Bill Conrad's Blog - Posts Tagged "cars"
The Disappearing Car
In 1994, I had been driving my red Mitsubishi Eclipse for a year. One summer evening, I was on my way home on a nearly empty freeway. At some point, I noticed a silver sedan pull into my passenger’s side blind spot. To mitigate the problem, I slowed down and sped up. Unfortunately, the driver matched my speed. Quite annoying.
Because I could not directly see the car in my mirror, I had to crane my neck around to spot their headlights. After a few twists, I developed a routine. I looked ahead for a ten count, then at my speedometer, and then craned around. This routine went on about twenty times, and then, poof! I did not see the sedan. Where did it go? There were no nearby exits, and I had enough light to see cars (even without headlights) behind me.
Four explanations could explain what occurred. The most likely is that I lost track of time, and the car exited. The second is an optical illusion or visual mistake. Another possibility is that I made this story up, dreamed it, or did not remembering it correctly.
Of course, I immediately ruled out those logical explanations. The car disappeared! Yes, the law of physics went out the window, and the car teleported away just like on Star Trek. Is this explanation logical? Of course not. Yet, I told all my friends about my fantastic event.
Did I believe this outrageous explanation? To my four blog readers, I wish to be honest. Clearly, the car did not vanish, but I 100% believed it did. Why? I think a part of me wanted something unique to happen. Another aspect of me was stunned by the sudden action and refused to accept my time tracking failure.
Was I too immature (illogical) to accept a rational explanation? I have always been a logical person and possessed the mental foundation to understand the difference between what is possible and impossible. Yet, I allowed myself to step into fantasy.
Over time, this powerful memory got replaced by logic. The first explanation is probably what occurred. Why did it take me many years to see the truth? I suppose age brings wisdom.
There is an edge between fiction and delusion. However, there is another aspect to this discussion. When readers pick up a fictional book, we know the story is not real. Yet, we turn off our logic and let our minds drift. We drift farther into the impossible. Magic, talking robots, ghosts, time travel, and dragons are all possible. This line can be blurry because authors push the envelope, use real-life events, and want their readers to dive into fantasy.
Humans have a deep desire to accept the unacceptable and genuinely want to believe. Star Wars themed weddings? Of course. I suppose the edge of reality makes fiction appealing.
Because I could not directly see the car in my mirror, I had to crane my neck around to spot their headlights. After a few twists, I developed a routine. I looked ahead for a ten count, then at my speedometer, and then craned around. This routine went on about twenty times, and then, poof! I did not see the sedan. Where did it go? There were no nearby exits, and I had enough light to see cars (even without headlights) behind me.
Four explanations could explain what occurred. The most likely is that I lost track of time, and the car exited. The second is an optical illusion or visual mistake. Another possibility is that I made this story up, dreamed it, or did not remembering it correctly.
Of course, I immediately ruled out those logical explanations. The car disappeared! Yes, the law of physics went out the window, and the car teleported away just like on Star Trek. Is this explanation logical? Of course not. Yet, I told all my friends about my fantastic event.
Did I believe this outrageous explanation? To my four blog readers, I wish to be honest. Clearly, the car did not vanish, but I 100% believed it did. Why? I think a part of me wanted something unique to happen. Another aspect of me was stunned by the sudden action and refused to accept my time tracking failure.
Was I too immature (illogical) to accept a rational explanation? I have always been a logical person and possessed the mental foundation to understand the difference between what is possible and impossible. Yet, I allowed myself to step into fantasy.
Over time, this powerful memory got replaced by logic. The first explanation is probably what occurred. Why did it take me many years to see the truth? I suppose age brings wisdom.
There is an edge between fiction and delusion. However, there is another aspect to this discussion. When readers pick up a fictional book, we know the story is not real. Yet, we turn off our logic and let our minds drift. We drift farther into the impossible. Magic, talking robots, ghosts, time travel, and dragons are all possible. This line can be blurry because authors push the envelope, use real-life events, and want their readers to dive into fantasy.
