May She Rest in Peace - My Camaro Z28

I've never been one to live in the past or collect pictures of it. There is, however, one memory that I often beat my self up for not recording to film; my high school 1984 Camaro Z28. It's a flash in my mind that often returns from a time in my past I'd really rather not remember. That car is my greatest memory of misspent and unfortunate teenage years. All of my teenage time was spent in that car. It was my freedom and escape. Whenever I wanted away, it was a willing and exciting retreat. The timeline of my teens can be outlined with moments circling that vehicle. The time when I was out with friends. Moments I ate there and slept there. Of course I went everywhere and no where in it. It was always my own space, a home that I let others in, or not.

Then there was all the time spent restoring and hot rodding. It wasn't the right car to spend that time on. It was a bad year with a 190hp 305 V8. Like a omen of what's to come, the day I brought her home the battery went flat. Then, just a few weeks later, the engine threw a rod requiring a complete rebuild. From the start it was a basket case that needed Ferrari levels of constant attention and maintenance.

None of that matters. For a car guy we all have a soft spot in our heart for the car we had in high school. We just fall for one special vehicle that grabs us and owns us. It's part of who we are. I'm not sure why; this wasn't my first car, she wasn't the most reliable, and she certainly wasn't the prettiest car (though I fixed that).

In my junior and senior year I enrolled in vocational training for paint and body. I really didn't intend to go into this line of work, but it did give me two hours a day at school to work on this pet project. The training also gave me access to the materials and equipment necessary to give the attention needed to my high school addiction.

When I think about how I spent my two years of senior high, it really was about this car (and girls, but that's not what my blog is about.) Perhaps I should of been focused on college and grades, but that's just water under the bridge. Instead of the things a responsible teen should do at this age my time was consumed removing dents, replacing the front clip and doors, and sanding every surface. Most critical to the transformation was the custom application of two gloss black racing stripes from hood to trunk. What an awesome sight! Good times.

Not too long after I finished all the hard work required to transform a beater into a hot rod, I graduated from school and started to make enough money to buy something new. This is were it all went wrong - I let the thought of something reliable get in the way of something fun. The real world won out and in no time flat the gem that took a thousand hours to create had been dumped for a new Geo Metro. Please don't throw tomatoes, I was young and stupid. It's not my proudest moment and something I just whisper in hushed tones to those I trust not to reveal my sad secret.

So here I am many years later and that car haunts me. I left her to some discount car lot or, more likely, the scrap heap. What value that car really had, and she is gone. Moment of silence, please.