By on January 14, 2015

QOTD-FirstCarRide-56OldsIt’s likely that most of us don’t remember the first time we ever rode in a motor vehicle— in most cases, that would be the ride home from the hospital after being born— but I’ll bet that most can figure out what that car, truck, motorcycle, or Comfortractor was. In my case, the first car I remember was my dad’s ’67 Ford Custom 500 sedan, but I happen to know that my first car ride was on icy Minneapolis streets in January of 1966, and that the car was a 1956 Oldsmobile 88. How about your first road trip?
QOTD-FirstCarRide-56Olds-2Sadly, the family Olds had bashed a deer a few weeks before I was born, and— being a ten-year-old car in Minnesota— was pretty rusty, anyway. It was gone not long after I made the scene, so have no memory of the roar of its mighty 324-cubic-inch Rocket V8. My dad still misses that Olds. All right, now let’s have your stories!

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72 Comments on “Question of the Day: First Car Trip of Your Life?...”

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    1961 We drove our new Impala (black with red interior) Convertible from Chicago to Miami Beach and spent the entire month of January there. *sigh*

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    Ex-demonstrator VW Microbus, purchased a couple months before I was born. Perhaps the optional A/C it was equipped with even worked at the time; it never did by the time I was old enough to notice. (Although I shudder to think what an A/C system did to the already-pathetic power of the vehicle, especially when equipped with an A/T, like ours was.)

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    My earliest car-ride memories start when I was precisely 2 years old. I can date the memories because the first was when my grandfather took me to the hospital in his 1978 Continental Town Car to meet my baby brother. Burgundy with a white top with a red crushed velvet whorehouse interior. The distinct details about that car, the 85 mph rectangular speedometer with the needle that bobbed as it rose. The metallic star emblem that stood like a crosshair from the aircraft carrier-like hood. The smell of musty apples that were kept in the trunk to feed his horses.

    I’ll find one like it one day, and it’ll become my new tow-rig.

  • avatar
    Felix Hoenikker

    1950 black Chevy coupe – six with three on the tree. It may or may not have had a radio.
    Around 57, dad bought a green 52 Chevy from my step grandfather. He kept that well into the 1960’s. It was hopelessly out of style, but there we no car payments. We seemed to have the oldest cars on the block, but the neighbors thought of us as “rich” since we paid cash for everything by saving ahead.

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    First car rides I remember were in my Dads 66 Mustang, and it would have been the early 80’s when I was 3 or 4. I remember him taking me out to do donuts in the snow while my Mom shopped. I also remember my parents taking me to the drive in theater in that car-they made the backseat into a bed for me and told me to go to sleep-but I didn’t for quite awhile-I think the movie was Superman 2.

    While I was too young to remember it, my first road trip was in the 65 Mustang we had before the 66, my parents drove me from where my Dad was stationed in Louisiana home to Maine. That was also the first time I had McDonalds-I ate a hamburger. I was in the backseat in a child seat/booster but no seatbelt. Times were certainly different.

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    My earliest memory of being in a car was in the back seat of my parents’ 1980 Malibu Classic Wagon (the one with the taillamps in the bumper, which is still the coolest thing ever) on I-83 South headed into downtown Baltimore. It’s a cool drive, because you’re plunging into the heart of its modest but attractive skyline, which welcomes you with open arms. Of course, as I was still in diapers I don’t remember that at the time, but would come know that later.

  • avatar
    Arthur Dailey

    1956 Ford Customline 2 door. I think that it might have been the Victoria hardtop edition?
    The upholstery, if I remember correctly had a paisley style pattern. 272ci V8 engine.

    The old man loved that car. If I could, I would buy one just for the memories.

    He got rid of it when we bought a house. Replaced it with an ‘Austin’ Mini, which was not quite right for a 6’1″, 235+lb weightlifting cop. Remember him taking me to Rootes Motors at Warden and Eglinton in Scarborough to pick it up. The last time that I was by the building was still there, although Rootes lasted only a few years in Canada.

    He very quickly traded the Mini for a VW Beetle and we had one VW of one kind or another in the driveway for the next 15 years.

    Eventually he left the Department, started to make money and in the 70’s drove Lincolns, then became a Cadillac Man until he passed away. A new Lincoln or Cadillac every year for over 25 years.

