While in college, I had to write a long narrative. It was supposed to be about something we are passionate about. Naturally, I only had one topic in mind.
Beware - this is 16 pages long. But if you are interested in the life and times of a boy and his car - here you go.

Living Large
Submitted May 2, 2001

From the first memories I have anyone could tell that I was bound be a car person. I had roughly a thousand Hot Wheels that I started accumulating and playing with when I was about two. I would play alone with them for hours upon hours as I got older. Nothing else entertained me as well; I had no interest in video games (except for driving games) or sports. All I wanted was to push three-inch long die cast cars around my bedroom making little engine and tire squealing sounds. As the years passed I learned that I could tell any type of car, truck, and 18-wheeler driving by. I could even tell you what kind of car was coming by the shape of the headlights at night. Don�t ask me where I picked this up, I couldn�t tell you.

Everyone needs some sort of passion in life. For some it takes almost a lifetime to discover exactly what that passion is. For some it can be their work, others are passionate about helping the less fortunate, and still others develop hobbies that they devote enormous amounts of time and effort to. For me, I found my passion when I was 16 years old. It didn�t take long for my passion to develop into something along the lines of love and obsession, but sometimes passions are best maintained with a little compulsion.

...

In 1982, my mother married my stepfather, an event that led to the first encounter with a rusty, gold, 1967 Chevrolet Impala. It belonged to his brother who had committed suicide about five years before. He loved the car, not because it was a wonderful piece of machinery, it was hardly, but rather because he felt it was the last piece of his brother that he had remaining that was actually tangible, not like pictures. I sometimes forget that part of the story, but it was because of those feelings he had attached to it that he never gave in to our wishes to haul the hunk of junk to the salvage yard. It had four flat tires, rust going all the way through the left rear quarter-panel above the rotten tire, a broken windshield, water had destroyed the interior as well as countless people sliding in and out of the driver�s seat, it didn�t run, and worst of all the paint was hideous. Gold usually signifies wealth and strength, but this gold somehow signified garbage. It was totally unmaintained and sat in the back of my driveway, in the weeds, for eleven years.

November 1992, one year before my sixteenth birthday, and I was due a car. I had $10,000 to spend which was the deal since my sister got the same amount four years before. My choices at that time were small, more than likely a new Geo or a decent used car. One can never tell what a used car is going to be like over the long run, so I made a choice that changed my life. My uncle who lives in New Hampshire fixes up old cars in his spare time. He has amassed quite a collection of amazing automobiles and I knew I could entrust him with the endeavor I had set. I wanted to fix up that ugly gold 1967 Chevrolet Impala that was sitting in my driveway in a heap. He was visiting one November and took a look at it, decided it might be worth the effort, put new spark plugs in it, a new battery, and four brand new tires on then turned the key. It started! That piece of crap was on the road that night driving from Winchester VA to Manchester NH with a coffee can holding the muffler remnants on and a nice rust-made vent blowing the bitter air onto the driver (of course the heater did not work). It ran perfectly from start to finish, with a few minor problems. Right after the Mass. border the brakes went out. The driver (a friend of my uncle) was following my uncle who was driving an Airstream motor home. When the brakes went out, the only thing he could think to do was to use the motor home as his brakes. Luckily, it never came down to that, though I was never told how he managed to stop, just that he perfected the art of throwing the change into the baskets at the tollbooths while traveling 55-mph. The other near catastrophe came when a state trooper pulled them over, with at least a dozen reasons to take the car off the road he elected to tell them to hightail it back to New Hampshire and not stop. They did and the car sat there until the following summer, doors deep in mud, until I went up to start the restoration process.

And what a process it was. I had to take every piece of the car apart and catalogue it in Ziploc bags. My cousin Mike and I took the cracked windshield out and brought it to the back of his dad�s land where we took turns throwing huge boulders at it. Sandblasting the body revealed more holes in the exterior than we had ever imagined. Also, upon tearing out the wounded interior we discovered that the floor pan had rusted through in places. The biggest problem was the giant rust mess that was the driver�s side rear quarter panel. My uncle had to fabricate a piece to make it whole again, and he had to make it match the bodyline, which proved to be the hardest part. There were many dents to fix and lots of engine work to be done, but by that time summer was over and I had to go back to school. I got to pick the two colors it would be painted, dark bright teal and warm silver, then I had to go. My uncle had many friends who would take care of the major details while saving me a fortune and I was to just wait for information from him.

