#2: 1963 Chevrolet Corvair Monza convertible
Summer 1982. Home from college for the summer, I spend my nights working at a radio station and my days hanging out with my girlfriend, Karen. One hot day we decide to go swimming at the local lake with friends. We take a 1963 red Corvair convertible from my dad's car lot.
I'm not a big Corvair fan. It doesn't have sleek lines, and it putt-putts along at 55 mph. But it has new red paint, white interior, and it's a convertible, and, you know, with the top down and the sunshine, it's not a bad ride at all.
We pull off the highway at an unmarked dirt road, drive a few hundred yards churning up dust and dirt like a scene out of "Thelma & Louise," and there we are at the top of a 20-foot rock overlooking the lake.
The relationship, unlike the Corvair, was built for speed, went 100 mph and eventually crashed. The little red Corvair, meanwhile, unsexy little red box that it was, is probably still putt-putting down some road, far sexier now than it ever was.
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