Back to the Gone Days

If you have ever attended a Concour d’Elegance presentation, you will agree with me that people with classic cars from the 50s, 60s, 7os and 80s as well as some car model of the 90s, which have become less common on our roads, have something to boast about. It’s something which at times is referred to a being vintage– a class of its own that is common to a few.

It’s true that there are those who will only boast of new supercars, but these classic cars are abundant with nostalgia of the days back then. They are a symbol of respect of what used to be the king(s) of the road in the days long gone.

My dad used to own such a car and to date I’m bothered why he had to let it go. I at times attribute his sale for the car to his improper care and maintenance but this still doesn’t warrant any reason why he had to let it go. It is a car which used to take me and my sister to school during weekdays, to a picnic or family outing on Saturday and to church on Sundays; a car that I grew up considering to be part of us because most of my dad’s friends could of call him the name of the car’s brand.

It was the Porsche 911— a car in its own class. I must admit that the car still hold many memories and whenever I spot one on the roads, I can’t help but recall the good and the bad that we have ever experienced on the road while riding it.

A classic memory

One of the most vivid incidence occurred while I was 10. That day, we had gone to visit my grandparents and we had a wonderful time which made us stay at their place more than we had planned. By the time we were getting ready to get back home, dark was approaching. This induced my dad to ride fast and triggered an argument between him and mum.

I must agree that both of my parents ‘loved’ arguments but at the end, in between our journey home, mum asked for a pullover. My dad being the proud one who maintained that he didn’t care what happened, dropped us and headed home. We were left stranded on the road as we waited for any motorist who would allow us to hitch a ride.

For almost an hour, we stood stranded by the roadside– my mom, sister and me. Guess who came along, the county sheriff. He pitied us and offered to take us home but had to go ride to his office before proceeding to take us home.

When we arrived there, you don’t wanna guess who his guest was– dad. He had been caught on the wrong side of the law for over-speeding had since he had no cash for a bail-out, he was taken to custody. My mum also had no cash at hand and we spent the better part of the night there organizing for his release.

In conclusion, I must admit that I still long to one day own this classic marquee of the 70s. There are several stories that it went down with and can’t rest without reviving them.