This is not a new story, but rather just another in a string of stupid and clouded judgment calls I made throughout my adolescent life.
Most know the story of my first car - the 1964 Chevrolet Bel Air sedan, but some of you have not known about this car. After the Bel Air had gone through what some might call the automotive-ringer I was given another chance to capture greatness and was the proud owner of a 1963 Impala Sport Coupe with a 400-horse 409 backed by a Powerglide. Complete with little dog-dish hubcaps and all four T3's lighting the way down the path of regret.
It was spectacular, covered in Ermine white paint and filled with medium red guts this car was just about perfect...to bad the new owner was a moron.
So with that all said you know where this is going...yes, I got rid of the car and even decided to ruin one of the door panels in the process. But I will always look back and be able to say I owned a 409-powered Impala if even for a short period of time.
So why write this? Why kill myself with guilt and the pain of what "could have been"? Because I don't want others to follow in my footsteps and to make the point of what make us car-guys...sometimes we are brilliant and sometimes we (or better said I) are complete morons.
What was the one that got away or you knew you never should have got rid of?
Share your story with me and the listener of my radio show - Saturdays 1-2pm School of Hot Rod Radio by calling into 1.800.510.8255 and we can all try not to make the same mistakes twice.