As I was driving home the other day, I had the inadvertent urge to stop and look at a car that had a big "For Sale" sign in the window.

It was an older model with a nice sloped back glass and a really attractive paint job. As I stared at it for awhile, I thought about my first priority at the time: driving. I had just began to drop off the right shoulder of the road and pulled back on in time to see a big plume of dust in the rearview mirror.

There isn't very much that will bring me out of the I-want-that-old-car trance, but the sudden slap of gravel on the side of one's car can help alleviate almost any other thoughts.

Even so, as soon as I had the car under control, I found myself looking for a place to turn around. Never mind the fact that I have no money and have used up most of my credit. This was a "classic" with more than mere money value. It was a timeless piece of Americana. Even with those facts on the table, the urge was strong and I started feeling somewhat weak. Utilizing a last-ditch burst of fortitude, I managed to turn my head and drive past the next turn-around spot with a grimace of spurned addiction.

People who put nice older cars out near the road don't know what they are doing to me. I can hardly stay on the road. I am addicted to the smell of musty interiors and 1950's era bakelite, the wafting odors of leaded gas and old oil and the smoky flavor of exhaust. How can one reasonably sensible person become so entrenched in the pursuit of old autos? You tell me. I should probably find a group of people with the same problem I have and start a group, perhaps "Automobiles Anonymous" would be a good name for the group.

"Hello, my name is Coby and I can't drive by an old car without having the urge to purchase it," I would say at the first meeting. I suppose now I am going to have to tell my mother that I am a real "junky." Then again, she has seen my car collection, which features several autos from the 1950s in varying states of disrepair.

They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. However, you really can't not have a problem unless you just never talk about it. If you say you have a problem, then you have a problem. On the other hand, if you say you don't have a problem, then you are just in denial and you still have a problem.

So just admit it and get it over with. We all have problems. I talked to my mechanic, who would substitute for a psychiatrist in matters of the engine, and he tells me that the only way to get over it is to sell all the old cars I have and go cold turkey.

So off I went, with a great sense of resolute determination, and set out to sell two old trucks, a pile of parts, two rolling chassis, an SUV, a car and a wagon. However, somewhere deep inside, that voice came back.

It is the same one that whispers, "Ooh, stop and look at that one, you never know, they might be giving it away." So what, I think, I don't even need it if it is free. So, when I looked at the stuff I was thinking of selling, that was the part of me that said, "You can fix those and make a fortune. Don't sell these fine old classics. There will never be any more made - old cars only increase in value."

Thinking logically, you can override that voice. But there is nothing logical about an addiction. Even though my labor alone would cost me $11 million (even at $3 per hour), there is still that nagging thought. On the other hand, considering that it might take roughly 72 years to finish all the "projects" I already have, then it stands to reason that the restored vehicles could actually hold that much value by the time they are done. I knew there was a bright side.

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