After a comment exchange with BillyBob over at Hell On Earth (a nice guy, BTW, and slated for the next round of blogroll updates), I felt compelled to point out a little bit of automotive irony.
BillyBob inferred that I'm a "Ford guy," from some comments I've made about his car posts. I replied that I've always considered myself a Chevy kid. The sick irony of this is that there's only one Chevy in the immediate family anymore, and that's owned by Baby Brother. Yes, I used to own that Chev, but now, it's kinda a lonely bowtie in a Blue Oval Army. Mom and Dad have 4 Fords between them. I have a Ford and a Mazda (which is nothing more than a rebadged Ford anyways), in addition to my beloved VW.
That said, my first automotive love has always been first-gen Camaros. Those are followed very closely by 58-62 Corvettes, back when they were sports cars instead of muscle cars, and with those gorgeous lines and beautiful split headlights.
My only automotive regret remains not buying Goliath, my grandmother's 83 Scottsdale. 4 doors, long bed, reinforced rear end. Roughly 25000 on the rebuilt Tonawanda 454 (man, that was a mighty engine!) and 15000 on the rebuilt tranny. The brakes wouldn't hold her, if you wanted to launch, the proper method was to take your foot off the brake, mash the go-go pedal to the floor, and hang on for dear life. I could afford the $2000, but I was getting married, and was advised that it was an unwise purchase. While that advice remains true with respect to the circumstances, in retrospect, I really should have bought that truck.
Ah, well, there's always another vehicle to wrench on.