Today, it's a look back at my first car, and a look ahead, to 'part two' of the story.
Many of you know of my strange addiction to Fiat cars. Over the years, I've had four of the little beasts, two 850 spiders, and two 124 spiders. Of those cars, I actually drove three of them; the fourth was one I had planned to 'restore' and use as a weekend cruiser. That plan came to an end after the engine went on fire one evening when I was trying to fit it with a new carburetor.
So the cars I owned, all three of the daily drivers, were somewhat less than reliable. Probably due partly to my having bought them used, for not a lot of money, and partly because, well, back in the day, they just weren't particularly well made cars. The 124 spiders were definitely a better design than the 850 was. The 124 had a strong four cylinder dual overhead cam engine, and a nice slick five speed gearbox. Great balance and handling, plenty of power, and four wheel disc brakes made the car a blast on the road.
The first 124 I owned was green with a tan interior, and had great power; I could 'chirp' the tires right up to third gear. Unfortunately, after owning it for about six months, the engine went all off kilter, a small part failed, and the pistons hit the valves, causing much damage, and resulting in a major repair. The mechanic I was using at the time fixed everything, EXCEPT the small part which had caused the problem. The result? Same damn thing happened about three weeks later, requiring that the major repair be done for a second time (and of course, I was charged a second time). That sort of put me off Fiats for a while, but, like any good addict, I came back for more, a second 124 spider that I bought just as we were moving into our first house, out in Selden. Bought the car from a guy who had it in a shop in Lindenhurst, where he'd had it painted. Bright red, it looked great. Picked it up on a Friday night, drove it home and buzzed around in it over the weekend, it ran well, and all was fine.
Monday morning rolls around, and I hop in the car and head off to work in Garden City (a 40 mile ride). Got about halfway there, and don't you know, the damn car stalls out in heavy traffic on the Northern State Parkway. The first day I needed the thing to get me to work! NOT a good sign. As I stood by the car off to the side of the road with the hood up, my brother in law Bob pulled up - he was also on his way to work - and between us, we got the thing running, although it was a real rough idle. Got to work, dropped the car off at my 'regular' mechanic, who said the thing needed new points, and while he'd be happy to fix it, this model used two duplicate sets of points, and he 'wasn't sure' just how to get them set correctly. He got it running though, and eventually I figured out the trick to setting the points. But that first day pretty much describes the experience of owning that thing.
But the Fiat that started it all was my little 1968 850 Spider. Those of you who are old enough to remember back to the late 60's know that they sold a ton of these things, they were sporty looking, fun to drive, and cheap as hell; I think they sold for under $2,300 brand new!
But, of course, there was the down side. As noted by the title of this post, Fiat pretty much stood for 'Fix It Again Tony', or 'Fix It All'a Time'. The damn car always seemed to have something wrong with it. And really odd stuff would go bad on it, not the usual engine problems. In fact, as I thought back on this car over the past few days, I couldn't remember a single time that I got 'stranded' or had to be towed when I owned this car. No, the problems were all really dumb.
For example, in the two years or so that I owned the car, I think I had to replace the starter motor 4 times. You'd turn the key, and the damn thing wouldn't make a sound; dead silence, and the engine wouldn't turn over. So you'd get out, give the car a shove, hop in, pop the clutch, causing the engine to start, and off you'd go.
Every once in a while, I'd get in the car, start driving, and suddenly the gear shift lever would be about three inches to the left of where it should have been. Broke yet another engine mount, which caused the whole drive train,engine and transmission, to get out of line. That happened at least three or four times, as the 'engine mount' was just a cheap bolt that ran through a fat rubber washer. The bolt would break, and that was that.
Start the car up, put it in gear, punch the gas, and suddenly it sounded like a mack truck - part of the muffler had blown off. That happened three times; yes, that's right, three muffler replacements in about two years. I finally bought a set of headers and a one piece muffler from J.C. Whitney, and that cured that problem.
