Sportscars, Cruisers, Four Wheelers, and Harleys

When I sat down this evening to write, I decided to move away from the deep and spiritual things which constantly occupy my mind. Instead, I told myself I want to write about something light and joyful. Without even really thinking about it, the memory of learning to drive popped into my head. My dad was the one who taught me to drive. I flashed on my teenage years for a second. Then I recalled a day, when I was still in elementary school, when my father took me for a spin in his tiny Datsun 240Z.
My dad sat me on his lap, and let me drive (steer) his little sportscar all around my school parking lot. Honestly, I have no idea how my father fit himself into that tiny little car, let alone have me on his lap! You can see from this picture, that dad was a pretty big dude! Even though this picture was taken many years later, my dad was always a big man.

During the summer between Jr. high and high school, I decided to go live with my dad. I had not lived with him since he and my mom divorced before I started kindergarten. Moving from San Jose, a pretty major city, to the small town of Antioch, was like night and day. Suddenly, it was like I'd been transported into a different era. No kidding. The town of Antioch seemed to be filled with nostalgia, from the cars to the old movie theater, downtown. Cruising the main strip only took a few minutes. Not that I ever got to go cruising, being I was only fourteen. When I was finally ready to really learn how to drive, my dad took it a bit more seriously, and put me behind the wheel of a cruiser. That's what my step-moms '56 Caddy seemed like, anyway. It really was a beautiful car. I was born in 1964. By the time he let me drive Rose's car, I was fourteen. So, that puts us around 1978. The Caddy was a beauty, and turned many heads. The steering wheel was huge and not easy to turn. Driving Rose's car was a real treat. Never have I felt more safe and protected in a vehicle.

Muscle cars and motorcycles were my dad's passions. His natural draw to driving and riding is a trait I definitely inherited from him. Even the ability to take care of basic maintenance on my vehicles came naturally. Being able to drive a stick was real important to me too. When I was about nineteen years old, I went out to buy a new truck. It had to be a five-speed, four-wheel drive. Believe it or not, I ended up learning how to drive a clutch while taking the new truck out for a test drive! In those days, you didn't even have to have the car salesman accompany you on the test drive. My 1983 Toyota 4-speed, 4x4 was stock, white, and all mine! I loved that truck!

My dad loved it too! When I drove to visit him in it, the first thing he did was check out the tires. Of course, next thing I knew, Dad was driving us out into a field, with miniature mountains for us to climb. I am pretty sure this was a place frequented by dirt bikes and bmxers. We would soon break in the 4-wheel drive, and the tires!

It only took Dad a minute (probably less than that) to find the perfect starting point. He never told me what he was going to do. He just drove the truck to the edge of the field and began revving up the engine. Man, it reminded me of those moments when he'd get ready to spin the tires on his old GTO. So, my instinct told me to hold on tight, because we were going for a ride!

Dad, what are we doing?
Checking out the 4-wheel drive!
Dad, be careful.
Of course, honey.

I know he took it much easier, for my sake. Dad got a good running start and headed for the little mountain ahead of us. When we came up to it, Dad stopped at the base of the hill. It really didn't qualify as a hill, per se. It was more like a dirt slope leading up to another level of the field. It was a bit steep for me. Dad just had this evil smirk on his face, because he knew I was freaking out inside. He kept reassuring me he wouldn't hurt my truck. I know some of you are laughing, because this was really a controlled situation.

So, as Dad started to climb the hill from a dead stop at the base of it, we really were not going anywhere. The little 4-cyl just did not have enough to get the truck climbing. As we suddenly traveled fifty feet in reverse, I realized Dad was taking this a little more seriously.

Dad!
I'm not going to hurt your little truck. Hang on!

As we sped towards the hill, Dad shifted into second gear, and the truck climbed, no problem! As a matter of fact, we were airborne when we reached the top of the slope!

(Not an actual photo of my new truck, though it is the same year, has the same stock tires, and demonstrates precisely how airborne we were!)

As we landed over the edge of the hill, the truck bounced a couple of times. My right hand was still gripping tight to the handle above my passenger door as we came to a stop. The loud POP! was not a good sign. Dad just looked at me with this look...as if to say, I'll fix it.

After all was said and done, Dad put two new tires on my truck. We left with a great story and another wonderful memory.

Dad's passion for muscle cars was coupled with his passion for bikes. After all, he was a biker. Therefore, I grew up around bikes. When I finally came to the age when I began to date, my father forbid me to get on the back of a bike with a boy. I wasn't very happy about that, but I also did not want to experience his wrath for not respecting his wishes. Nor did I care to see what he would do to my boyfriend! So, I just didn't go there until I was of the age when my dad had no say.

Dad was right, though. Eventually, after many years of riding on the back of bikes, I finally questioned why I was on the back in the first place! My dad taught me well. The way he always learned whatever he put his mind to rubbed off on me. His passion for bikes was no exception. All it took was one heartless biker standing me up on a Valentine's Day "Sweetheart Run". That was the day I realized I could ride solo, and I would proceed to teach myself how to ride. Though Dad didn't teach me to ride a motorcycle, it was his love for riding that was instilled in me from early on in my life. From driving sportscars, cruisers, 4-wheelers, to Harleys; it all came from him.

I love you, Dad ♥

In loving memory of Arthur P. LaLanne