A Spin in the El Ranchero

 

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My friend and I were exchanging stories about the cars we used to drive. He's a car guy, and I mentioned having a funny story for later when I had more time. That was a while ago, and yesterday my friend reminded me that he is still waiting for the story, so here it is. It's about one of the cars I drove in my teens. Or was it a truck? The reader can determine the proper terminology after learning all the facts.

    To begin at the beginning, I must meander back through the years, being careful not to trip over the Camaro, the Toyota, or the Corvair, to name a few. I was sixteen years old and newly licensed with little driving experience. I did not have a car of my own; I drove whatever wheels someone loaned me.

    Way back then, in the orphan phase of my life, I lived with my sister Lucy and my brother-in-law John. They owned a blue Chevrolet Impala, which I had the privilege of driving a few times, and John fancied his pride and joy, a burgundy El Ranchero. In case you are not familiar with an El Ranchero, I will explain that it is the result of an automotive designer's brilliance to merge half a car with half a truck and combine the best of both worlds. The front half looks like a car, and the back half looks like the bed of a truck. I guess the idea was to blend the attractiveness of a sedan with the convenience of a pickup.

    John would let me drive his El Ranchero, which, in looking back on his kindness and his faith in me to bring his baby back home unscathed, melts my heart. In the story I am about to tell, I brought the El Ranchero home unscathed but also with a memory I would never forget. It involves my friend Trudy (not her real name) and the fact that the famous El Ranchero did not have an automatic transmission. It had a clutch and a three-speed on the column or three on the tree, as some say.

    Trudy lived a short drive from my house in a brick rancher in a cul-de-sac. We had been on an outing together, with me at the wheel of the El Ranchero and her in the passenger seat. I planned to drop her off at her house and then drive to mine, but first, I made a spectacle, without trying to and without any such intentions.

    When we reached her house, I pulled into the cul-de-sac and braked, and Trudy and I said our goodbyes, which probably took a long time, because we were best friends, and the last thing we wanted to do was go our separate ways. As she exited the car and shut the door, we continued our goodbyes through the open windows. We were probably still chatting and grinning as I pulled away, which I did by letting out the clutch too fast and applying too much pressure to the gas pedal. 

    Anyone who has ever driven a straight knows that letting out the clutch and pressing down on the gas pedal is a delicate operation. On that day, I failed to mindfully perform that maneuver.

    Suddenly, the spinning tires sprayed loose gravel behind me like an AK-47 spraying bullets, and the El Ranchero spun away with a mind of its own, like it had just seen the green flag slicing the air at Daytona International Speedway. After rounding the curve of the cul-de-sac, I straightened up the car, or truck, and headed down the road. In the rear-view mirror I could see Trudy laughing so hard, she doubled over in merriment. I kept on going and a couple of minutes later pulled quietly into my own driveway, prim and proper, with no fanfare.

    I hadn't meant to cause such a commotion at Trudy's house, but my carelessness did not deter my straight drive pursuits. I adored shifting gears, and when I bought my first car, I opted for a four-speed on the console.

    I don't recall any other episodes involving the El Ranchero, or if I told John about the climactic departure from Trudy's house, but I would gladly tell him today, if he were still here. We would see who laughed the loudest. I wish I had a photo of the car/truck, and one might turn up yet.

    As promised, that is the story, my friend. I would like to thank you for your interest in my silly recollections and for nudging me down the road to my past. Bringing back to life some of the comical moments seared into my memory is fun. It really is true that Those Were the Days.

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