A theoretical teenager’s bedroom wall (c. 2000).
First cars, like first loves, find our naïve childhood fantasies crashing headlong into the realities of our present. Pinups are out of the question. If you came of age around 2000 (as I did), you would as likely score a new Carrera as take Jennifer Love Hewitt to the prom. Still for many, even a late-model Civic might be as unattainable as the winsome soccer forward in biology class. Yet somewhere along the way, you find something real to call your own, a first that makes an indelible mark in your memory.
As I approached driving age, the reality of my automotive present was bleak indeed. My thrifty father always paid cash for cars, typically at a price point under a month’s salary. Our family hauler at the time was a third-hand 1991 Plymouth Voyager, just old and worn enough to be perceptibly plebeian at my well-to-do suburban high school. But even as classmates got 2000 New Beetles and XTerras for their 16th birthdays, the stigma of being seen in the Voyager couldn’t entirely erase my joy over finally having a driver’s license.
Not our Voyager, but virtually the same. (Credit: IAAI.com)
Still, the minivan was my mom’s vehicle, and my use of it was limited to the occasional evening spin to the mall or Saturday daybreak drive.
In the icy early spring of 2001, my dad’s daily commuter, a battered and rusty ’83 Sentra wagon, finally gave up the ghost. The Sentra had been his “winter car”; he also had an ’86 200SX that was virtually undrivable in central Pennsylvania snow. By May, he found a potential replacement for next winter, but it wasn’t a poverty-spec beater as the Sentra had been.
Not my Dad’s Sentra, but almost identical. This is roughly how the car looked when he bought it used in 1989, and by 2000, it had suffered two collisions and was thoroughly rusted. (Credit: Instagram user George Mellen)
Early one Saturday, my dad drove me to a reseller of “fine pre-owned imported autos” a dozen or so miles from home. There, I first laid eyes on the car, a 1990 Subaru Legacy LS. Its deep pewter color, Misty Dawn Metallic in Subaru parlance, struck me as looking rather opulent. The car was loaded with nearly every option offered on the Legacy in its first year: power windows and locks, moonroof, air suspension, ABS. The car lacked a CD player, but its factory stereo had a killer feature that would become commonplace 20 years later—a ⅛” aux jack. Perhaps my perception had been distorted by daily exposure to the beat-up Sentra and our increasingly shabby Voyager, but the Legacy looked virtually showroom new to me.
As I quickly discovered, my dad had already made up his mind to purchase this Legacy and was signing the paperwork soon after we arrived. My job was to drive the car home for him.
And what a drive that was! With the Voyager being my only point of motoring reference, the Legacy was a revelation. It took off like a rocket, and its low center of gravity and all-wheel drive let the car corner like it were on rails—a world apart from the Voyager’s wheezing acceleration and tippy insecurity. Moreover, the Legacy was simply a joy to drive. Going back to the first love metaphor, that 20-minute drive home was a passionate first kiss and a lost night lying beneath a starlit sky.
1990 Legacy brochure image, modified slightly to reflect the Misty Dawn Metallic color of our wagon.
Throughout the summer of 2001, I wrested the Legacy keys from my dad at every possible opportunity. I could see him becoming leery over my growing attachment to his winter car, but I was undaunted. I impishly pushed boundaries, driving the Subaru hours away from home and taking it to a week-long student leadership conference at a nearby university. And more than just being entertaining and less dowdy than the family minivan, the Legacy endeared itself to me as a reflection of my idealized self: intentionally out of the mainstream, quirky, intelligent, and yet oddly attractive in its own way.
Brochure image, color-adjusted to reflect our Legacy’s gray interior.
Mere months after that magical first drive, though, the Legacy met an untimely end. My older brother, still on summer break from college and driving around our hometown, got sandwiched between a skittish driver in front and an uninsured motorist in a hulking beater behind.
