From: Rick Brown <free2000@quixnet.net>
>I think there is another spin off here - how many cars wrecked. And it
>looks like Loren is in the lead.
>
>Rick Brown
>FP 240Z
OK. I can strain the brain. Predictably, I did my car-wrecking when I was
young...
Ford Econoline pickup. I was following a bit too close in the wet
considering that my tires where bald. Chevy II pilot panicked and stomped
his brakes. The front was pushed in, and the power pedal would not move far
enough to get full revs. We bent the front end back out, but sold the truck
soon after.
1962 International Scout (RWD). I was making a legal left turn at the end
of a bridge. Drunken bozo in a 3/4 Ford pickup ran a stop sign, crossed the
bridge and illegally tried to pass me on the left while I was already
turning. He struck the Scout just ahead of the driver door hinge, popping
the door open. I had gone to the local surplus store where they had a
barrel of metal-to-cloth seat belts from an airline which was phasing them
out in favor of metal-to-metal belts. I had bought two of them for a buck
each and bolted them into the Scout. My father, who did not believe in seat
belts, had told me I was wasting my time. Guess not. If I had not had a
lap belt, I'd have fallen right on the top of my head on the pavement and
then been run over by the right-rear tire of the pickup. I'd be pretty much
dead. The Scout was totaled. Frame was twisted.
1966 Mercury Comet. My mistake. Never take a novice navigator on a night
rally in the winter. I told her to always read me the next instruction
RIGHT AWAY every time I executed one. She forgot. She was trying to figure
the mileage to the next instruction before reading it to me. Since the
instruction was "DANGEROUS DIP", this was a seriously bad idea. Although I
was operating at a speed which was legal in Wisconsin for an unposted rural
road, I had no time to slow when I saw the road sign. This was one of those
concrete spillways where seasonal streams flow over the road instead of the
other way around. I stayed on the brakes as long as I could, then let off
as the car went airborne so that the wheels would have a chance to roll when
we hit the other side. This was not enough to prevent damage. The control
arms warped enough that the car pulled SEVERELY to one side. We drove the
thing back to The Cities, looking for ice to drive on as much as possibe.
When we were forced to drive on good roads, it took both of us to hold the
sterring wheel. We wore out two new front tires on the way home. The car
was repaired.
1961 SAAB 96 850. Driving way over my head during an ice-race practice,
thinking I could reel in a Mini, I entered the first half of a pair of esses
way too fast. Made the first corner, but was so far off-line for the
second, I had no chance of making it through. Tagged the snowbank with the
rear and the car rolled over. The windshield didn't break. No big deal. We
patched it up. The next week, in another such practice, I got tapped in the
rear by a Mini and put the front end into the apex of a turn. Rolled it
again. Many times. Best count I came up with was seven. Then as I was
sliding on the roof, the car tagged a snowbank and started spinning like a
top. After the workers put the car right-side-up, I drove it back to the
paddock, pulling pieces of windshield out of my way and tossing them over my
shoulder into the back of the car. We took most of the mechanical parts off
it and scrapped the body.
1963 SAAB 96 860GT. Sliding into a whited-out corner under a green flag, I
struck a Mini which was backing onto the track. Took me out of the Gimili
ice-race. Car did not get fixed until the next season, when I let our
"Driver-From-England", John Dymond, race it. Kind of lost track of who
really got the car after that.
1968 SAAB V-4. On trip to The Runoffs at Road Atlanta, Thanksgiving week of
1971, spun in a snowstorm near Tomah Wisconsin and was missed by a Mack
tractor and struck by the dog-tracking Dorsey furniture trailer. Standard
high-boy trailer probably would have had the wheel come right through my
driver door. Trashed the left-front corner, but we threw away the front
bumper and drove on to Georgia. Same car, virtually un-repaired, was
pressed into service for me and Flip Shockley (an actual fast driver) for a
three-hour enduro in Wisconsin. I drove studless at the icekhana the day
before the race. Moronic corner worker forced me to take it to the bank and
I rolled it. I let Flip drive it the next day, unimpeded by me taking a
shift. He finished fourth overall. I never fixed the car. Was still
driving it, smashed, rolled and with cracks in the right side of the
windshield, when I met the girl who was to become my wife. Somehow that
didn't put her off...
1975 Volkswagen Rabbit. My first new car. In the spring of 1976, I dropped
my wife and new daughter off at home and went to the drug store for some
newborn necessities. I was proceeding at a proper velocity though a green
light in a misty rain and was struck in the end of the front bumper by an
18-year-old girl doing about 50 in a 1968 Mercury. She apparently didn't
see the red light. The front end of the Rabbit was bent over so far it
looked like a boat. Totaled.
Can't really think of any serious smashups since. I hit a deer with the
Suburban on a pitch-dark night north of Mille Lacs several years back, when
the family still had a cabin. Not a heck of a lot of damage. The right
front parking light floats around captured by the grill, but it still
lights.
So what's the definition of "wrecked"? Does it have to totaled, or merely
substantial?
Phil Ethier Saint Paul Minnesota USA
1970 Lotus Europa, 1992 Saturn SL2, 1986 Suburban, 1962 Triumph TR4 CT2846L
LOON, MAC pethier@isd.net http://www.mnautox.com/
"It makes a nice noise when it goes faster"
- 4-year-old Adam, upon seeing a bitmap of Grandma Susie's TR4.
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