I had decided on �Land Yacht� as the name for it before any restoration had begun. It is huge. The doors alone are as long as some small cars being made today. While in New Hampshire I was forced to get into the trunk and find out where a leak was coming from. While lying there I decided that I could easily fit 5 more of me inside with room to spare. The �yacht� part of the name came from how beautiful it would be upon completion. I thought about doing a total nautical theme, but then figured that that would be too much. The license plate would read �Land Yat� and that was it. My uncle found a clipping from a newspaper that had �Land Yachts� written across it referring to large old cars and taped it to the driver�s window where it remained until it was painted.

The info was scarce. All I ever heard was how awesome it looked and what a difference a few months made. I was teased with pictures of the car under a tarp so I could see nothing but the sparkling tires. The last time I had seen it, it had no trim on it and was covered in a maroon drab primer. I had since turned sixteen and was forced to drive the family GMC Safari when my mom wasn�t using it. It was nice as far as minivans go, but I wanted something I could call my own. When I got word it was done my mom told me it would be back in my hands on December 20th. I couldn�t wait, literally, I wanted to go pick it up myself, I didn�t think of how I just wanted to.

On November 20th 1993 at 7am I was awakened by my mother insinuating that I had damaged my father�s car since I was out with it the night before. I simply murmured, �I didn�t do it.� She dragged me outside to inspect the damage when before me stood my uncle, his buddies, and my cousin. And behind them was a gray terrycloth cover being supported by a car. Apparently my face lit up, which is hard for me to imagine because I was so tired. My step-dad looked as giddy as I had ever seen him. I greeted everyone then showed my impatience. They carefully pulled off the cover and my jaw dropped. My car.

Looking at it now, the sheet metal is perfectly straight, a feet for body men to accomplish, especially when working with more than seventeen feet of it on one side. Not a flaw is shown in its glassy fenders and doors. The colors could not be a better combination; a metallic teal reflects everything around it with mirrored precision. Tiny shards of metal flakes dot the entire body adding a starry effect when the sun is at its brightest. The metallic silver top softens the sun�s light and accents the interior to a tee. Refurbished 5�-foot wide bench seats are covered in bright gray vinyl with a matching gray plush carpet. The engine is black with luminescent chrome trim everywhere the eye can travel.

...

I was speechless; it was finally mine and finally home with me. The first thing I did was hop into the driver�s seat and start it up. It started with a roar and rumbled with the fumes piping out of the dual turbo, chrome-tipped exhaust. The sound was like music to my ears. With all the commotion I didn�t notice that my neighbor had come over and joined the admiration, he had heard me start it and wanted to come see the rebirth of the pile of rusted trash that once sat between our houses lowering his property value.

Soon everyone headed inside for breakfast, but I could hardly eat I was so excited. I wanted to take it for a spin and show off before the entire town. So after I showered hastily and got dressed, my cousin Mike, one of the entourage, and I took my then uninspected and unregistered show car for a ride to my friend Scott�s house. Little did I know that would be the last time I would be able to show it to someone without a flaw.

After talking to Scott for a few minutes, Mike and I headed home. Upon arriving we found that everyone had gone to a local used car dealer known for selling exquisite show cars whom my uncle had dealt with a few times before. Being the excited boy I was, I wanted to drive it some more so we got back in and began heading to meet them. I turned off of my street and noticed that a family friend was outside mowing his lawn so I stuck my hand out the window to wave to him and looked back to see his reaction. Mike looked back too, then back at the road and shouted, �Bri! Look out!� I turned just in time to see a blur and hear the most horrible thud that my ears have ever felt.

Thinking back, I can�t determine if the expression I remember on my neighbor�s face was real or if I am causing my memory to see it as horrified and confused as his face looked in my head. As I turned my head back to see what my cousin was screaming about I saw that I had managed to cross the road, drive off the other side and center-punch two mailboxes before screeching to a halt on one of the victim�s driveway. I didn�t move once the car stopped, Mike had to put the car in park for me. I sat staring straight ahead in total shock and disbelief. Most of the event is a blur; all I remember is getting out and looking at the damage (a fist sized dent in the hood as well as three strange dents on the right rear quarter panel � I still can�t figure out how those got there). Upon first sight I began crying so badly that Mike had to drive it the 100 yards back to my house because I couldn�t see or move. I left notes on the doors of the houses where I had removed their mailboxes. We waited at my house until everyone returned and walked out to greet them. I was bawling again and everyone told me that it wasn�t too bad, just a little bodywork and it would be as good as new. They were all very supportive� for about two hours. Then the jokes started and didn�t stop for about five years. That was the first November my car and I went through.

