I Remember My First Car...Do You?

It was a magnificent machine, tan with a black cloth roof; a 1993 Lincoln Town Car purchased for a dollar off a Greek businessman. For a businessman that kind of deal seems like poor business sense but you could imagine he was either a friend of the family or suffering from crack-cocaine addiction; he was the former. And like all first cars-especially those purchased for abnormally cheap prices-I drove the hell out of that glorious steel boat. The saying, "you don't know what you've got until it's gone," comes to mind whenever I find myself reminiscing about that old Lincoln. I should've known I would come to miss the bastard; for fuck's sake the day that I went to pick it up I was in the midst of a mild psychedelic trip, and any introduction of that nature can only foreshadow an interesting relationship to come.

I was sold windowpane LSD (aka LSA) by some horrible pile of flesh and decided to take it the night that I went with my dad to pick up the Lincoln. Since I was still 16 at the time, I only had a permit and figured I wouldn't have to drive back home. However, upon arriving in Randolph (the location of the car) my dad forced me behind the wheel and since the, "I can't drive because I took what I believe is LSD," excuse isn't exactly the best thing to tell your pops, I sucked it up and saddled up. Now LSA is not LSD, in fact it is found in morning glory seeds and the typical and simplest way of getting it onto blotter paper is to let it marinate for a few days in wood alcohol. This was precisely what the cock smoke who sold it to me did; and maybe it was for the best that I didn't actually receive real acid.
One could only imagine what would happen when a 16 year, with only 6 hours behind the wheel, is forced against his will, to drive a massive, rectangular car under the influence of LSD. The churlish, shark-tooth reality of what could happen in that situation is something I am glad I did not have to face that night. But then again maybe I would have performed like a champ-up until the imaginary shadow sped in front of the car causing me to cut the wheel sharply to the right, accidentally running a smaller auto into the woods. So maybe getting hustled out of cash that one time was, in hindsight, a strange blessing. Remember good things often come in deceptive packages, and in this case it was a small blotter that had a light brown tinge to it. It wasn't all bad; I did have a pretty nice body high going and that only increased once I settled into the couch the car was built around.

It was a soft leather bench seat that hugged your bottom and back as you lumbered along in a giant, tan monster that steered with the slightest nudge of a finger. The ride home was interesting to say the least because LSA may in fact be the underachieving brother of LSD, however, it still taunts the synapses of the brain like a bully with a drunkard for a father. Light trails were ever present as I cruised along route 10 at a comfortable speed, which to my dad was either uncomfortably fast or uncomfortably slow. I couldn't find a balance that pleased him, but I wasn't about to explain why.
The first date with my tan Town Car wasn't really a bonding experience as I never felt secure while driving it. Since the steering was sensitive and the seats were made of slick leather I knew cornering in the auto could prove detrimental to my health, but as time moved on I learned this car was my own personal V8 powered elephant. Nothing in its path stood a chance and any kind of collision would surely fall into my favor.

Evidence of its invincibility could be seen throughout the period during which I was the owner. Since I was a complete jackass in my youth with no fear and no regard for anything but my own entertainment, I would often cruise around drilling garbage cans and other "moveable" objects at high speed. One day when I was cruising along Maxim drive I was coming around a corner at 40 mph. At this point I learned the key to cornering was to grab the handle on the driver side door, brace myself and stiffen my driving arm in order to prevent any movement of the wheel. Holding steady at 40 around the turn I slammed my foot down on the accelerator midway into the curve and quickly the jackhammer engine pushed forward towards 60. Once it leveled out at 60 even I noticed a fat garbage can on the right side of the road, so I gave it a little more gas bringing it to 65 and aimed the boat, passenger corner, at the middle of the can. As the car connected, my friends along for the ride, jumped as the can shot up into the air (about 10 ft) causing all the trash to rain down on the back of the car and the road.

I looked in my rear view to notice the garbage can was in pieces and the entire road was covered in trash. The only damage to car was that the left high-beam had been knocked out, but otherwise no dents, scratches or any kind of physical blemish. It was apparent that this car shattered most pre-conceived notions about cars in general. In most instances hitting a full garbage can at 65 mph would do some serious damage to a car or even cause the driver to lose control, resulting in a truly horrific crash. But the Town Car powered through like it had just run over a pebble in the road.

Another ill-founded belief that this miraculous machine put to rest was that you cannot get a 1993 Lincoln Town Car airborne unless you drove it off a cliff. Well my friends, I not only got it into the air once, but many times. It began when I was coming down a narrow back road with 2 friends in the back seat since they wanted to pretend they were being chauffeured. Well, I am no goddamn chauffeur and if I was, the following would certainly take place. Part of the road becomes a nice straight away that is only about 3 inches above the lake. At that part of the street I laid on the gas and the car started gaining serious speed. My friends in the back first began asking in a worried manner, "What are you doing? JD? What are you doing?" Eventually it built up into absolute fear, "Stop! Slow Down! You're fucking crazy!"

Once they started to panic we were nearing a slight incline that the car hit going 80 mph. At that moment the tan beast lifted, tires and all, off the ground and flew about 10 ft before crashing down to the pavement. When we touched down the suspension couldn't handle the weight of the V8 engine causing the front end to smack down on the ground. I maintained control and quickly decelerated to normal speed. My friends in the back were speechless before realizing what I had just done. I had managed to take a 93 Lincoln Town Car from 35 mph to 80 in about a 100 foot stretch of road, which ended with a moment of weightlessness, where we floated through the air and finally landed with a loud thud. It wasn't long after this realization where they proceeded to call me, "a fucking lunatic," as well as applaud the fact that I had just jumped an unjumpable car.

Now my dangerous driving, especially around town, came to an end when I went to the police station to do a documentary for my video production class. The officer who told me they couldn't answer any opinionated questions also informed me that I should refrain from jumping my car. With the knowledge that they knew my behavior, without ever witnessing it, I figured it was best to stop my reckless ways. But as most who reform from a life of disregard for personal safety and that of others I decided to redeem myself. At first the entire event appeared to be an accident, but now I feel my guilty subconscious had something to do with it.

Me and 3 friends were on our way down to Six Flags theme park for a fun day of roller coasters and expensive food. None of us were really paying attention and the exit snuck up on us rather quickly. Knowing that I had to get over or go through the extreme inconvenience of back tracking, I looked into the tiny side view mirror to make sure I was clear to move over. My blinker was on and as I shifted into the exit lane I looked over my shoulder to see a massive tractor trailer bearing down on us. In front of us was a flat bed semi and it appeared that we were about to be sandwiched between the two, surely resulting in a 4-way decapititation.

With cat-like reflexes I cut the wheel left, causing everyone to slide across the seats as I road the line of our previous lane, narrowly avoiding crossing into the next lane. Cars were honking and there was a general sense of panic on the highway at that moment, but I maintained and squeezed back into the exit lane. As expected my friends began flipping out that I almost caused them to die, not once, but twice. However, I explained to them that my quick actions led to them being returned to a safe driving environment and while they didn't exactly view me as a hero they couldn't argue the fact that I did save their lives-after almost ending them.

Those are just a few of the memories that me and my tan boat shared, but our time together came to an end when a tiny Mexican man bought the car for use as a taxi in Newark. During my ownership of the Lincoln I sincerely felt that it would lead to my death because there was never a moment where I felt safe driving it. But now as I look back only a year and a half later I miss the monster and everything about it. It was a great car and I was too blind to see it. So wherever you are Lincoln, I hope you crush a few garbage cans for me and I will do the same for you.