Best Car Ever in my life: a 1967 Dodge Polara station wagon.
My parents bought this car brand new in 1967. We were living in a pink stucco rental house in "the Flats" of Decorah, Iowa when they upgraded from a Pontiac. That car took our family on several adventures.
Every summer since about 1968, it drove us to International Falls, Minnesota to fish in Lake Kabetogama. Dad had bought a handmade car top carrier consisting of a dark green painted wooden box with suction cups on the bottom and a tarp on the top. Dad would load up the Evinrude outboard motor, the fishing poles, the tackle box, Winnie the dog, and all the groceries and we'd hit the road for a week in the northwoods. Don't worry, the dog went inside the car.
On the way we'd watch for familiar landmarks like the oil refinery in St. Paul, Little Oscar's diner in Cannon Falls, and the Frank Lloyd Wright gas station in Cloquet. That car had no air conditioning so we'd drive the whole way with the windows wide open, a Twins game on the AM radio, and Dad's cigarette dangling out the wing vent. One kid would flip the ashtray lids on the back doors open-shut-open-shut until Dad lost it. Another would fall asleep in the "way-back" but only for 15 minute intervals - Mom was convinced the rusting rear end would let in CO2 and suffocate us. And any combination of two sisters would have a hair-pulling fight over who crossed THE LINE they'd drawn to mark their space. Dad had an uncanny ability to keep that thing screaming along at 75mph while simultaneously smacking kids in the back seat.
With a trailer hitch on the back, it hauled our small boat and motor on summer Sundays to Lansing, Iowa were we'd put in at the landing and motor up the Mississippi until we found a suitable sandbar. There we'd pitch a smelly canvas canopy, unpack the cooler, and play for hours in the current. Mom made us each wear those bulky orange life vests - she couldn't swim and her greatest fear was watching one of us drown. Dad would swim underwater and pitch us straight up in the air. When we hit the water, our bodies would keep going with the momentum of Dad's strong shove, but the life vest would stop our head and neck cold. Riding home on the vinyl seats in the summer heat with sand in the crotch of my swimsuit is a sensation I'm not likely to forget.
The Dodge drove us out to the Rocky Mountains to visit family. It also drove us along Route 66 through Barstow and on to San Diego. It drove to Metropolitan Stadium for Twin's games. It drove to the Apache Mall for school shopping. It hauled dogs, kids, innertubes, bikes, tools, and anything else we could load.
One of our favorites "rides" in the Dodge was THE TICKLE HILLS! There was a series of about 3 large hills on a gravel road just north of town. Us kids would stand up behind the front seat - the kind of front seat that was a substantial Wall of China - and put our hands in the air. Dad would floor it, and fly as fast as he could up those hills. I believe we were actually air born at the top on several occasions. We could chant "No Hands! No Hands! No LEEEAAANNING!" and at the crest of the hill we'd fly backwards on our butts, laughing hysterically. You'd get a visit from the Dept of Child Welfare for that kind of entertainment these days.
Everyone in our small town knew it was THE JENKINS' car. You could see that thing coming for miles. It seemed to be about 15 feet long. The steering wheel was about 2 feet in diameter and it accelerated like crazy. I learned to drive AND parallel park in that beast, and subsequently I can parallel park ANY vehicle. My Dad forced me out on to the gravel roads and made me drive 50mph so I wouldn't be afraid of them.
Towards the end of it's life, it was showing the wear and tear. There was a giant rust hole in the tailgate. My brother probably helped that along when he and his friends backed it up to the gravel pit, opened the tailgate, and used it for a diving board. It DID have a lot of spring! I finally killed it in 1980 when I wanted to learn to do doughnuts. So a friend and I drove to another quarry and spun for all it was worth, until a loud sickening CLUNK from underneath ended our fun. I had broken the drive shaft.
Dad was mad enough to spit nails. He had planned to drive it to the junkyard that summer and get $50 for it. But now we had to pay $100 to have it towed.
When I get to heaven, one thing I'll ask to do is ride in the Dodge's backseat with my Dad at the wheel, my Mom in the passenger seat, my dog Winnie and my siblings by my side, and a Whippy Dip ice cream cone in my hand. But please, no sand in my crotch.