    After some bad experiences with VW service departments, he no longer bought them for my mother. Eventually Replaced them for her first with domestics and then with Hondas/Accuras.

    VW’s remained as the ‘kids’ car until we could afford to get something better.

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    Early 70’s in my parents Torino Wagon. Sitting in the “way back” and writing “we are on vacation” on the fogged up window.

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    First trip I remember? July 1953, I’ve recently turned 3. Dad shows up at lunch time with the first 1953 Corvette his dealership received. Took mom for a ride, then took me out. Dad goes back to work and promptly trades the Corvette to Grabiak Chevrolet in New Alexandria, PA for two BelAir hardtops. Always said the Corvette was the stupidest car Chevrolet ever made.

    Second remember trip was late October or early November 1955. Dad brought home his brand new 1956 BelAir 4-door hardtop in red and white – and had to rush me to the hospital with a temperature of 104 and what turned out to be lobar pneumonia. I almost died that night. I still remember the roof lining of that car.

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    My first car rides were memoriable because of the car — it was Chevy Greenbriar, the VW Bus-like version of the Corvair. It was white with a red stripe round the middle, and it had two bench seats (actual bench seats, no padding or belts) facing a table in the middle.

    We would go to the Burger Chef on the other side of town, and eat in the car round that table. I remember the odd shaped lights inside Burger Chef, and looking across the street at the Montgomery Ward sign in the fairly new mall.

    Dad replaced it with a 1967 Ford Country Sedan wagon. The first road trip I have memories of was one to see my great-grandmother in San Antonio. It was also easy to remember because we were stopped at a red light, and my younger sister was on her potty chair in the very back when we were rear-ended. The damage wasn’t bad, but you could see the cracks in the bondo on the “magic tailgate” years later, and my sister would cry every time we stopped for awhile after that. (She also hated the underpass downtown, and standing on grass.) You could tell Dad really liked that car because he kept it well into the 1980s; wish I could still find it today.

    It was replaced as the main family truckster by a 1971 Ford Econoline passenger van. Our first trip in it was to Arkansas, a memoriable trip again; in part because it broke down on the way there, and in part because we visited the Museum of Automobiles on Petit Jean Mountain in Morrilton, AK. Good memories of good parents and their cars; miss them both very much.

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    My first trip in a car was probably in a B12 Nissan Sunny my grandfather bought for my parents as a wedding gift, but more importantly, Murilee, where can I find more scans of that Jetaway brochure?!?!

  • avatar

    1986 Ford Escort Coupe. With a Mazda diesel and a 5 speed manual! We were traveling to Camden, AL to visit my great grandmother. I remember my mother removing the privacy cargo cover from the hatch back so I could ride in the trunk area and play with my toys while waving at truckers and attempting to get them to honk their horns.

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    bumpy ii

    Plymouth Horizon, going to the dealer to trade it in for a K-car wagon in 1981.

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    I vaguely remember my parents red 80 Buick Lesabre, but I strongly remember the black 82 Park Avenue (black with red interior?) that came after it when I was five. For the longest time, it was Dads base 78 Toyota HiLux 4×2 with 5 spd and no air and the 84 Econoline conversion van in our driveway.

    My Dad was an airline mechanic, so we traveled by air quite a bit. My little brother can remember little about any vacation we had, but he remembers what the rental car was.

    We drove to Myrtle Beach quite a bit from Pittsburgh. We traveled at night, my siblings and I fought about who was sitting where ( no one wanted to ride in the back of the van)

    My first road trip as a driving adult came when my buddies and I decided to skip school to go to Groundhog Day in Punxsatawney PA. We used the Econoline, it was a wonderful time.

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    The first car I remember in my family was a 1954 Mercury station wagon. If I remember correctly, it was two shades of green, light over dark. The family’s second car that I remember was a ’59 Oldsmobile Dynamic 88–with the color-bar speedometer. Pure white and I loved the style (until I found out about the ’59 Chevy my grandfather owned).

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    My mom had a white RX-3 wagon (I think it was a 1973?). That car loved to backfire spectacularly after engine shutoff. It’s the first car I remember riding in.

    My dad had a silver RWD Corolla liftback coupe (I think a 1976), but I don’t think I ever rode in it.