Humans have a deep desire to accept the unacceptable and genuinely want to believe. Star Wars themed weddings? Of course. I suppose the edge of reality makes fiction appealing.
The Van of Death
In the early ‘70s, my family had two cars. My father drove a blue Toyota, and my mother drove a big green/fake wood station wagon. (Similar to the Family Truckster in the movie Vacation.) In the mid-‘70s, my father purchased a white Chevrolet van, and my mother drove a cream Toyota Corolla.
We liked camping, and my father converted the white van into a four-person camper. He made a plywood shelf in the back that allowed me to sleep about three feet above the floor. Because he built the shelf inside the van, it could not be removed. The van had a back seat bolted to the frame, and he attached giant plywood skis to move it outside. He glued carpet on the floor, preventing the back seat from sliding around.
My father cut plywood to make a platform over the two front seats and the dashboard. There was a hole for the steering wheel, and my sister slept in this small area. When driving, he placed this plywood sheet on top of the back plywood sheet. My parents slept lengthwise below my bed. The only other modification was changing out the dome lights with fluorescents because they use less electricity.
We went on many trips, and I fondly remember those times. As a vehicle, my father drove that white van everywhere. It was his work truck, transportation, and camper. Eventually, the maintenance and mileage became too great, and my father sold it.
My father purchased a used light-blue Chevrolet van in the ‘80s. By this time, my sister and I were far too big to sleep in this vehicle, so my father did not make any modifications.
In 1988, I learned how to drive, and my car of choice was my mother’s Corolla. It had great visibility, acceleration, braking, and handling. Plus, the air conditioner was fantastic.
Unfortunately, I did most of my early driving in that blue van. Its design had many driving flaws. For visibility, I could look forward but not down. There was a small driver’s side mirror, but the seat position made it difficult to see on the left side. One or two motorcycles could easily hide in the blind spot. The passenger window was small, far away, and high. So, the mirror was hard to see, and there was a blind spot big enough to hide a pickup truck. The epic problems were with the back windows. They were tiny, and I could only see large trucks or cars far behind me.
When I changed lanes, I looked and craned my neck hard. Then, I flicked on the turn signals, waited for ten clicks, and slowly eased over while looking at the mirrors and listening for horns.
And there was more fun! The brakes were gentle, the acceleration was modest, and the steering was vague. I had at least ten close calls, and driving was always stressful.
One flaw outshined all others. Like the white van, my father wanted a back seat. The blue van did not come with one, and we went to a junkyard to get one from a junked Volkswagen van. My father and I attached wooden planks to it. However, the blue van did not have carpet, which allowed the back seat to slide in all directions. Did I mention the Volkswagen seat did not have seat belts?
When the van rapidly stopped, the seat would slide forward, and the passengers (if lucky) would slam into the back of the driver’s and passenger’s seats. Unlucky passengers crashed into the dashboard. Taking a sharp turn slammed them into the side panels.
This is how that blue van earned the nickname “The Van of Death.” Despite the negatives, the blue van was my lifeline. I went to friends houses, stores and explored the town.
I recall one fun trip going to the locksmith with a giant file cabinet, and it went flying during a fast corner which made a nice dent in the side. Another time, I was in an unfamiliar part of town and did not know about a big hump in the road. I was going too fast and took off like the General Lee from the television show The Dukes of Hazzard. Because the shock absorbers were not great, there was a big bounce. This event scared the life out of me.
Around 2000, my father replaced the blue van with a white Chevrolet van. It was faster, had better handling, large windows, an enormous window on the passenger side, and oversized mirrors. There was something else of note. It had an AC Delco radio, and despite being basic, it was by far the best car sound system I have ever heard.
We all have childhood experiences; some are more negative than others, but they are the best learning experiences. I can certainly say I am a better driver, but if circumstances were slightly different, I could have died in an accident. Yet, I survived and now have experiences to write about.
You’re the best -Bill
June 07, 2023
We liked camping, and my father converted the white van into a four-person camper. He made a plywood shelf in the back that allowed me to sleep about three feet above the floor. Because he built the shelf inside the van, it could not be removed. The van had a back seat bolted to the frame, and he attached giant plywood skis to move it outside. He glued carpet on the floor, preventing the back seat from sliding around.