Every summer since about 1968, it drove us to International Falls, Minnesota to fish in Lake Kabetogama. Dad had bought a handmade car top carrier consisting of a dark green painted wooden box with suction cups on the bottom and a tarp on the top. Dad would load up the Evinrude outboard motor, the fishing poles, the tackle box, Winnie the dog, and all the groceries and we'd hit the road for a week in the northwoods. Don't worry, the dog went inside the car.
On the way we'd watch for familiar landmarks like the oil refinery in St. Paul, Little Oscar's diner in Cannon Falls, and the Frank Lloyd Wright gas station in Cloquet. That car had no air conditioning so we'd drive the whole way with the windows wide open, a Twins game on the AM radio, and Dad's cigarette dangling out the wing vent. One kid would flip the ashtray lids on the back doors open-shut-open-shut until Dad lost it. Another would fall asleep in the "way-back" but only for 15 minute intervals - Mom was convinced the rusting rear end would let in CO2 and suffocate us. And any combination of two sisters would have a hair-pulling fight over who crossed THE LINE they'd drawn to mark their space. Dad had an uncanny ability to keep that thing screaming along at 75mph while simultaneously smacking kids in the back seat.
With a trailer hitch on the back, it hauled our small boat and motor on summer Sundays to Lansing, Iowa were we'd put in at the landing and motor up the Mississippi until we found a suitable sandbar. There we'd pitch a smelly canvas canopy, unpack the cooler, and play for hours in the current. Mom made us each wear those bulky orange life vests - she couldn't swim and her greatest fear was watching one of us drown. Dad would swim underwater and pitch us straight up in the air. When we hit the water, our bodies would keep going with the momentum of Dad's strong shove, but the life vest would stop our head and neck cold. Riding home on the vinyl seats in the summer heat with sand in the crotch of my swimsuit is a sensation I'm not likely to forget.
The Dodge drove us out to the Rocky Mountains to visit family. It also drove us along Route 66 through Barstow and on to San Diego. It drove to Metropolitan Stadium for Twin's games. It drove to the Apache Mall for school shopping. It hauled dogs, kids, innertubes, bikes, tools, and anything else we could load.
One of our favorites "rides" in the Dodge was THE TICKLE HILLS! There was a series of about 3 large hills on a gravel road just north of town. Us kids would stand up behind the front seat - the kind of front seat that was a substantial Wall of China - and put our hands in the air. Dad would floor it, and fly as fast as he could up those hills. I believe we were actually air born at the top on several occasions. We could chant "No Hands! No Hands! No LEEEAAANNING!" and at the crest of the hill we'd fly backwards on our butts, laughing hysterically. You'd get a visit from the Dept of Child Welfare for that kind of entertainment these days.
Everyone in our small town knew it was THE JENKINS' car. You could see that thing coming for miles. It seemed to be about 15 feet long. The steering wheel was about 2 feet in diameter and it accelerated like crazy. I learned to drive AND parallel park in that beast, and subsequently I can parallel park ANY vehicle. My Dad forced me out on to the gravel roads and made me drive 50mph so I wouldn't be afraid of them.
Towards the end of it's life, it was showing the wear and tear. There was a giant rust hole in the tailgate. My brother probably helped that along when he and his friends backed it up to the gravel pit, opened the tailgate, and used it for a diving board. It DID have a lot of spring! I finally killed it in 1980 when I wanted to learn to do doughnuts. So a friend and I drove to another quarry and spun for all it was worth, until a loud sickening CLUNK from underneath ended our fun. I had broken the drive shaft.
Dad was mad enough to spit nails. He had planned to drive it to the junkyard that summer and get $50 for it. But now we had to pay $100 to have it towed.
When I get to heaven, one thing I'll ask to do is ride in the Dodge's backseat with my Dad at the wheel, my Mom in the passenger seat, my dog Winnie and my siblings by my side, and a Whippy Dip ice cream cone in my hand. But please, no sand in my crotch.