    There’s a lot of interesting vehicular history in my family, particularly from before I was born. Now, though, my mom doesn’t drive and my dad has a garden-variety (Euro market) E90 325i.

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    It was either a bright orange ’80 Camaro or a grey early Dodge CargoVan aka Caravan that was a 5 speed. The more family friendly vehicles came on later, a 3rd gen Subaru Leon 4×4. Camaro was long gone by the time I started driving, although it was only a v6.

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    Probably the earliest was 2 year old me puking in the back of a real Checker Marathon on the way to the hospital because I had gotten into some tasty cold medicine and my parents gave me ipecac.

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    My first ride was in my mom’s yellow ’73 Mustang Sportsroof, but my first concrete car-ride memory is of riding in my mom’s green ’78 Caprice wagon, watching a Savoy chocolate billboard go by on the Autopista Francisco Fajardo in Caracas.

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    At age 7, we went from Savannah, GA to Talulah Gorge in the north GA mountains in a 1949 Pontiac 2dr. Streamliner coupe.

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    The first family car I remember is the gray 1964 Plymouth Valiant my parents took me home from the hospital in, since we had that car until I was 4 years old. My enduring memories of that car were the push button transmission and the sight and feel of the red interior contrasted with the gray paint. Interestingly this was the last American car my parents owned until my mom bought a Saturn in 1994.
    I was more impressed with the 1966 Mercedes 250S that replaced the Valiant and
    I learned to drive in a Volvo 164 and a 1977 Honda Accord. Sadly I missed out on the driving the BMW 2000 but I did get a lot of seat time in the Audi 4000 Quattro.

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    I came home from the hospital, in a 51 Pontiac. That would be late 53. So I would be about 5 years old, when Dad traded it in on a 57 Pontiac. I’ll never go forget the day he came home , with a 60 Pontiac Laurention . We had an old farmhouse ,that was sort of our cottage. I can still remember riding from Camp Borden, to “the farm”. Dad was convinced that the Russians were, going to attack Canada., so they would have a base to launch an attack on the USA . Hey , it was 1962 ?

    We would load all kinds of food and supplies, and make numerous trips to the “farm” . I can recall , like it was yesterday., my tiny mother behind the wheel of that huge car. Dad with road maps plotting the back road route , discussing the various strategic plots, that the “reds” might use. All pretty cool stuff, to an 8 year old. My older brother describing , in graphic detail , what routes the tanks might take.

    So long ago.

  • avatar

    Here’s the story of my first ride, and my disappointment at age 9 in finding out that the car in question, which belonged to a neighbor, was not made by GM

    My first memory of being in a car, at about 9 months old, which is my second memory: We’re climbing the hill where we lived in Seattle. I’m in my baby bassinet in the back of the 1950 Studebaker. My father says, “we’re almost home.”

    • 0 avatar

      I don’t know how I am able to peg my age so clearly, but I have a clear sense of my age for most of my other (unusually many) memories from my first four years. In one case, my older brother quite accidentally verified both the memory and my age, and a couple of the other memories have been verified.

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    My ride home as a newborn was in the back seat of my dad’s friend’s pea green Lada 21011 with the low-po 1.2L. Much later in life we took that same car on a really fun camping trip in the Altai mountains, where we had to coast through the police inspection stations along the way to avoid attention caused by a missing muffler.

    First road trip was my family taking my dad’s 1972 ZAZ 966 on a visit to see my grandparents on my mom’s side in Biysk. The road from Novosibirsk (M52) was still unpaved in places. We took frequent breaks to let that little rear-mounted air cooled V-4 cool down. At one point my dad forgot to tighten the oil cap after checking the level, as a result a lot of oil got flung out and he went asking folks in line at a gas station for some (there was a shortage of it, much like just about everything in the chaos of the collapse of the Soviet Union). A nice man in a UAZ-469 shared some of his and we were on our way. My dad’s usual source of motor oil was a friend at a construction site who just walked off with pails of the stuff (probably intended for a Kamaz diesel truck)

    • 0 avatar

      My father learned to drive in the USSR, on a Jeep, when he was stationed in Poltava or Mirgorod at the far end of the shuttle bombing runs in WWII. (They flew from England, bombed Germany, and then went on to his base.) He was a radar mechanic and air traffic controller at the base.

