cd collection under the seat (which still bums me out). The change was also gone. Now, I could have bought the car back from the insurance company at that point, but I decided since the car was stolen once, it would be an easy target for next time too and moved on. We said my goodbyes. I thanked it for being a good car and wished it the best of luck. I told it I would love it. Forever.
Since then, I've longed to have a wagon. But fate had other plans for me. Mostly in the form of a beige Toyota Corolla. I knew the Corolla had came in a wagon form for a while and I would dream about that sometimes while I drove. I'd think about the open space in the back and think about a wagon's sexy rear end.
As fortune would have it, I talked to Mom sometime in July. The phone call didn't seem any different than any other phone call her and I have. Talk about how things are with each of us, what's going on back home, etc. Then she asks me how the Corolla is holding up. I say more or less it's fine. I mean, it's a 10-year-old car with 185,000 miles on it so it has a few ticks and quirks, but overall its a good little car. She then says, well, you should think about buying a new car. Sure I should, I respond, but I certainly can't afford a car payment just yet, but maybe some time within the next year or two I can. Then she explains that her and Dad are going to help me out with a car. My mind whirls and I don't have the words so I simply say "Thank you."
With my mind reeling and a smile on my face, I start the hunt for a new vehicle. I look at a few different cars at first. I check out Civics. I poke around VWs. Then I check out Passat wagons. Then it comes back to me, in a rush it just hits me. A wagon.! Eureka!
Which wagon, is the question. I know nothing about the wagons on the market today. I check a few cars out and then realize the Toyota Matrix/Pontiac Vibe is what I want. It has everything that I am after in a car and then some. Low and behold one pops up at a small little dealer back in my home town. 2009 Pontiac Vibe.
I didn't even see the car before I bought it, well, I saw it, but hadn't driven it. It was in the lot, my parents checked it out and I said yes.
I haven't been disappointed. It feels good to be back in a wagon. Technically I believe the Vibe/Matrix is referred to as a sports wagon, I don't care. It's a wagon and it's MY wagon. It has a lot of cool features my other cars didn't have. Plus, because it is a wagon, it hauls a ton of stuff. This last weekend I hauled two Rubbermaid containers, a 16-inch-wheeled kids bike, six flower pots with flowers, a backpack, a nearly five-year-old and me. Like I said, it hauls a bunch of stuff.
So, for nearly a year, I am a wagon owner again. I have enjoyed the adventures I've already had with this wagon. I look forward to many more adventures.
The car carried me, literally, through some once-in-a-lifetime experiences both good and bad.
When I got the car, I was making the transition from newspaper reporter to bike shop geek. It was the perfect car to help facilitate that change. I could stuff three bikes in the back while still leaving enough room for gear as well as two people up front. Not too shabby for the family truckster.
Speaking of bikes and the Camry, a couple trips stick out in my mind. One of the was a trip to Marquette, MI with my Luby . We got some great riding in thanks to the guys at Quick Stop Bike Shop. Hit up trails that you'll only find if you're lucky enough to cross paths with those guys. It was a great weekend. Living out of the tent/wagon, living on MRE's and riding some fabled dirt.
I'm not sure how long that went on for, but it was a while. When the wind and rain settled, tents were gone, everything and everyone was soaked. If I recall, the tents where they were keeping track of racers and laps, etc, were gone and computers had been lost. Some folks stuck around and raced. We stuck around and cleaned up for a bit and then headed out, like a lot of people that year. The next year, at the same event, the weather was perfect. I remember sleeping in the back of the wagon with a couple of other female co-workers. Nothing happened other than sleep. But...it was still pretty nice to snuggle like that.
That car also hauled my ass down to Milwaukee from St. Cloud. Sadly, it met the end of the road with me in Milwaukee. It was a morning, not unlike other mornings, bright, sunny, full of possibilities. I was working at Wheel & Sprocket in Brookfield, WI and didn't work until noon. Stayed over at my girlfriend's house and was riding my bike back to my place thinking, I'll change and get a quick bike ride in before work. Riding down my street, I notice my car is missing. I laughed thinking I must be going crazy. Then I realize the empty spot behind the Pontiac is where my car should be. It's not there. At all. No broken glass. No plastic. Nothing, it's just...gone. I head into the house and call the police, knowing the odds of them doing something are slim to none, but I'll take any odds over no odds.
The possibility is Camry's of that vintage was notoriously easy to break in to. Add to that the fact that those same years were extremely simple to start without a key. I'm talking jam something, anything steel into the ignition and keep trying to turn it until it catches. Plus, the 91 Camry still is the 3rd most stolen vehicle in the US.
At this point, sadness and grief set in. My wagon was gone. Stolen. By people of dubious character. I was heart broken and angry. I spent a month wrangling with the insurance company before I got my check. Several days after getting my check from the insurance company, I get a phone call from my roommate, excitedly telling me they found my car and I needed to call the city impound lot. I was certain that when I went to it, it would be stripped of all it's parts and just be an empty shell. It wasn't. At all. I looked the same as when I had left it. It had several hundred more miles on it than when I left it. It was missing my cd collection under the seat (which still bums me out). The change was also gone. Now, I could have bought the car back from the insurance company at that point, but I decided since the car was stolen once, it would be an easy target for next time too and moved on. We said my goodbyes. I thanked it for being a good car and wished it the best of luck. I told it I would love it. Forever.
Since then, I've longed to have a wagon. But fate had other plans for me. Mostly in the form of a beige Toyota Corolla. I knew the Corolla had came in a wagon form for a while and I would dream about that sometimes while I drove. I'd think about the open space in the back and think about a wagon's sexy rear end.
As fortune would have it, I talked to Mom sometime in July. The phone call didn't seem any different than any other phone call her and I have. Talk about how things are with each of us, what's going on back home, etc. Then she asks me how the Corolla is holding up. I say more or less it's fine. I mean, it's a 10-year-old car with 185,000 miles on it so it has a few ticks and quirks, but overall its a good little car. She then says, well, you should think about buying a new car. Sure I should, I respond, but I certainly can't afford a car payment just yet, but maybe some time within the next year or two I can. Then she explains that her and Dad are going to help me out with a car. My mind whirls and I don't have the words so I simply say "Thank you."
With my mind reeling and a smile on my face, I start the hunt for a new vehicle. I look at a few different cars at first. I check out Civics. I poke around VWs. Then I check out Passat wagons. Then it comes back to me, in a rush it just hits me. A wagon.! Eureka!
Which wagon, is the question. I know nothing about the wagons on the market today. I check a few cars out and then realize the Toyota Matrix/Pontiac Vibe is what I want. It has everything that I am after in a car and then some. Low and behold one pops up at a small little dealer back in my home town. 2009 Pontiac Vibe.
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| Sporty? Maybe not, but a wagon just the same. |
I haven't been disappointed. It feels good to be back in a wagon. Technically I believe the Vibe/Matrix is referred to as a sports wagon, I don't care. It's a wagon and it's MY wagon. It has a lot of cool features my other cars didn't have. Plus, because it is a wagon, it hauls a ton of stuff. This last weekend I hauled two Rubbermaid containers, a 16-inch-wheeled kids bike, six flower pots with flowers, a backpack, a nearly five-year-old and me. Like I said, it hauls a bunch of stuff.
So, for nearly a year, I am a wagon owner again. I have enjoyed the adventures I've already had with this wagon. I look forward to many more adventures.
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