The Ride of My Life - My 1976 Ford Gran Torino

When someone asks me the question "What was the best vehicle you've ever owned?", I don't hesitate at all. It was a 1976 Ford Gran Torino. Was it the most reliable? Nope. Best gas mileage? Ha! Best ride? Not even close. It was a beast of a car that handled like a boat, sucked gas like an addict, and went through parts like a woman goes through shoes. It didn't have a sexy paint job, nor did it have cool bucket seats. But it was my first car, and at 17, I only had two requirements: I needed to be able to burn rubber and I needed a killer sound system. Ok, so I even had to upgrade the stereo, but that didn't matter. Mom's old hand-me-down sedan became the symbol of my identity during my youth. So, on a scale of 1 to 10, it was an 11, using the rating system any teenager can understand.


Identity rating: 9 of 10

My car put me in a very small, elite group in my high school. Matt was the other, with his very sweet maroon BMW. We competed for coolest car in the way only close friends in high school can. His Beemer was certainly a more exotic car, sportier and much better handling. But my Torino was all muscle and adolescent hormones. His Bose speakers screamed high-fidelity while my JBLs pounded the bass into your head. His was a velvet rope, ride by invitation only club. My Torino's motto: "Nobody left behind". In a way, our cars defined us as much we defined them. Where ever we went, our cars announced our arrival. Many of our other friends had cars, and their cars were identifiable. But their cars were not part of their identity, and were not an extension of their personalities. But I was my car and my car was me. Matt would understand.


Friend rating: 10 of 10

Ask any of my high school friends back in Ponce, Puerto Rico. My car and I were famous. Or maybe that was infamous. We liked to party, and we liked to ride. Which leads us back to the Torino motto: "Nobody left behind." I'd typically have 2 or 3 people with me whenever I arrived at any party. I was also known to be one of the last to leave a party (unless, of course, the party sucked.) This meant all the stragglers who wanted to stay longer would catch a ride home with me. I once fit nine guys in my car for the two hour ride from San Juan to Ponce after a concert. On the way home, a guy we all knew pulled up next to us in the Salinas flats in a Toyota or Honda, one passenger. The race was on, until the Autopista ended and I had to slow the car down from 105 mph. We only went off the road a little bit. Another time, I fit five guys in the trunk of my car to sneak into a concert hall where tickets were at the parking gate. Three of the five were over 6' tall. It is these legendary stories that get told over and over at our reunions thirty some odd years later. Yes, there's nothing like a beat up old car to let guys bond for life.


Sexy rating: 12 of 10

Yes, my car was sexy. Maybe not apparent to the casual observer, but the bench seats are the way to go for teen romance. The steady girl sits right up next to you, your arm around her shoulders while you're cruising. Playing some mellow music, parked on a hill overlooking the city, or down a dark, deserted back road, and my Torino became a love palace. Bucket seats may seem cool for driving, but bench seats in the front and back are the automotive equivalent of a waterbed. Of course, this lead to some conflicts with the friend rating, but a sweet kiss from a pretty girl trumps all. Even so, since I'm no longer a teenager, I don't have the need to brag about my late night conquests in the playboy pad on wheels. Even without the raging hormones of my youth, those memories justify the over the top rating. Just remember, fathers, to make sure her boyfriend has a sports car with bucket seats. Take my word for it.


Thrill-seaking rating: 11 of 10

My 1976 Gran Torino sedan had a 351-2V engine. I'm not a motor-head, but even I knew that meant I'd be going through more tires and gas than any of my friends driving their mothers' Plymouth Reliants. If I wanted to make an impression, I just floored it from a standing start. Later, if I felt so inclined, I'd circle back to see how long the black marks I'd left on the road were. After peeling out became somewhat old hat, I found that I could practice spinning my car in circles by pulling on the emergency brake in parking lots. Putting these things together lead to some pretty crazy (and admittedly very stupid) stunts, most done to impress my friends but usually just scaring them. I'd drive way too fast down narrow, quiet neighborhood streets, then spin the car between the parked cars on either side. Or I'd drive way too fast down a hill ending in a T-intersection and take the turn sliding sideways. Yes, this paragraph comes with the warning "Don't try this at home, because I was lucky not to have killed myself in the process and you might not be so lucky as me." Best street race I had was with my 10 year old sister in the car on the way to pickup my girlfriend. I was late and speeding (as always) and a cop pulled in behind me to pull me over. So I pulled into a barrio neighborhood, raced around several blocks missing pedestrians and kids on bikes, and lost the cop altogether. Kids, again, don't try this at home. Back then, cops didn't have computers or cameras. You won't get away with this now.


Memories: Off the charts

To this day, I am both thrilled and horrified at my driving back then. But the exhilaration made for lasting memories of a car that had as much spirit as the teenage kid behind the wheel. And the friendships I made, the good times I had, the stories my friends and I tell, they are just like the Mastercard commercial, priceless. And I owe all of this to my Torino, a simple sedan that took me beyond just a destination, but straight into manhood.