      • 0 avatar

        Very cool! My mother learned to drive on a GAZ-51 2 ton truck, as part of their mandatory civilian war/emergency preparation for women. Her instructor was often very drunk or hungover so he’d have her just drive around town while he sobered up. My father in turn took the wheel of a BTR-70 armored personnel carrier when he was in college as sort of a mandatory ROTC program male college students went through at the time.

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    My ride home as a newborn was in the back seat of my dad’s friend’s pea green Lada 21011 with the low-po 1.2L. Much later in life we took that same car on a really fun camping trip in the Altai mountains, where we had to coast through the police inspection stations along the way to avoid attention caused by a missing muffler.

    First road trip was my family taking my dad’s 1972 ZAZ 966 on a visit to see my grandparents on my mom’s s1de in Biysk. The road from Novosibirsk (M52) was still unpaved in places. We took frequent breaks to let that little rear-mounted air cooled V-4 cool down. At one point my dad forgot to tighten the oil cap after checking the level, as a result a lot of oil got flung out and he went asking folks in line at a gas station for some (there was a shortage of it, much like just about everything in the chaos of the collapse of the Soviet Union). A nice man in a UAZ-469 shared some of his and we were on our way. My dad’s usual source of motor oil was a friend at a construction site who just walked off with pails of the stuff (probably intended for a Kamaz diesel truck)

    • 0 avatar

      I hear ya. My dad’s car at the time I was born was the bus but I believe they managed to save up and purchase a beige Lada 2106. He later got a dark blue 21063 which had the smaller 1300cc motor. That’s one of the first cars I recall. In the mid 80s he traded for a beige 2104 wagon and that was our last car in the old country.

      My grandfather on father’s side was really into cars and always had something cool. Incidentally his last car was a Zaz-968M iirc. My uncle on mom’s side had a bright red 21011 (Corrida color!) and uncle on dad’s side had a 2109 which drove us to the airport!

      I got to drive an old 2107 last year in Russia and loved it. Too bad they’re hard to find here.

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    I assume my first car ride was in “The Green Slime” 1970 Plymouth FuryIII in 1978.

    The first I can remember is sitting IN THE HATCH of my father’s ’78 Rx7 where my child seat was mounted. Some woman in the next lane had fallen asleep and drifted into us, probably some night in 1980.

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    My first ride was in a ’56 Olds – a nearly new Super 88 four-door sedan, green and white. It was our only car until I was 4 or 5. Because my folks were friends of a Pontiac sales manager, we eventually had two new 1965 Bonnevilles, a white Safari wagon (our first car with a/c) and a blue-gray convertible – damn, fifty years ago?!

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    1982/83 Datsun Stanza hatchbacks — my parents each had one. Terrible little cars that were nearly dead by the time I was born in ’87. My Gran’s ’83 Accord was way cooler. Replaced with a pair of Camry wagons in ’90 and took my first memorable road trip from Cleveland to Toronto. I drove my Dad’s until last year when it was totalled by an douche driving a Mini S in the snow.

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    I am not sure but I *think* it was Pop’s 1937 Bentley St. James Two Door , he had all manner of odd ball and old cars in the 50’s , 60’s & ’70s , he liked cars but knew bupkis about anything Mechanical and so killed most of them through neglect , like the ’51 (?) Mercedes 600 he bought for Mom but ran out of oil far away in Maine whilst visiting his Girlfriend….

    It might have been the ’54 VW Kombi he bought in Europe and direct imported as there was a waiting list for VW’s all through the 1950’s . ~ I remember that one pretty well as I always rode over the engine where it was warm in the @$$ freezing New England Winters . the buzzing of the 36HP engine always put me right to sleep too .


    • 0 avatar

      My parents were informed by a friend after they’d had their first car, a (probably used) Studebaker, for ~8 months, that they needed to give it a lube and oil change (this was the late ’40s). It was squeaking like a bastard. Neither parental family of origin had had cars when they were growing up.

      • 0 avatar

        My sister bought her first brand new car (an early model 1990-ish Geo Metro) and put 10,000 miles on it without changing the oil. My father was a mechanic who built racecar engines in his spare time and was livid but apparently had never actually told her anything about car maintenance.

