ShareThisSun in your face, wind in your hair, burning oil in your nostrils. It's springtime, and the classic cars are out of hibernation.In these first warm weeks of the year, vintage-auto enthusiasts everywhere are visiting that neglected corner of the garage, jumper cables in hand, to see what has rotted, rusted or been gnawed by rodents through the long cold winter.A lucky few will back a running car into bright sunshine. Others will be left to do what classic-car owners do best -- wonder what's broken this time.This is the time of year that divides classic-car drivers into two distinct categories. There are those who decide, after last year's repairs and relapses, that it's time to sell this sucker for parts and move on to a Miata. And then there is that special breed of driver who turns the key, hears the final throes of a dying mouse and smiles. At least it's an afternoon in the garage.The second kind of driver sees an inoperable car as an opportunity rather than a problem. The second kind of driver anticipates the chance to learn something new. The second kind of driver is usually trying to avoid his wife. My dad is the second kind of driver.Until recently, I found myself closer to the first kind of driver. In addition to a simpleminded preference for cars that always start, I never really had the temperament for a classic car. Which is to say, I'm far too neurotic for a piece of machinery that could collapse at highway speed.To the sensitive, spoiled modern driver, every shudder in a classic auto is an impending brake failure. Every ping or rattle is an irreparable transmission malfunction. No enjoyment can be had in a vehicle that might, conceivably, explode.In order to truly appreciate the appeal of a classic, then, one must learn to live with a little (or, depending on the make, model and country of origin, a lot of) noise. Not every rattle is a rod preparing to be thrown. But sometimes that ping is a problem that demands attention.At these times, a novice learns the truth to the phrase that they don't make 'em like they used to. In a modern car, replacing a light bulb is an afternoon affair, and replacing a belt or filter can be an impossibility. Lifting the hood reveals an imposing and impenetrable mess of plastic.Beneath the hood of a classic, meanwhile, you'll find an open and spacious bay with all parts easily identifiable. And in a half-dozen garages within pushing distance, you'll find a community of owners like you ready to lend a hand or tool.Once your idea of a good time involves scattered nuts and washers, grease up to your elbows and a carburetor's volume of gasoline on your shoes, you too will understand the second driver. And when spring rolls around, bringing its welcome sun and warmth, you will find yourself in the company of a whole community. In a dark, dark garage, with your nose under a hood.(Ben Grabow writes for the young, the urban and the easily amused. E-mail him at thinlyread(at)gmail.com.)(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, http://www.scrippsnews.com)
In spring, the classic cars come out of hibernation
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