Writer’s Rant
February 20, 2025
The Snake
I have been in a few car accidents. Amazingly, none were during my college years (which remain a blur) and none were in “The Snake.” But before I tell you about “The Snake”, let’s talk about cars and drivers.
I love to drive and learned at a very young age, on my father’s 1948 Allis Chalmer tractor. It had one headlight (not sure when it lost the other) and no brakes. We relied on the clutch, which basically enabled us to just coast to a stop. Since we lived on a farm, there was plenty of room for us yet unlicensed drivers to sit behind the wheel of whatever automobile we had and drive up and down the 100 yard plus gravel drive.
I got my driving permit at age 16, the first year allowed in NY State. I had my regular license by age 17 and could drive without restrictions. New drivers sometimes think they are great drivers, but admittedly, it takes experience to be even a good driver. Me, being the “great” driver I thought I was, hopped into my mother’s practically brand new 1969 fire engine red Dodge Charger and proceeded to back it out of the garage. I hadn’t noticed that my dad’s Willy’s Jeep was parked so closely to the edge of the drive. The Willy’s Jeep normally carried a spare tire above the right back side fender. The wheel studs (that the lug nuts attached to) protruded out several inches, just enough for me to make contact with and put a significant crease about 12 inches in length on the back fender of the Charger. Neither my parents nor the Insurance Co. were pleased.
Shortly after this incident, my mother was driving her newly repaired Charger and was involved in an accident. I don’t recall the details or who’s fault it was, but the car had significant front end damage and had to once again be repaired. (Now I’m beginning to believe it’s all the car’s fault.)
New Year’s Eve, 1969. In spite of my previous driving record, I was allowed to continue to drive my mother’s newly repaired 69 Charger. I took my HS girlfriend (who shall remain nameless) to a New Year’s party at some high school friends house. At about 11:30, we decided to drive back home to bring in the new year with my parents. It was, after all, late December in upstate NY and the roads, although not icy, were wet and slippery. As we drove into town, we came upon a roadside bar which was, of course, packed with revelers. A vehicle decided to exit the parking lot, crossing my lane, just as I approached. I slammed on the breaks and proceeded to skid, slamming into not one, but two parked cars immediately in front of the bar. Had it not been for the two parked cars, I would have driven into the bar itself. (I should have gotten credit for saving lives.) Fortunately, no one was hurt, except for my pride and the newly repaired Dodge Charger. And there were witnesses to the incident, resulting in the arrest of the driver who caused the whole thing.
There have been several more incidents through the years, none of which were my fault, of course, bearing further witness to my great driving skills. I was driving to church one morning in our Plymouth Volare wagon (not the most flashy of cars, but it was years ago and we had kids). Another car ran the intersection and I broadsided it. On another occasion, years later, I was driving my 1994 Miata (red convertible), waiting to make a left turn onto my street, when I was rear-ended by a young lady (texting) who hit me going about 50 miles an hours. No injuries except for my (sob) beautiful little car.
Which brings me to “The Snake”. I was a junior in college and it was time to buy my own car. I was tired of hitch-hiking 11 to 12 hours (back when it was legal) and the 400 miles from the university in Connecticut to my parents home south of Buffalo. I searched for a vehicle I could afford, nothing fancy, but economical and reliable. I wasn’t having much success, when my “uncle” (who was a close friend of the family) offered me his 1969 Plymouth Fury III for a really good price. Granted, there was nothing fancy about this car. It was huge and bulky, had a 383 power house (not economical) engine and was something between gold and pea-green in color. But I knew he took good care of his cars and this one would certainly be reliable. And this particular car had one of those roofs (back when they made them) that was a brownish color and texture that looked like snake skin. To top it off, when I registered the vehicle, the license plate started with the letters ASP, followed by several numbers. Hence the name given to my vehicle by my fraternity brothers: “The Snake”.
The snake served me well during my college years and shortly after. And while I didn’t have to hitch hike 400 miles anymore, the gas crisis and fuel shortage came to be. I would have to sit and wait in line (but only on odd days) in order to buy $2.00 of gas at a time. A Plymouth Fury III with a 383 engine couldn’t go far on $2.00 worth of gas, especially since the price of gas had dramatically increased from $.38 cents to $.55 cents a gallon! (Oh for the good old days!) So although I had the vehicle, I couldn’t get enough gas to go home.
I continue to love to drive, even after almost 20 years of stop and go traffic on the Long Island Expressway. I moved to NC over 30 years ago and we have our share of congestion. It took some adjusting from the aggressive drivers in the north to the slow drivers (in the left lanes) of the south.
After I retired, I decided to find a part-time job, other than writing blogs and books. On most Tuesdays, I am on the road in a brand new Ford 15 passenger van, delivering new military recruits to basic training. I have been doing it for five years now and each year I get a safe driving award. This just proves that I am a great driver.
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