        I’ve really enjoyed your posts on this one BTW

    • 0 avatar

      I remember riding back over the engine in my aunts VW Beetle as a kid. Orange Super Beetle, probably ’74-75 vintage. Wife of my uncle with the Land Rovers. Still my favorite relatives, though they drive a pair of Mitsubishi Outlanders today, of all things.

      And of course, I spent much of my childhood in the “way back” of sundry American barge station wagons.

      • 0 avatar

        Ah, yes. One trip across the country–Boston to Seattle–with the back seat down in the ’57 Chevy. I was 7, the year was 1960. Early mornings in the eastern half of th ecountry, up before dawn, my brother and I in sleeping bags in the back (with the dog), watching the stars until we went to sleep–until the stop for breakfast woke us up.

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    Home from the hospital in an 85 Regal, blue/blue. First road trip was from SE Indiana to Missouri (Eminence) for my great grandmothers funeral. 88 GMC Safari. They looked like this (correct colors)!

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    Probably not my first trip…but the first one I can barely remember was the Western Minnesota Steam Threshers Reunion ’98 up by Rollag, MN. We went up in the ’77 F-250 SuperCab (aka the “blue pickup”) with the biiiig dark red cooler full of sandwiches and pop sitting between my sister and me, facing each other in the SuperCab’s jump seats, pulling our Starcraft pop-up camper to my mother’s aunt and uncle’s place, where we camped in the backyard.

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    I went home from the hospital in January 1987 in a Chevrolet Cavalier wagon. Burnt orange paint, automatic transmission. I’m sure there’s a picture hiding in an old photo album somewhere. My parents had looked for a red Cavalier wagon, but the closest color on the lot was orange.

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    Backtracking from what my parents had back in the day, it was a ’52 bullet nose Studebaker.

    Fast forward to our son’s first ride home from the hospital–it was in my freshly restored ’63 Rampside, he slept—like a baby in that truck any.

    Next purchase to lug around all the kid stuff was a ’73 Pontiac Safari wagon. Not a stick or diesel, bit it was root beer brown. 400 4-barrel and factory duals FTW.

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    From hospital to home I went in a Puma, 1971, so it would be that or 1970 or 69 Puma. I seem to remember Mom’s lime green VW Brasilia and Dad’s Chevy Opala. First cars I remember. I also remember being very hot in the back seat of a VW Beetle going from Belo Horizonte to Rio. That would be my first road trip, maybe 73 or 74, or the first I remember.

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    Somewhere in late 1997, early 1998, riding from central Florida to southeastern Pennsylvania in the passenger seat of a Penske truck. The only significantly lengthy car trip I’ve ever been on, really…

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    My first car ride was in a 52 Pontiac 8 coming home from the hospital. The first car with vivid memories was our red and white 2 door 55 Oldsmobile. We had a new 55 Ford that same year, but I can’t remember much about it. My folks didn’t like it and traded for the Olds within a few months.

  • avatar

    My Grandparents happened to buy a new ’69 Ford Galaxie 500 the day I was born – they were at the dealership when my Mom went into labor. I came home in it a couple days later.

    First car I can remember riding in was my uncles Series Land Rover, when I was probably 4-5.

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    My Dad was a serious car racing fan . Dirt track championship cars , Indy cars and stock car racing at local tracks using Stock as in showroom fresh cars that were lightly modified . Dad had grown up in depression era Oklahoma and came to california to work in the shipyards . At seventeen he begged my grandparents to falsify his age so he could inlist. After surviving his duty at Guadalcanal and almost dying of Malaria he came home to the bay area . In 1955 Dad was doing pretty well so for him the GTO of the day was a 1955 Oldsmobile Super 88 two door hardtop in Glen green and creme beige. I remember the day Dad bought the car at Connel Olds in Oakland California . I was 7 and still vividly remember dad making the salesman switch the day/ night mirror from a 98 to put on his car before he would buy the car . Dad really loved that car.

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    My first memories, and many afterwards, are dominated by rides in the personal luxury of a ’77 Pontiac Grand Prix. Silver with whorehouse red interior.