My father cut plywood to make a platform over the two front seats and the dashboard. There was a hole for the steering wheel, and my sister slept in this small area. When driving, he placed this plywood sheet on top of the back plywood sheet. My parents slept lengthwise below my bed. The only other modification was changing out the dome lights with fluorescents because they use less electricity.
We went on many trips, and I fondly remember those times. As a vehicle, my father drove that white van everywhere. It was his work truck, transportation, and camper. Eventually, the maintenance and mileage became too great, and my father sold it.
My father purchased a used light-blue Chevrolet van in the ‘80s. By this time, my sister and I were far too big to sleep in this vehicle, so my father did not make any modifications.
In 1988, I learned how to drive, and my car of choice was my mother’s Corolla. It had great visibility, acceleration, braking, and handling. Plus, the air conditioner was fantastic.
Unfortunately, I did most of my early driving in that blue van. Its design had many driving flaws. For visibility, I could look forward but not down. There was a small driver’s side mirror, but the seat position made it difficult to see on the left side. One or two motorcycles could easily hide in the blind spot. The passenger window was small, far away, and high. So, the mirror was hard to see, and there was a blind spot big enough to hide a pickup truck. The epic problems were with the back windows. They were tiny, and I could only see large trucks or cars far behind me.
When I changed lanes, I looked and craned my neck hard. Then, I flicked on the turn signals, waited for ten clicks, and slowly eased over while looking at the mirrors and listening for horns.
And there was more fun! The brakes were gentle, the acceleration was modest, and the steering was vague. I had at least ten close calls, and driving was always stressful.
One flaw outshined all others. Like the white van, my father wanted a back seat. The blue van did not come with one, and we went to a junkyard to get one from a junked Volkswagen van. My father and I attached wooden planks to it. However, the blue van did not have carpet, which allowed the back seat to slide in all directions. Did I mention the Volkswagen seat did not have seat belts?
When the van rapidly stopped, the seat would slide forward, and the passengers (if lucky) would slam into the back of the driver’s and passenger’s seats. Unlucky passengers crashed into the dashboard. Taking a sharp turn slammed them into the side panels.
This is how that blue van earned the nickname “The Van of Death.” Despite the negatives, the blue van was my lifeline. I went to friends houses, stores and explored the town.
I recall one fun trip going to the locksmith with a giant file cabinet, and it went flying during a fast corner which made a nice dent in the side. Another time, I was in an unfamiliar part of town and did not know about a big hump in the road. I was going too fast and took off like the General Lee from the television show The Dukes of Hazzard. Because the shock absorbers were not great, there was a big bounce. This event scared the life out of me.
Around 2000, my father replaced the blue van with a white Chevrolet van. It was faster, had better handling, large windows, an enormous window on the passenger side, and oversized mirrors. There was something else of note. It had an AC Delco radio, and despite being basic, it was by far the best car sound system I have ever heard.
We all have childhood experiences; some are more negative than others, but they are the best learning experiences. I can certainly say I am a better driver, but if circumstances were slightly different, I could have died in an accident. Yet, I survived and now have experiences to write about.
You’re the best -Bill
June 07, 2023
Because Of The Story
I watched the car show Jay Leno’s Garage, and he got asked why he purchased a particular car. The answer was, “I bought it because of the story.” Meaning that Jay listened to the seller’s story, which influenced his purchase. In this episode, the car belonged to the son’s father, and Jay liked the family connection.
I thought little about the quote, but it rattled around my bonkers mind for a month, which inspired me to think about my first car, a red 1990 Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX. Kim (I named her) was fast, fun, underpowered, and had a personality. From every angle, she hated standing still.
Kim was an odd car type choice. My mother was convinced I needed a jeep, and my father knew I wanted a truck. Why? They are practical and rugged, which matches my personality. But a sports car? They are small, high maintenance, unreliable, and expensive. Why that one? I had just graduated as an engineer and wanted the best engineered car to fit my budget—specifically, the all-wheel drive.
