List all the cars you drove....but there's a catch

I was 15 years old......It was a summer day and I decided to take my ole man's 1965 Ford Country Sedan out for a spin. What the hey, right? I could do it. Afterall......I've been learning how to drive for...................Well, come to think of it.....I have never been out driving. But that wasn't gonna stop me. So I grabbed the keys and off I went. First, I came within inches of hitting the neighbors car that was parked directly across the street. But I didn't so, I grabed that select shift, cruise-O-matic & threw it into drive and off I went. I headed towards my soon to be High School. I got to where I had to make a left turn and as I was turning, the car stalled..... Right on busy North Avenue. And just who do you think was driving towards me? A cop. But as luck would have it, the car started up and off I went, finishing my left turn. The cop just drove past me. I don't remember much more than that. I guess I made it home alright. I'm not dead.

Oh yeah......And because I was such a success that day, I stole it again. Don't remember where I went though. Like, sex, you always remember your first time.

 

I still remember the green dot on the cruise-o-matic

 

OMG!! Funny you should say that. When I was typing my story, I was thinking about that little green dot. I mean....HOW can ya forget that little green dot? Tell ya what else I remember....That blue "COLD" idiot light.

 

the cold light was green from what I remember... LOVED THAT COLD LIGHT we had a 62 Impala and grandparents had a 63 88 and both had that

 

My future sister in law's 1956 VW convertible. My brother let me drive it briefly when I was about 12 and only once, so I never got "caught".

My brother's 1959 4dr Chevy Bel Air with a 6 cyl and a 3 on the tree.
When my brother John went into the marines, my parents stored his car in my grandfather's garage, which was about a mile from our house. They gave me the duty of going down every so often and starting it, to keep the battery from going dead. I also was in charge of keeping it clean and dust free. At 14 years old, I thought that was the absolute coolest job and couldn't believe they gave the responsibility to me. Needless to say, I took that car out on the road so many times, it'd be impossible to count. I still remember how incredibly exciting it was and how all my friends were so jealous that I was driving a good 3 years before the legal age to do so. I was a very crafty teen ager and never got caught, despite my innumerable adventures on public streets and byways.

Such was not the case when, two years later, my other brother went to college. His car was a 1963 Ford Country Sedan, a hand me down from my parents who had just purchased a brand new 1968 Buick LeSabre. They wouldn't let Walt take the car to Rutgers, so it would just sit in the driveway. One weekend, my parents had gone down to our shore house, but I stayed home because my high school was having a dance. Of course, I took the wagon and duly impressed all my buddies being so cool as to have a car at the dance. I thought I had committed the perfect crime until the next day when my other future sister in law called and asked where my folks were. When I told her they were down the shore, she asked if I had gone to the dance the night before and if so, how did I get there. Turns out, I had parked the car right next to her neighbor's car, who was also at the dance, and when he got home, asked Sue if my brother had been at the dance last night because he had seen his Ford there. Well, she put two and two together and figured it out, but as the dutiful sister in law she has become, she never breathed a word to my parents; my brother, yes, but not my folks.

Another time, when Walt was home for a weekend, he took the wagon over to Sue's house as they were going to take her car to the shopping center. Knowing of his plans, I grabbed the extra key and rode my bike over to get the car. I cruised around all afternoon and when I returned, my bike was gone. Apparently, a neighbor had thought it was stolen, so the police came down and got it. I went to the station and swore up and down that it was not me who had gotten in a car and driven away. "How could it have been me", I asked, "I don't even have a driver's license!" They didn't believe me for a minute, but they gave me my bike back after taking my name and address. All was fine until about a month later when my Dad came home from a Kiwanis meeting and said he had been talking to a fellow member who was the lieutenant in our town's pd. He asked my Dad about it, who obviously had no idea what he was talking about, but told him he'd find out as soon as he got home. I denied it up and down until my father said, "Ok, let's go down to the police station and get this straightened out." All of a sudden I told him, "Oh, maybe it was the time blah blah blah" and came clean. I think I got grounded for a week or so, but it was well worth it.