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    White Lightning 1973. We all gathered at friend’s house and watched the Geraldo Rivera telethon to save Willowbrook as well as the Midnight Special staring Slade . Whoops – you met the first CAR trip . Anywhoo I made it to work the next day with no sleep as a 15 year old sod farm employee and saved up the bucks that summer to buy a brand new 250 Honda Elsinore on which I terrorized the town with noise and farmers with deep ruts on their muck roads for the next two years . Good old days !

  • avatar

    First car ride I actually remember was in a London taxi in early 1951 when I was three. We went past Buckingham Palace.

    Later that year, Dad bought a 1938 Riley with gigantic headlamps like a Jag SS100. And Overdrive, and wrinkly red leather seats. But it did not have the awful red wheels some twit painted this one.

    He liked to ambush Morris Minors and Austin A30s on long hills by sweeping majestically past, as I enthusiastically waved at the vanquished. That car made me into a car nut.

  • avatar
    elderly car nut

    Well, all you youngsters. My first time in a car that I remember was in a Model T Pickup that was the delivery car, and personal car for my father. First time I remember going on a long trip was in a new Ford Model A. My father got the 2nd one to be delivered in the small town in Oklahoma near Tulsa, where we lived. We drove up to northern Kansas to see relatives, and then on for a two weeks visit in Colorado. Remember that he was so pleased that when we went up “Lookout Mt” it did not overheat. He had a Motometer temp indicator that replaced the usual radiator cap. At the time you could not go up Pikes Peak in your own car. We made the trip up in the open (I think) Packard’s.

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    I’m with the ’50’s Oldsmobile crowd. My ride home from the hospital in 1957 would have been in our ’54 Oldsmobile 88. The first time I escaped from my crib and wandered outside on my own was the day my dad brought home the ’59 Oldsmobile Super 88. I wore out the carpet on that car’s transmission hump behind the front bench seats as I stood there in order to see out over the dash. No car seats in those days.

  • avatar

    1974 Chrysler Imperial. Brown with a tan vinyl top.

    This was the first car I remember my dad driving; it was followed in around 1989 by a 79 Ford LTD that would be his last car.

    Incidentally, the LTD also had the Landau-style vinyl top, as did the 83 Impala my Mom drove. It wasn’t until she bought a new 98 Prizm when I turned 16 that my family graduated to unadorned roofs.

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    IIRC, it was a burgundy ’83? Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme.


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    I was driven home from a hospital in Inglewood CA in 1960 in my Father’s Volvo P544. He was an aircraft Mechanic at McDonald Douglas and had recently traded in the Nash on a new Volvo.

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    According to my dad, my trip from the hospital was in a ’41 DeSoto taxi. My first trip that I remember was a couple years later when we moved 18 miles, in another, late ’40s DeSoto taxi. My first “long” trip was from Rhode Island to New Hampshire when I was 8. That was in a ’53 Ford Victoria (it got the crown latr). The first long trip that I drove was Boston to San Diego, in a ’65 Impala.Those trips spanned 22 years, an in none of them was gas priced higher than 38 cents, which I refused to pay, going a few miles out of my way for gas at 29.9 cents.

  • avatar

    The one I don’t remember was a Fiat 850 Spider. They drove me clear across the country from SF to NYC in my mothers arms and I didn’t die even though I was only almost a year old. My earliest car memories are of my dads 2 stroke Saab. I think he loved it *because* it was odd. It ate its engine in Death Valey and we got a new engine under warranty. I liked the troll sticker. Some times he let me steer and shift. I love cars and road trips to this day.

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    All right, Murilee… I remember riding in the Volvo 1800 and the ’68 Valiant that my folks had when I was in preschool, but here is one seared into my memory: The trip to the MSP airport from Hutchinson, MN, the week I turned 5. I was a precocious reader, Dad got me a subscription to Motor Trend which started that very month. Chev Celebrity was the cover story but the big deal was Delorean vs. Vette/Mondial/Merak/928… But on to our little road trip. Dad’s daily driver was a ’78 Accord LX, Mom had a ’75 Audi Fox wagon. We planned to spend the Christmas holiday with Moms folks in Mesa, AZ. Off to the airport for my first plane ride. The Honda quit on the city limits of Hutchinson, thumped to a stop on Hwy 7… Keihin fuel pump AWOL. AAA towed us home, got in the Audi. Gas lines froze near Holllywood Station about 30 miles short of our destination. Warmed up in the back of a MN state trooper Impala while AAA guy heated the fuel tank with a MAPP torch. True story. Turned the idle screw up to where things stayed lit. Limped down to Dads sisters house off Lyndale Ave where we got driven the rest of the way to MSP… In a ’77 Aspen wagon , slant six with floor shift 3 speed. made the plane with 4 mins to spare.