Why? For the high-speed California roads? To corner like a daemon? To fulfill my track-day dreams? No, this car was entirely impracticable for my needs. I hoped to buy something that looked cool and had this innovative feature.
Kim and I had many driving adventures and made our own stories, but I did not buy that car because of its story. Yet, as I look at the vast piles of junk in my garage, I can see many purchased items because of their story.
One is a pile of garage sale screwdrivers. The lady said they belonged to her late father, who used them to repair her toys. Why? I certainly had other screw drives in better shape. The story tugged at my heart, and I wanted that same connection. Someday, I would use them to repair my daughter’s toys and then pass them along to her. Yeah… They sat in a pile, and I never used them once.
About 20 years ago, I purchased a Simpson multimeter at the swap meet. It is large, and I have much better meters, but the owner saved up for a year on his paper route to buy it. He hoped to be an electrician but joined the military to help his family. Do I use that old thing? No, but what a remarkable story.
I even purchased a shirt because of a story. There was a sale of college shirts at Miller’s Outpost. (They changed their name to Anchor Blue and closed their doors on February 17, 2011) I was a senior, and it was popular to wear college shirts, and I wanted to join the fad. So, I was walking down the street in a Stanford shirt, and a guy yelled, “Hey, Stanford guy!” He was selling used shirts and rooted through his pile. And there it was, an identical shirt. The story was that his son went to Stanford and joined their football team. He bulked up to play and could not fit into his old clothes. Did I wear the shirt? A few times, but that was not the point. I had a story to tell all my friends.
Was it all a scam, good salesmanship, or honest people making a connection? Who knows? Stories are powerful, and they tug at our hearts. The trick is creating them and living with a garage full of story-filled junk.
You’re the best -Bill
October 04, 2023
I thought little about the quote, but it rattled around my bonkers mind for a month, which inspired me to think about my first car, a red 1990 Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX. Kim (I named her) was fast, fun, underpowered, and had a personality. From every angle, she hated standing still.
Kim was an odd car type choice. My mother was convinced I needed a jeep, and my father knew I wanted a truck. Why? They are practical and rugged, which matches my personality. But a sports car? They are small, high maintenance, unreliable, and expensive. Why that one? I had just graduated as an engineer and wanted the best engineered car to fit my budget—specifically, the all-wheel drive.
Why? For the high-speed California roads? To corner like a daemon? To fulfill my track-day dreams? No, this car was entirely impracticable for my needs. I hoped to buy something that looked cool and had this innovative feature.
Kim and I had many driving adventures and made our own stories, but I did not buy that car because of its story. Yet, as I look at the vast piles of junk in my garage, I can see many purchased items because of their story.
One is a pile of garage sale screwdrivers. The lady said they belonged to her late father, who used them to repair her toys. Why? I certainly had other screw drives in better shape. The story tugged at my heart, and I wanted that same connection. Someday, I would use them to repair my daughter’s toys and then pass them along to her. Yeah… They sat in a pile, and I never used them once.
About 20 years ago, I purchased a Simpson multimeter at the swap meet. It is large, and I have much better meters, but the owner saved up for a year on his paper route to buy it. He hoped to be an electrician but joined the military to help his family. Do I use that old thing? No, but what a remarkable story.
I even purchased a shirt because of a story. There was a sale of college shirts at Miller’s Outpost. (They changed their name to Anchor Blue and closed their doors on February 17, 2011) I was a senior, and it was popular to wear college shirts, and I wanted to join the fad. So, I was walking down the street in a Stanford shirt, and a guy yelled, “Hey, Stanford guy!” He was selling used shirts and rooted through his pile. And there it was, an identical shirt. The story was that his son went to Stanford and joined their football team. He bulked up to play and could not fit into his old clothes. Did I wear the shirt? A few times, but that was not the point. I had a story to tell all my friends.
Was it all a scam, good salesmanship, or honest people making a connection? Who knows? Stories are powerful, and they tug at our hearts. The trick is creating them and living with a garage full of story-filled junk.
You’re the best -Bill
October 04, 2023