Shortly thereafter, my dad bought a virtual clone of the first Legacy at a local Subaru specialist garage. The only major difference was color—Majestic Blue Metallic. As if to preempt my overtures toward the replacement Legacy, my dad foisted a diversionary vehicle on me: a well-worn 1990 Dodge Spirit bought from a co-worker for $750. Ungratefully, I subjected that Dodge to every childish abuse I could think of that wouldn’t leave marks or cause lasting damage. The Spirit shuttled me to school and my mall clothing store job, but I still finagled the Legacy any chance I could—particularly if I had a date.
My two main modes of transportation in my college years; one conveniently fit inside the other.
As I prepared to leave for college in the summer of 2003, my dad ultimately handed over the Legacy to be my full-time vehicle. And like a junior Irv Gordon, I jumped at any excuse to drive anywhere at any hour—particularly late at night. Spontaneous road trips were my specialty, and I spent countless wee hours driving the Pennsylvania Turnpike with Art Bell emanating from the radio and moonlight shining through the open roof.
It was on such a frivolous late-night excursion in the spring of 2004 that I learned an important lesson about the dangers of drowsy driving. I nodded off for mere moments on a rural Interstate only to be jolted awake by the sound of my Legacy’s right rear quarter glancing off a guardrail. Luckily, neither I nor anyone else was hurt. I put some of my summer job earnings that year into getting the damage repaired and the entire vehicle repainted—though this time, in the slightly darker blue used on second-generation Legacies. Determined to bring my car back into service better than ever, I also installed an original Subaru accessory CD player and an upgraded set of speakers in time for the fall semester
Post late-night collision, being dropped off for bodywork.
Throughout my undergraduate years—through an academic suspension, a hard-fought return to the dean’s list, a blossoming romance, and a painful breakup—the Legacy was my constant companion. Careful attention to mechanicals rewarded me with hundreds of thousands of miles of faithful service, and the odometer passed 300K by the spring of 2007.
As I approached graduation that summer, the Legacy faced what seemed to be existential engine trouble. The previously bulletproof EJ22 engine suddenly developed an intense grinding noise—as if I had dropped a handful of nuts and bolts into the crankcase. Under other circumstances, I would have probed further. But at the time, my dad—approaching 60 years of age and an Army Reservist for nearly half his life—had just been deployed to active duty in Kuwait. Distracted by our respective lives, we decided it best to move on, and we sold the Legacy back to the garage from which we purchased it six years earlier.
Saying goodbye, July 2007.
In an email to my dad 6,000 miles away, I eulogized my automotive first love:
That car and I traveled to many new places and had many first experiences together. As much as it is an inanimate object without any feelings or consciousness, I will miss it greatly.
And I do.
Further reading:
Curbside Classic: 1990-94 Subaru Legacy – The First Generation
Welcome to the COAL mines, Brian. When I read about your father who “always paid cash for cars, typically at a price point under a month’s salary”, I wondered for a second if one of my own children was starting a COAL series. 🙂
You got a lot of good use out of that Subaru, which is particularly impressive during a period of youth when we are not always easy on our cars.
Your story of nodding off reminds me of a similar experience in my law school years – I dozed off on an interstate in my 77 Chrysler New Yorker. There was deep snow in the median, which kept me out of trouble, as the car sledded across the surface and then sunk down into it, leaving me stuck until some helpful guys with a Blazer and a tow rope pulled me out for all the cash I had in my pocket. Both of our stories could have ended far worse than they did.
Welcome Brian, I can not identify any new car that my parents bought after one 1953 Packard, which my mother hated so much (“it’s a old man’s car”) I can only assume that my paternal grandparents helped with the purchase price (because they were “Packard People”).
From that point forward my mother always chose their cars from used car lots that seemed to specialize in big, gaudy, and badly maintained broughams.
It is good to read about a first car love that involves a well designed and balanced vehicle that offers attractive driving dynamics and reliable AWD service.
I’m looking forward to seeing if this practical streak continues.
This is a great first COAL chapter.
Welcome, Brian! A great first entry, can’t wait to see where this goes.
Thankfully I did a lot better on the car front than on the love front. But I too had a father where his car choices were “cheap” and grew up in a town where too many peers had brand new cars. Fortunately I was happy enough to not be taking the school bus and made do.