    Anecdotal evidence suggests an Aspen/Volare is more reliable than a Honda (what?) or an Audi (I believe that)… But did it make a Mopar loyalist of me? No. probably contributed to my becoming a family at the age of 19, a custom I’ve followed for 20 yrs hence, and goes a long way to explain my participation in LeMons….

  • avatar

    I likely came home from the hospital in our 62 or 63 Rambler. The first car I remember was our 68 VW camper. Dad and Mom rode up front, my sisters and I had the back as our traveling/play area.
    Our neighbor was mystified that my Dad, a rabidly pro-American, career military man would buy a German car. My father’s theory was a car was a tool. You just bought the one that worked best for your needs.
    I remember riding with my father all over Illinois and Southern Wisconsin, my Dad bellowing along (he absolutely couldn’t sing quietly) with the tinny, one speaker radio.

  • avatar

    The first one I remember is going to Chicago when I was just about to turn 4 years old in our month old or so ’60 Chrysler New Yorker. It was black and had the 413 motor in it. Mostly all I remember about the trip was my dad creeping the speed up to over 80, and my mom complaining about how fast he was going. The highlight of that trip was watching a couple in the hotel across the alley from us having sex. Twice. I thought it was hilarious, and over 50 years later, I can play it back in my head like I had a camcorder, including my 10 year old sister and her best friend’s comments, like, Sis: “OMG, I would never let my husband do that to me!” BF: “You will if you want to have a baby!”. Sis:”It looks like it hurts a lot!” BF: “My mom says it really feels good!”, and Sis: “Then why is she making that weird face?”. My sister denies it happened, but her friend says she remembers it almost as well as I do.

  • avatar

    The first car I was aware of riding in was a 59 Plymouth Belvedere. I was born in ’52 and I do not remember what preceded the Plymouth. That was followed by a ’65/’66 Dodge Coronet 500 with a 383 Hemi which, by that time, was a cool car in my teenage mind. The first car I drove was my maternal grandfather’s ’55 Plymouth – it had no reverse so where to park had to be well planned. It was a hand-me-down after he died. Eventually my dad purchased a used ’67/’68 Plymouth Sport Fury for my brother and I to drive. Like most irresponsible teens, we did not keep up with maintenance and the engine had to be rebuilt. Lesson learned, the first car I owned was a used ’72 Charger, which I drove to 286,000, to be followed by a used ’84 Shelby Charger, which I drove to 406,000. Thanks for asking the question as it was fun to remember those times from way back.

  • avatar

    My earliest recollections were of busting through snow drifts nearly up to the hood of a 72 International Scout. We lived on a road that never got plowed and the snow would drift several feet in the open fields. A car could not maneuver our road in the winter time. Dad had mounted some military surplus tires, memory is shady but it seems like they were around 32-33″ tall and very skinny. Probably no more than 9″ wide. That Scout was nearly unstoppable. We blazed many a trail in the backwoods with that beast, and the 10k lb winch mounted on the homemade front bumper got us out of some bad situations in very remote areas.

    I also have some very strong memories of riding in his 65 Ford Galaxie 500 convertible. Red on black with black top and white wall tires. He was also a music junkie and ripped the factory radio out in favor of a state of the art JVC stereo and speakers. We would drive up to the lake about 40 miles away and cruise the strip on warm summer nights. Top down, radio cranked to some 50s rock station, matching sunglasses (even though I could barely see over the dash). Truly good times.

  • avatar
    Laughing Lion

    I was taken home from the hospital in a late 70s Toyota Corolla (I think it was a Corolla). But a few days later, on the Sunday on which I was baptized, Grandpa surprised everyone by giving my parents, and his three other children, each a brand-new, state-of-the-edge 1984 Ford Escort. (I was his sixth grandchild, but the first to be born with his last name. Hence the generosity.) Ours was baby blue with a manual transmission.

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