Not all rememberable car stories that deal with owning a muscle car  happened back in the "glory" days.  A matter a fact most of these cars are older than I am.  It seems that almost every car has some sort of story behind it.

I can remember back to the first car that I ever found interest in, mom's 1973 Olds Cutlass Supreme.  My mom drove that car for the longest time.  Not being able to drive till I was eighteen I thought for sure I was going to end up with that car.  When I was sixteen the Olds had better days.  Everything was starting to go wrong with the 455 and the body was rusted bad.  She sent it down the road in someone else's hands.

I passed my drivers license test a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday.  I was still hitching rides at this point but now I had a full time job.  About three months after working, I started to look for a car.  One day I was going past the local speed shop and there was a 1973 Plymouth Roadrunner sitting out front.  Didn't pay any attention to it the first few times I passed it.  After awhile it seemed to catch my attention more and more.  I ended up taking it for a test drive and that's all it took.  Just being a kid it didn't matter that the body was rusty or that the engine would puff smoke when you hammered the gas.  It was just a cool car, no matter what the condition was.  I flipped over three months of savings something like $1500, can't quite remember, and it was mine.

I use to go everywhere in my Roadrunner with all my friends, only one which had a license at this point.  This is how I discovered the woes of owning a beater.  I can remember just like it was yesterday when the usual 3 friends and I where driving around and the carburetor float got suck open.  The car bogged out and died.  The four of us pushed the car two miles home.  We pushed and pushed and on a slight downhill one sat in the drivers seat to steer while everyone else hopped on the car.  When we neared the bottom everyone would jump off and start pushing again.  So darn funny when you think back on it.

Ever since the carb blew and washed the engine out, the car never ran right after that.  Even though I had to add a quart of oil to it everyday and hunt down leaded gas.  I never let it stop us from going around.

Eventually the Roadrunner  gave way to others cars like my 1970 Chevelle SS, which has her own stories and memories.  I still own the car amazingly.  She sits quietly in the corner of my garage and hopefully someday I'll have enough money to restore her right.