Cranking up the window, and you'd hear 'boing!' like a piece of wire cable snapping. Which is just what happened; the windows went up and down on a cheap piece of cable that ran around four pulleys in the door. About once every 3 or 4 months, the cable would snap, and the window wouldn't go up, or down. Must have changed 4 or 5 of those things, and that was a nasty, knuckle scraping job.
Want to drive the car in the cold weather? Well, the car did have the best heater I ever saw, it would roast you if you ran it full out. But getting the car started? Good luck. Under about 35 degrees, the engine just did not want to crank. Can't recall how many times I ran the battery down trying to get the cold engine to turn over fast enough to start. Finally solved that problem by getting a heated dipstick. Had to back the car up to the garage, and plug this thing in to the wall. It kept the engine oil warm (and thus thin) overnight, so that the car would actually start in the morning.
What a nightmare. But, it was my first car. And my first taste of independence. If I wanted to go somewhere, I could. It was MY choice. If I wanted to drive out to Montauk one summer day, I could (and did). If I wanted to run down to Virginia to pick up fireworks for the 4th of July I could (and did). I had plenty of really fun times in that little car, from going to LI Ducks hockey games out in Commack just about every week in the winter, to running back and forth to multiple softball games each week in the summer, to just cruising around with my buddies. That little Fiat was a great, if unreliable car, which I'm sure I remember with much too much fondness. I only have this one photo of it just now, sorry it's so small; it was taken with an old Kodak brownie star-mite camera.
So why post this today? Well, I guess I've prattled on about this car a little too often, especially around the boys. Tommy has been looking at Fiats on various web sites for some time now, and good instigator that he is, he sends over photos and listings from places like Craigslist, and eBay. I pretty much ignored them, as I really figured my Fiat days were done. But then, last week, in a moment of weakness, I put a bid in on a car on eBay. Not a 124 or 850, but the replacement for the 850, a car I always wanted, but never owned, a Fiat X-19. Mid-engined, great balance, and actually a well built and somewhat reliable car.
I didn't win that car, as the price went over and above what I would have been comfortable with. Then, last Wednesday, I weakened and gave in to what can only be described as a sentimental nostalgic whim; I bid on a 1969 850 spider. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but, as I'm a typical male, I did it anyway. It was a very low ball bid, way under what the car should have sold for given the condition it was in. And for the next two days, I watched the auction, figuring that there was no way I was going to win it, as I was about $500 - $800 below the value of the car.
I won it. A bright red 850 spider, happily living in Lake Oswego Oregon, in really good running condition, being used as a daily driver by the guy selling it (who sold it because he has, by my count, at least 7 or 8 cars). And here it is:
Much to my shock and dismay, the car sold for well under what it should have; in fact, it sold for less than my top bid was!
So down the road I go, adding another silly car to the stable. I've gotten past the disbelief I felt when I won the car, and am actually looking forward to getting the damn thing here. Tommy and Billy are both excited about the car, and I'm feeling good that they'll be able to share in a little bit of my past, with what was a pretty special car to me. Tommy has already been poking around the internet, looking for places that sell parts and accessories, as the car does need a few things. I've arranged to have the car shipped here (I'm not quite crazy enough to push a tiny 46 year old car 2,900 miles over the Interstates), and am looking forward to cleaning it up a bit, and bringing it to one of the many cruise nights we go to. There aren't many 850's left, especially here in the east. They either rusted out, or were discarded and crushed, as they weren't considered to be collectible cars. They were cheap when they were new, and were cheap when they got old. The only person who'd put value on them would be someone with an attachment to them. Someone who maybe wished that he hadn't gotten rid of it. Someone who's always had an affection and attachment to cars they've owned. Someone, I guess, like me.
And so, some 41 years after I sold my little 850 to a friend of a friend (who ran it into a telephone pole less than a month after he bought it), I'm getting a second one. And I know the boys and I will have plenty of fun times with it, and maybe they'll get a glimpse of what it was like to be young and carefree as I was when I had my original 850. I know that our little Barracuda has been a real blast for all of us, and I'm sure that this will be as well.
Now, if only I can remember how those damn window cables get installed!