The following year, in early November I was at the library working on a term paper with Scott when my mother had me paged by the librarian and told me to return home immediately but would not tell me why. I was worried that someone had died because of her tone. I dropped Scott off and made my way home. When I pulled into the driveway and noticed the cover partially off the front of my car; my attention was grabbed. As I parked the family van I saw the damage. I shoved the shifter on the column into park and sat there looking in disbelief shaking my head. Before I opened the door my mom was on her way to greet me. She told me that my step-dad had done it and that he wanted to explain what happened. I inspected the damage. It was in almost exactly the same place as the damage from the previous year. I then went inside to face my step-dad.

According to him he was taking one of our cats to the vet for some sort of checkup. He took her out to his car that was waiting in the driveway and put her in. She flipped out, began running around the car, and when he opened his door she leapt off the dashboard and got out. Then the story gets fuzzy, the next thing he knew the cat had run off and he was trying to hold the car to keep it from rolling into mine. Even with his 200-pound body holding the 2-ton car back, it careened into our chimney then came to rest against my car�s front end. How the car got into drive or neutral is a mystery, we didn�t bother with the details. I had never seen his stern face so upset in my life; I thought he was actually afraid of me and how I would react. I told him it was okay as long as he wasn�t hurt and that the car could be fixed� again� just like it had been four months earlier. Later that night, our cat appeared in a small tree next door. My parents were outside trying to call her in. When I noticed this I put on my shoes, marched outside, up to the tree, reached through the branches, and yanked the cat out without a word and hauled her inside. I didn�t see her for the rest of the night.

..

The first year with my car was highly eventful. When I went to get vanity plates for it, I found that every version of �Land Yacht� was taken. So I had to make a change, the �Land Yacht� was now the �Land Ark.� The name fit better � flows off the tongue, my dad had given me the idea by calling it that even when I was still stuck on �Yacht.� He thought it was far too big to be just one car. He never really saw the point in fixing an old wreck anyway, but he soon changed his mind about it.

...

I went to my first high school dance in the Land Ark. I went stag with my friend Burke and we picked up a buddy who was taking a girl and they needed a ride and apparently thought my car would be fun to go in. The dance was uneventful, or so I thought. Three months later I started dating a redheaded freshman. I was in love, so in love that I actually let her drive my car. She was not used to driving and she hit the brakes hard whenever she tried to stop giving me heart palpitations. The entire car would lurch to a halt and I would almost fall out of the seat. After that I noticed my brakes had started grinding and I vowed never to let anyone drive my car again.

While I was dating the redhead the girl I drove to homecoming, Amy, and I became friends, seemingly out of nowhere. The redhead dumped me two weeks before prom that year so I went with another female friend. I spent the last hour of the dance with Amy then took my date home and ended up spending the night at Amy�s post-prom party. We started dating casually and I questioned her about why she was initially interested in me. She replied that it was my car that first got her attention, then blushed. I commended her because it takes guts to admit something like that and I was proud because she actually liked my car! Sure it seems shallow, but I was happy it was benefiting me in two ways: getting attention and getting girls to notice me.

...

After my first accident I had to take my car back to New Hampshire to get it fixed. It made it through six months worth of shows and daily driving without as much as a slight problem. Once summer finally came I got the opportunity to drive it up to remove my dents. My mom and I packed up my car and headed onto the highway. It was exceptionally hot when we left so we had to keep all the windows rolled down. All the windows on the side go all the way down, and after about 40 miles, my mother and I decided that it was far too turbulent inside to drive like that. So up the back windows went along with the temperature. Riding 500 miles in high heat with road noise drowning out the music sticking to the low back vinyl bench seats did not become my favorite memory with my car. While driving up, the car ran perfectly, everyone else seemed to be having trouble. Somewhere within the Massachusetts border a man in a black pick-up truck passed me. As he passed, I noticed him looking at my car. It happened a lot, people would stare at my car as I drove by so I didn�t think anything of it. That was until he merged in front of me, stayed a safe distance ahead, and then turned his head all the way around to looked back at my car. Traveling at 70 miles an hour, this gentleman was not checking the road periodically, he was simply staring back at me, probably seeing my reactions. I thought he was certainly going to run off the road, but he managed to stare for about a quarter mile without look ahead a single time. He drove off leaving my mother and I stunned.