You know what, though? Once I finally did get my driver's license, I found it to be not nearly as fun or as exciting as driving illegally without one. Go figure!!

 

Do your nieces and nephews know this story? You had hip parents snooter.

 

wussy...

thats the worst story ever

much better story

go stand in the corner

my story is quite similair...stole my Moms VW wagon at 9...so Dad bought me a 51 Prefect for my 10th...for 10 bucks
owned probably 15 cars before i was legal to drive...usual carnage

...great story.....now go stand in a corner and say 100 'hail marys'

 

I was 13 years old. But the twist is that my Dad made me do it. This all happened in 1982.
My mom had a 68 Mercury Cougar. See left to go somewhere, and the next thing we know see comes walking back into the house and says the car was about two miles down the road and the transmission stopped working.
Our other car was a 73 Honda Civic. So my dad and I go down the road to investigate the Merc. He gets in and sure enough, no forward gears. But...the car had reverse. He throws me the keys and tells me to drive the Honda home. Keep in mind I have never been behind the wheel on my own, let alone use a clutch. And I remind him of that. He tells me to drive or walk, it's my choice.
At that point he drives off...IN REVERSE... for the two mile trip to the house. So I get in the car and after a couple of whiplash clutch releases, I pull out and drive home with no problem, while watching my Dad looking over his right shoulder driving backwards.
I have some stories about getting in trouble after I had my license, they involve a 455 Cutlass my Dad had and a 72 V8 Vega I owed. I got a ticket the very night I got my license. I was in the Cutlass and doing around 80 in a 45.
Those two cars resulted in 14 tickets by the time I was 17 and I ended up driving another 73 Honda Civic until I got off probation. Talk about Karma...lol

 

I drove my dad's '67 Olds at a local parking lot, when I was that age. He sat passenger, of course. We would do this, now and then. When I was 15, I bought my first '56 Chevy and drove it up and down our driveway.
Bumped into this Tri-Five Apache, yesterday, at some German gas station. It's got the historical plate. So, I'm assuming, it's all original. I usually pixel out the plates. But, I'll chance it, this time, because he's using it for advertising, as if it's a billboard:





Where to spot it:

 

Before I start, no jeering. My three brothers and my poor school grades ruined my chances of getting a license, let alone driving something before even getting my learner's permit. Soooo, first time behind the wheel of any car, our '66 Bug cabrio. I was 6 or 7, mesing around, and as soon as I switched on the "Emergency 88" four-way flashers, my brother Geoff (the one who DID drive before getting a license) pulled me out of the car and dragged me, kicking and screaming, into the house to tattle on me. I caught the belt for that. Next, I was in high school, Driver's Ed, and Dad and I were going to practice driving in his 1978 Fairmont. I went out to fire it up, forgot to put my left foot down on the clutch pedal, hit the starter, and that car LEAPT about four feet forward, narrowly missing Mom's year-old Chevy pickup by less than a foot! I immediately put my feet on the pedals, started the car and backed it up. If Dad knew I'd nearly screwed the pooch, he didn't let on. But from that point, regardless of vehicle driven, secure the park brake, and ensure the trans is in N or P before cranking the engine. However, that didn't work for me once, and it could've cost me my life, but that's a story in or for another thread.

 

You're supposed to have that sort of fun 80 years later. Not back then

 

Considering my feet were size 13 and I was 6'4" at 15, it's a wonder I could squeeze into a Fairmont, let alone get my feet on the pedals.

 

Does it count if I steered the vehicle while Father lit his pipe? I wasn't touching the accelerator. Still, if it half-counts then I definitely did this in a 1997 Voyager and may have done it in a 1995 Voyager.

 

What counts is what dad filled his pipe with, rather.

 

It was always pipe tobacco; the ones I recall offhand are called 1Q (which smelled like toasting marshmallows,) Balkan Supreme and Revelation.