Welcome to the COAL club!
Fathers can be such a buzzkill for one’s teenage automotive desires, can’t they? You’ve reminded me of my experience in such matters, although mine never had the monthly salary limitation on purchase price. He was in the camp of being vehemently opposed to any type of maintenance outside of oil changes.
I am anxious to see how this series unfolds.
Welcome Brian!
A great start to your series. I admire your dad’s car buying philosophy, particularly because it seemed to work well for him and your family.
As for your Subaru, it looked pretty good there on your last day with it in 2007. Hummmmmm….I’ll bet it got a new engine and perhaps to this day is still being driven by some other college (or recently ex) student.
About a month or two after selling the Legacy back to the Subaru specialist, I thought I saw it on I-180 about 20 miles from my home. I am not absolutely certain it was the same car (I caught only a quick glance) but it certainly looked like it.
Nice and interesting story! My family also has always had a similar buying philosophy, and it (nearly always) worked well too.
Greetings from Italy!
Welcome to the COAL mines, Brian. And a most excellent start.
The EJ22 in these had an excellent reputation, avoiding the head gasket issues of its EJ25 successor. I’m not surprised that you got over 300k out of it.
Precisely the reason I tried finding a pre-’97 manual non-outback Legacy wagon. Pre ’97 because that was the MY when revised pistons turned it from non- to interference. Never could find a decent one so I ended up with a ’99 Forester that had the head gaskets done (with MLS gaskets the way they all should have been done from the factory).
“[T]he Legacy endeared itself to me as a reflection of my idealized self: intentionally out of the mainstream, quirky, intelligent, and yet oddly attractive in its own way.”
I didn’t really put it into words at the time, but that was my take on my first car, a ’68 Saab 95 V4.
From the ’70s and into the ’90s SAAB owners had the highest average level of educational attainment of any make bar none.
Welcome. An encouraging first post. To my knowledge my dad only ever owned one new car. A lot of our fathers were depression era babies and just a tad on the thirty side.
Where in Pennsylvania did you grow up? I’m originally from Easton. Your car doesn’t have a front license plate, because Pennsylvania.
I grew up in Williamsport, and my “well-to-do suburban high school” was Loyalsock Township.
I’ve never heard of “Townships” except in Pennsylvania and Michigan. If they’re a thing anywhere else, I’d be interested to know about it.
I was actually from Williams Township, a rural area outside Easton. There was a running joke in my high school about Williams Township being the boonies. We once had an English composition assignment: write a letter to a friend out of state inviting him or her to visit you for a week, and tell him or her about the cool activities you’ll have in store. Barry Smock, who had quite a sense of humor, said his friend could look forward to, among other things, “a swamp buggy ride in Williams Township.”
Great read and recollections of your coming of age. We can tell your sentiments about the Dodge Spirit. Not even one photo! LOL. Sounds like the fate befallen to one Ford Pinto a buddy of mine drove for work, delivering to homes from a drugstore. That poor car wheezed and hacked its way through maybe 3 years of existence and what felt like 900,000 miles of being beaten up.
Keep these coming.
Fear not: The Spirit is installment #2.
My feelings toward the Dodge are somewhat conflicted. In some ways, I feel a certain familial relationship with Chrysler, particularly the Iacocca Chrysler of the ’80s. On the other hand, my Spirit in rather rough shape, and there were other complications (which I will get into in that entry).
Thanks, everyone, for the welcome messages and kind words. Having read CC for years before finally answering the COAL call, I must admit it’s a bit surreal seeing some familiar names commenting on my entry.
In case my essay suggested otherwise, I certainly do admire my dad’s practicality and his resistance to being swayed by image or status consciousness. Of course as a restless teenager, it was a little harder to appreciate those qualities.
Further installments are already underway, and I look forward to sharing them with you.
Good job Sir ! .
-Nate
Welcome tot he CC world, Brian. 300k on an unusual and “doing it differently” car is always going to be interesting
And, as you say, not all drowsy moments at the wheel have a happy ending.