In Connecticut a woman in a red convertible was following my mother (who had taken over driving at that point) in the car pool lane which was separated by a concrete median but no physical barriers. The woman became impatient and pulled onto the median and passed us on the inside kicking up sand and rocks and whatever else a major interstate would collect where cars don�t travel. I was very irate with the woman and cursed loudly, my mother on the other hand wanted the convertible driver to know exactly how mad she was. My mom floored it and we tore after the woman. I yelled at her to stop, that it wasn�t going to help anything but she persisted. I had no conception of fear for myself, I was worried that my mother would hit the woman and damage my baby more. We couldn�t have been more than 15 feet behind the woman traveling at about 80 miles an hour. Luckily the woman exited at the next turn off, otherwise who knows how long we would have followed her.

The rest of the trip up was uneventful, and I remained in New Hampshire most of the summer while my car got fixed. Then it was time for the annual car show in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. My uncle and his buddies went down almost every year so we all headed down in a 4 vehicle caravan with the anticipation of me going home after the show with my parents who were coming up to see it. We left my uncle�s shop at about 12:30 in the morning and headed west. After about six hours of driving with my aunt riding shotgun we all agreed to stop at a rest area for a short nap. I sprawled out on my front seat and was out like a light. Next thing I knew we were back on the road and still pretty far from our destination. We pulled off at a restaurant just inside the Pa. Border and we all switched positions. I was driving with another buddy of my uncle�s who swore he would stay awake and keep me entertained. I was convinced that I wasn�t too tired and got back on the road. My passenger was out in about ten minutes and I was left with oldies annoying me and squinty eyes. About fifteen miles from the show we entered a construction zone and slowed up. I was fighting to keep my eyes open, not wanting to stop, just wanting to get there. All of a sudden I blinked and there came a loud growl, which I soon learned was my right side tires running along the gravel of the breakdown lane as my car rode half on and half off the interstate. I started and pulled back into the lane and caught my breath. The next thing I knew one of the cars behind me raced by and up to my uncle in his motor home. We all stopped in an area on the side of the road that would accommodate four cars and a full size Airstream. It was quickly decided that I was not to drive anymore, I rode in my uncle�s friend�s truck and my aunt drove my car. That has been the only time I have ever witnessed someone driving my car while I was not in it since it was restored. From the line of cars that was in our group, mine had the loudest and most tuned sounding exhaust which filled me with delight. The taunting about falling asleep would soon begin so I knew I ought to appreciate the peace until then.

...

The reason my car was in the driveway the day my step-dad had his mishap was because, being the impetuous youth I was, one of the first things I added after the restoration was a kicking sound system. I bought two 12-inch subwoofers in a sealed box with a four-channel 400-watt amp powering them and the 6 by 9 speakers already installed. Most stereo systems in cars are about 100 watts total if they are nice, so the sound mine can produce is very loud and thundering. However, adding all the extra watts was a severe drain on my alternator, the electricity generator. Which meant after that was fried, I was driving on the power from the battery and that didn�t last too long before it conked out in the parking lot of the stereo store as I went to ask them what happened. They gave me a jump and sent me on my way. I drove straight home and backed into the driveway incase my car would have to be towed or if it needed another jump. There it sat for about a month while we unsuccessfully tried to fix it before the incident occurred. It was a good thing I backed it in, because the trim on the back is nearly impossible to replace. If he had hit the back, it would have cost a fortune to fix� more so.

About a week after my step-dad hit my car with his, my uncle informed us that he was driving to Florida for the annual Thanksgiving car show in Daytona so he would stop by on his way back and look over my car to see what we should do about the damage. When he got to my house he took one look at my car and informed us that it was not a problem. The bumper could be pulled out and the grille straightened. Since the only bodywork that was damaged was the hood, he determined that all we had to do was take it off and send it up with them in the motor home. So, we took surgical precision and unbolted the hood then wrapped it up so as not to damage it further. Next it was time to fix my bumper. My uncle wrapped a chain around one of the trees in our backyard and around my bumper. After seeing what was about to happen, I made sure I had something else to do so I wouldn�t have to watch. I went inside.

