My Second Car

This essay one of many in my journal entitled MarcLife.

My second car was a 1977 Honda Civic CVCC hatchback stick-shift. I purchased it on July 18, 1977 but I had to wait a few weeks for delivery. The memories of the Middle East oil crisis not too many years before had made people much more conscious of gas prices and the possibility of another gas shortage. Hondas, which were imports, had gotten good reviews and were in high demand.

I deliberately ordered a stick shift even though I had never driven one. I thought, correctly, that it would be less likely to be stolen since thieves probably did not know how to drive one. But it was dismaying to the car and probably annoying (or funny) for anyone else to watch as I drove by myself away from the dealer, lurching down the street, stopping and starting as I taught myself on the spot how to drive a stick shift. The car survived and eventually I became very good at it. In a few months I also taught my girlfriend at the time how to drive my car.

Of course I began taking the car on trips but the biggest one, an inevitable return to New York City, happened in August about a month after I had purchased the car. I took an indirect "northern" route, from Chicago to Detroit, Toronto, Niagara Falls, Buffalo, Boston and finally New York. It was only my second time in the city to end all cities but New York once again had a powerful impact on me. I returned to Chicago and worked while dealing with the turmoil inside about my life's direction.

Not long afterward, I drove a very close friend, Larry, and his cousin to Southern Illinois State University in Carbondale, the college where he was returning to school. We had the kind of good time that young men have on long distance trips and when we arrived at his off-campus apartment, my friend was ready to party. Yet I was not into drinking myself silly. My thoughts were even further away. The next morning, I announced to my sleepy, hungover friend that I was going to be away overnight and I would return the next day. Surprised, my friend wondered what was going on in my head.

I aimed my Honda Civic south on the interstate and drove the rest of the hot, sunny day toward Memphis, thinking and thinking. I arrived and explored the city, then found a YMCA room (the youth hostels of those days) and spent the night. The next day I returned to Carbondale and spent some more time with my friend. I had made a decision that I could only barely put into words to him, but he learned that I was planning on relocating to New York. 

Finally, about a year later in August of 1978, after preparations, delays and giving notice on my job, I moved to New York City. Remarkably, I didn’t take my car with me at first. I flew to New York and got a room on the Upper West Side near to where my new job was located. My car stayed behind for several months with my girlfriend who was free to use it. In about 6 months I returned to Chicago, picked up the car and drove it to New York.

During its years in New York, my car and I had many more memorable adventures in and around the city as well as up and down the East Coast. Unfortunately, I had financial difficulties and around 1983 I decided to store it in a garage for a while (I didn't really need it in New York which was saturated with subways). It stayed in storage much longer than I had ever imagined. After five years (yes, years) I finally got it out and had it repaired in 1988. I drove the car for several years afterward, including trips to Philadelphia, Atlantic City and Washington.

My mother visited me during some of those times and she accompanied me on my travels to those cities which I had seen before but she had not. I also used the car to drive to the ocean and to upstate New York where I went hiking and camping with friends almost two dozen times.

Eventually the car began to get old and I still didn't actually need it in New York City. I took the subway to work everyday and it sat except for weekend trips around the city or to the beach. As its mechanical problems increased, I weighed how much I should invest in repairing it. After a while, I decided that it was not financially wise. I finally sold the car on June 12, 1992, to a Hispanic man who worked at a local car repair shop. He bought it for his teenage son to play with.

My Honda Civic and I experienced the world together for 15 years and it was an unusual feeling to be without a car after I let it go. But it was a good car, keeping me safe along perilous paths and thousands of miles. It was a faithful friend that provided many times not described here. The car was definitely another special part of my Road through life.

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