I've spent most of my life driving used cars, often not keeping them very long. I've traded cars and trucks sometimes as many as eight times a year and have owned as many as nine vehicles at a time.

While this might seem extreme, and it probably is, it is a matter of fact. As a single man throughout part of the 1980s and all of the 1990s, I was able to buy and sell multiple vehicles: motorcycles, trucks, campers and even a school bus. I didn't really have much of a problem finding things to buy or things to sell and sometimes I would buy or sell just for the fun of doing it. Along those lines, I have owned some vehicles multiple times and I and a group of friends would often sell each other the same car.

More recently, I've been driving the same vehicles longer, but I've continued to drive used vehicles because of the cost savings. All of the vehicles at my house right now are paid for, including the one that was bought new in 2002. After that experience, I said I would never again buy a new car. Now, the 'fever' sometimes hits when the deals look particularly good, but a simple reminder of the $400-plus payments is all it takes to change my mind very quickly.

As I said, I have purchased a few new cars in my time, including a 25th Anniversary Edition Ford Mustang, a Dodge and a Mercury. I was also able to experience a few new autos that were purchased by my father while he was still living.

A few of his purchases stand out in my mind, mainly because of my age at the time. One was a 1970-something Camaro Z28, canary yellow and black, while the other was a 1979 Jeep CJ-5 that ended up being the vehicle I learned to drive in. He also bought a Ford and a Mercury later, neither of which were very memorable. However, the last new vehicle he purchased, a 1992 Ford pickup, ended up being mine shortly after he bought it and I drove it for some 15 years. I finally sold it to another family member, who still has it now, as far as I know.

Owning a vehicle for that period of time makes it seem like a member of the family and I still kind of miss that truck, even though it had been rolled over once, hit with countless sticks of firewood, ran into the barn on an icy morning and subjugated to more forms of abuse than I care to recount.

With such a long list of vehicles to go through, from muscle cars and vintage classics to economy boxes, it would be pointless to go through them all. I made some very good trades and some very bad ones in my time, but that's all over now. I currently own two mid-1990s vehicles, a Honda Accord and a Chevrolet 2500. The Honda is the car I drive daily to work and such, so I spend most of my time in a smallish car. That's mostly due to economic reasons. I would much rather drive a pickup every day. I like the way they sit up higher, the way the seat is more like a regular chair and the fact that I can throw things in the back any time I choose.

I often recount the story of doing just that when I first came to the county. It's also a story about how old cars can lead one to interesting situations, even if only indirectly.

It all started when I stopped along the road at my parents' house one evening and picked up the refuse thrown out by passers-by. The property fronts on a back road and the house isn't in sight, so it's often used as a place for folks to toss out their beverage containers and other garbage. As you might imagine, the most popular beverages tossed out contain alcohol.

That particular day, I stopped to pick up the cans and bottles and just tossed them in the back of the truck, thinking I would load the rest of the trash from the house and haul it all to the dump later that week.

Being new in town, people often pay more attention to you than they do after you've been around awhile. So, someone noticed that I had beer cans and liquor bottles in the back of the truck and started the rumor that I was riding around while on the job and drinking, then throwing my 'empties' in the back of the truck. This is a true story, by the way.

I sort of laughed when I heard the story, but didn't pay much attention to that. The following week, a neighbor had car trouble and was out working on his vehicle as I left my residence at that time. I walked over and as we talked and looked over his car, he explained that he was trying to get to town that evening. I said I was going to the grocery store and would be happy to drop him off and then pick him up after I was finished.

After we left, he said he wanted me to drop him off at a local church. I did so and then went on to get my groceries. As I returned to the church, I ended up having to wait in the parking lot for him for a few minutes. Come to find out later, the church was hosting meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. So, then the rumor went around that I had stopped drinking on the job all day and joined AA.

Neither story was true, but both were told as if they were—once even to me by someone who didn't know the truck was mine. I still chuckle when I think about it and I try to remember that when I hear rumors about other people. Often there's something true about a rumor, but more often than not, they're simply misleading or patently false.

Anyway, I recently had another mishap due to my car getting a little older. I was on my way to church the other night when the horn started blowing on its own. As I went by Halsey Street with the horn blowing, devil may care, I started wondering where I might pull over to fix it that wouldn't attract too much attention. After all, you don't want to pull up in someone's driveway with the horn blaring. I opted for Choate Dairy Road. It would have been better if the horn went non-stop, but it would cut in and out as if I were mashing the button like a 3-year-old left alone momenetarily in the grocery store parking lot. (Please, don't ask me how I know that). Every car I passed along the way, needless to say, gave me strange looks. I waved at each as friendly as possible, but most, no doubt, thought I was doing it on purpose. Finally, as an act of frustration, I bopped the steering wheel with my fist and the horn stopped. Thankfully, the air bag didn't deploy. Good luck explaining that story to a state trooper after an accident. Despite a couple of brief 'toots' just as I stopped, the horn seemed fine. I had forgotten about it until a few days later when I was leaving one evening and the horn started going off right about the time I reached the funeral home. I was praying, "God, please don't let there be a funeral there today." Though I whacked the steering wheel, my earlier trick wasn't going to work again.

Even though there were a few people about, thankfully there wasn't a service in progress.

Fed up with the whole thing, I searched for some two or three minutes, the horn deafening me all the while, before locating the loud little joker on the front of the radiator. I cut my hand as I jerked the two wires off. I was so glad the noise stopped, I didn't mind at all. Had a funeral been in progress, I don't know what I would have done. It would have been one of those times when one wants to crawl under the car and stay there.

With my inspection due, I have little choice but to fix it. I just hope it doesn't happen again at a most inopportune moment. Just in case, maybe I'll get myself a sign, "Honk if you like used cars," or, "Please don't hit me, the horn's stuck."
 

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