They left with the hood and I was left with my baby sitting in the driveway looking horribly wounded with a plastic bag over the engine in a weak attempt to keep the weather off of it. Christmas rolled around and my family and I headed to New Hampshire for our annual romp. I got to see my hood repaired the day after I got there. My uncle and everyone agreed that it looked beautiful. I disagreed, but didn�t say anything. The guy who painted it is a master, but this time he left some rough spots in the finish and it was not flawless like the last two times. In order to get my hood home, we had to take it ourselves. We weren�t sure it would fit in our GMC Safari so we measured a couple times and determined it would fit with no room to spare. So five of us loaded it gently into the van. We had to put all the passenger seats in the back down to accommodate it. The hood took up the entire passenger area in the back of the van. The Land Ark is no small car; the hood itself is as big as a Ford Focus. Luckily my sister had ridden up with her boyfriend at the time so they didn�t have to try to ride with us. So it was my step-dad, my mom, and me riding in our van from Manchester NH to Winchester VA, a 12 hour ride, with only two seats. For me to ride back we had to put blankets on the floor between the seats and I lay underneath my hood for the entire trip. I am claustrophobic but I felt no pangs of fear while in the tiny cave that had been built, probably because I cared more about getting my car back together than of being trapped in the van. Throughout the trip, we stopped several times, I got out from my space twice: once to eat and once to stretch.

Once we got it home we attempted to put the hood on. We called all the men in the neighborhood that we knew and they helped steady it as I put the bolts back in. It had to be put on in the exact right angle or it would ruin the corners when I closed it. Miraculously it went back on perfectly the first time, and there it has remained since.

...

The first year and for several years after I have taken the Land Ark to car shows. I have been to dozens of local shows back home in Winchester and a few giant shows like the former Good Guys Rod and Custom Show in Carlisle PA. I won more trophies at car shows the first year when I had the dents in the hood than I have since I got them fixed. I never won anything at the big shows, my bumpers have pits in the chrome from rust and need to be replaced, I just haven�t gotten around to doing it. I soon discovered I wasn�t the only person who thought the paint was beautiful. Everywhere I went people would ask who painted it and what the color was. When I say they wanted to know the color, people actually asked me if I knew the paint color code as provided by PPG. It seemed everyone wanted to paint his car my color. That wasn�t right, I didn�t want everyone driving around with my color, so I started lying to people. I just told them I didn�t know what color it was and I started making up names for it. Aqua is far enough from teal to make it hopeless for people while they search through the giant paint chip books.

...

Many people expect me to refer to the Land Ark as a �she� since it is a common stereotype. But I don�t see it as any sex one way or the other. That�s not to say I don�t have an intimate relationship with it. I have personified it to a point. I talk to it. Whenever I go to my garage, which is an old milk barn located across town about 15 minutes from my house, I greet it as I enter. I explain why I am there and let it know whether or not I am taking it out. I apologize when I don�t take it out, knowing how jealous it probably is. Since I have owned it I have had to buy other cars just so I could get around when I was unable to drive the Land Ark. After all, I can�t drive it in the rain, and never in the winter. People think I am crazy, but it will look nice longer if I keep it out of the elements. For the past couple years, I have been working on my Pontiac Sunbird and I just know they have a bitter rivalry. The Sunbird has since gone sour, so I am sure the Land Ark is quite pleased with that.

It isn�t perfect; in fact it hasn�t been on the road in about 9 months. The carburetor leaks here and there as well as the manifold and one of the spark plugs keeps going bad, all the more reason to play with my baby. Hopefully it will be roadworthy the next time I am home to fiddle with it. I get to drive it in my hometown�s Apple Blossom Festival parade with the rest of my car club. But I need to make sure it won�t start backfiring, that would be highly embarrassing.

I have gotten many offers to sell the Land Ark, and if the right buyer came along, I might consider it. But, that person would have to offer much more than what it�s worth, impossibly more. So barring a vast fortune coming my way, I doubt I would let it go in the foreseeable future. I can�t explain why I am so passionate about it other than just saying, �Look at it!� It is easier for me to wonder why others aren�t as passionate about their cars since it feels normal to me. I have many more stories that I could relate, such as the time all my lug nuts fell off my new wheels as I drove down the street; how the steering wheel I bought for it flopped around because it wasn�t attached right; the story of when I was trying to fix my alternator and I dropped it on my radiator and put a hole in it; my friend Scott and his girlfriend climbing in my windows ala Dukes of Hazard and my reaction; the detail and meticulousness I use when I clean it and how I used to wash it every weekend even if it had no dirt on it just because I wanted to do something with it. In other words, if I haven�t proven my passion or insanity by this point, I certainly have more ammo. Through it all I have had my ups and downs, but as long as I can keep saying it�s worth it, I am going to keep going the way I have been for seven years regardless of what people think about it. No one aside from my mother and step-dad has driven my car since, by the way, many girls� pleadings have fallen on deaf ears.

I�ll be home soon, baby.

Page 1: Before
Page 2: Heyday
Page 3: Current
Page 4: Land Ark Narrative (current)
Page 5: My day at the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety