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 car story for later, sitting on Memory Lane like a rusty broken-down Rambler on the side of the road. 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 would loan 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 flashed his pride and joy in a burgundy El Ranchero. In case you are not familiar with an El Ranchero, it is the result of an automotive designer's brilliance to merge half a car with half a truck to make one vehicle. The front half looks like a car, and the back half looks like the bed of a truck. I guess the idea was to combine 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 me 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 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, and 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 force 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 out of there 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 El and headed down the road. In the rear-view mirror I could see Trudy doubled over, laughing. 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 at all. 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 was still here, and we would see who laughed the loudest. I wish I had a photo of the car/truck, and one might turn up yet.

    That's the scoop. I would like to thank my friend for his interest in my silly stories 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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