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Entry: Is Driver's Ed a Liberal Art? Link: http://www.takimag.com/blogs/article/is_drivers_ed_a_liberal_art#31126 Post contents: The more I read Zmirak's posts the more I feel we are a lot alike. We are about the same age, had our dad's die of the same merciless disease and shared a certain Mopar affliction. I too had an Aspen, a '77. A brown 4 door, vinyl roof, with a slant six with so little compression left in the cylinders it would happily zip over and start even in the minus 40 degree winter weather of Edmonton. I hated that car with a passion, but as I was then suffering through a period of prolonged poverty for which I hadn't taken any vow, it was all I could afford to run for a full three years. I began to get an inkling of what I was in for a few days after I bought it. It was the only car I owned that actually slowed down going downhill. I was still at the very bottom of my mechanical learning curve at that time, but even I realized that something was amiss, probably brakes. The briefest post drive inspection soon revealed a front right rim too hot to touch. The saving grace of that old pig however, was the cheapness of replacement parts, $19 for a reman front caliper. Two bolts and it was out. About 15 minutes to do the job, including the cussing. It was a cold blooded old beast though. It took about 5 miles of driving before it would respond to the throttle without farting back through the carburetor. It was a weird sensation, pressing down on the gas got you falling revs, then a pop pop bang and a jerk, sort of like stepping on a ballon. Annoying as hell and ultimately fatal to the car as we shall see... It was hopeless for traction. I swear it would get stuck in a fog bank. One memorable incident saw me giving the car a severe shovel chop to the right front fender, ala John Cleese in Fawlty Towers, after getting stuck in the snow on on of Edmonton notorious unplowed side streets, leaving a deep crease in the rusty metal. Winter had its other tortures as well. Being a '77, it had no defroster lines in the rear window, just a fan. Maybe such a device is useful in the southern states, but when the mercury falls in Canada, it can take a good 20 minutes of driving to get enough heat into the motor to even notice. Trying to defrost a rear window with -40 air is pretty much useless. Luckily, I happened to find the last remaining DIY rear window defroster kit in Canada, and installed it. Sadly, this was in summer, so I really didn't get to use it much before the end came. I did manage to hook it up backwards however, which caused much laughter when I showed my handiwork to my brother and nearly left my palm prints in the searing hot rear window. The wiring on that car was suspect anyway. The horn didn't work when the ignition was on, yet would brap annoyingly as the key passed through the "accessories" setting as I started it. I didn't feel like shutting off the motor whenever I wanted to blow my horn, so I decided to fix it. I didn't know how strong of a shock your could get from a car horn. Trying to troubleshoot the horn while your fingers buzzed annoyingly was a complete PITA, so I decided I would just rely on good driving and my middle finger from then on to keep me out of trouble. Other highlights of Aspen ownership was the incessant clacking of the tappets, even after adjusting them, a maintenance chore I was sure would unlock the vast, hidden reserves of power hiding within the mighty six (HA!) The torn vinyl roof, the sun-split dashboard and rear seat showing its yellowed foam stuffing, all somehow mirrored the decrepitude of my own life at the time. The cracks in the window were mandatory for any Alberta automobile, but they were made much worse by the full-body punches applied to it whenever I was feeling particularly frustrated by life when behind the wheel. The end finally came one cold day in late February. I was coming home from work, tired, angry and feeling like life in general was completely pointless. The car was doing the usual pop pop pop BANG cold misfiring. I had had enough. I put it in neutral, floored it till it screamed and dumped it into drive. The differential let go with a mighty crack. From then on, the car would no longer go forward after taking a left turn. If ever I had to take a left, I immediately had to swerve right to regain propulsion, with whatever horsepower the six had left (about 40hp I reckon). This was an obviously unacceptable and dangerous situation, so I did what anyone would do, I dug my motorcycle out of hibernation. Riding to work in the -18 weather with snow blowing across the road certainly got me a few surprised looks, but spring came mercifully early that year. The car was sent to the scrapyard, collected for free by a man and his truck. In the fall, I bought an old Ford Escort. I was rear ended on the same night it passed its safety inspection, which was just as well, as it began to smoke heavily when winter came around, and left me stranded on the highway one frigid winter night when the carburetor froze up. As it was a write off from the accident, I got all my money back from the other guy's insurance when I had to decommission it when it was time to re-register it. Both were still better cars than the 1970 Fury I started my driving career with, however. Sent at: 2008 12 02