Here's the Hyde side to my multifaceted relationship with Buicks. My old beast is getting worse... now the engine light is coming on before I've barely topped the first hill, when last week it took 6 miles for it to come on. B pulled the O2 sensor out of the parts car to swap in, since we can't find anything else wrong with the Puick. I mean, besides the oil leak, wonky overdrive gear, melted plastic housing under the hood that used to help keep fumes out of the cabin and now adds to them, screwy choke, and recently a bad u-joint. Otherwise the car runs great. Never mind the driver's window that sticks in the summer and won't open at all in winter, or the shrill squealing from the dash on cold mornings (my beloved "dash rat"), or the rusty rear bumper, or the blown back speakers or beginning-to-shred vinyl top. It has "personality." And as long as it runs and passes inspection I'll keep driving it. Hey, the original radio still works!
On the Jeckyll side... Dad's got his '73 Buick out and about now that the weather's nicer. Car just looks and sounds great going down the road. I love driving it, except that one time when some of the wiring burned up in Reading. Something happened and the car started backfiring... considering the area of town we were in, I was waiting for someone to shoot back... and the car finally quit at a liquor store. (Oh, that was a sign. I was tempted.) We rigged it enough to get it to our hotel, called AAA, and rented a Ford Focus for the rest of the trip. It was a good thing, in a way. I can't imagine trying to maneuver that huge old ark around downtown Philly. But I bet people would think twice about cutting us off!
To make up for the photo-less previous post, here's Dad's Electra 225:
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