Late last week, Subaru of America posted a video to their Youtube channel showcasing one of only two Subaru WRX STI 22Bs that were imported to the United States
Watching this video brought to mind two things:
1) With the exception of World Rally Championship followers and “in the know” Subaru enthusiasts, there aren’t many gearheads who know what a 22B is or care what makes it special among all of the STIs that have been produced.
2) The fact that I even know about this car, let alone drool over it and other WRXs of that era is 100% due to all of the events in my life that led up to me buying my first Subaru, a 2001 Impreza 2.5RS.
This got me thinking: Who am I as a “car guy”? Am I a Chevy Guy, because I’ve owned my SS since I was nineteen and have owned four other G-bodies in the time since? Am I a Subaru Guy or “Denying my true feelings” Import Guy because I have been guilty from time to time of lusting over WRXs, Evos, and other performance Japanese cars, both new and old?
If I had to pick, I’d say that I’m a Chevy Guy, but that’s mostly because I don’t own enough flat-brimmed hats or drink enough Monster energy drinks to be considered a Subaru Guy, I don’t steal enough parts off of other enthusiast’s cars to be considered a Honda Guy, I didn’t own a beat up Foxbody in high school or college, which disqualifies me as a “Generation Y” Ford Guy, and I don’t have a big enough chip on my shoulder to be considered a Mopar Guy (Offended Mopar enthusiasts can send hate mail to Brian@bangshi….)
The thing is, I shouldn’t be a Chevy Guy. Nothing wrong with Chevys, but other than my Monte Carlo fetish, (Which in itself was due to a freak accident, literally, as I’ll explain below) I’ve never owned another Chevy, and neither has anyone in my family.
Truth be told, if it weren’t for Fate having a sense of humor one cold October morning back in 2002, all joking about rotted-out Foxbodies aside, I’d probably be a Ford Guy: As far back as I can remember my family has always owned Fords, including my uncle who up until recently has always had a Mustang of one generation or another in his possession.
In high school my first car was a 1994 F150 XL that was probably the lowest optioned truck that you could buy at the time: Two-wheel drive, 4.9L inline-six, manual windows, manual locks, rubberized floor. The only options checked off were the automatic transmission and the AM/FM cassette radio, which was promptly ripped out and replaced with an aftermarket deck and speakers so that I could blast Stone Temple Pilots and Soundgarden as loud as possible while leaving the high school parking lot (I’d claim that I was peeling out of the parking lot, but that was only possible in the rain with the powerhouse that was the inline-six). The truck had about 180,000 miles on it, was starting to rot out (I remember breaking the driver’s side leaf springs one time carrying a load of bricks for my parents’ new patio), the power steering moaned like a dying cow, it topped out at eighty-five miles per hour on flat ground (Mom, if you’re reading this, that never happened), and didn’t do anything particularly well other than not-quite fitting into parking spaces at school with the eight-foot bed.
Still, I dug it because in my mind it was the baby brother of what was then one of the coolest trucks around, the Ford Lightning. When I was seventeen, there was nothing more in the world that I wanted than to someday either buy a Lightning or to turn my truck into a clone of one.
Here is where Fate, or at least a poor ability to foresee a likely chain of events given the known factors, comes into play:
That cold October morning, I met up with a bunch of my high school buddies at the middle school parking lot so that we could head to the local outdoor paintball place. The rain from the night before had turned to ice, so when I got there one of the guys claimed that his late 1980’s Oldsmobile 98 could do donuts. Lest you scoff at the idea of a front-wheel drive C-body GM doing donuts, keep in mind that we were the masters of the “stolen-from-the-local-McDonalds-serving-trays-under-the-rear-tires” front-wheel drive drift. We didn’t have any trays this time, but my friend (Who will remain anonymous, but let’s just call him “Adam B”) decided that with an icy parking lot and a fully functional reverse gear, he was up to the task.
The rest of the guys parked their cars off to one side of the parking lot, but having just passed my first quiz for Physics, I calculated that “Adam” would end up stuffing his Olds into that line of cars and decided to park my car on the opposite side of the parking lot, all by itself (You can see where this is headed; if not, feel free to look up “foreshadowing” and get back to reading this once you are done).
After one failed attempt to get the car rotating, Adam’s 4000+ pound full-sized GM was off and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pirouetting towards my car out of his control on the ice; slowly enough, in fact, that I had time to react (“Crap, he is headed straight for my car”), think about my options (“Maybe I have enough time to run to it and move it”), rationalize it (“Maybe it won’t be that bad of an accident”), and then, finally, watch him stuff the passenger side of the bed up and into the cab corner at what seemed like two miles an hour. That, my friends, is what happens when a heavy moving object meets a stationary object: Physics.
Anyways, to make a long story short, which involves using a sledgehammer to get his quarter panel back into shape so that the trunk could close, an embarrassing conversation with both of our parents, and $4000 in insurance claims money, my truck was dropped off at a local body shop for repair. There, I saw a black car parked in the back with repair plates on it. I had no idea what it was, but it was mean-looking as anything, and I knew that I wanted it…bad. Turns out that it was the shop “beater” and was for sale (Pro tip: Never buy a car that is referred to as the “shop’s beater” unless you’re looking for a serious project). After selling my truck and exchanging more money than I’m willing to admit given the state of the car at that point, I was the proud new owner of a 1987 Monte Carlo SS, at which point I became a “Chevy Guy”, whether or not I realized it at the time.
But, here’s the thing: If I hadn’t parked my car in that spot that day, I never would have seen that Monte Carlo and become a G-body Guy, or even a Chevy Guy for that matter. If the temperature had been a bit warmer so that the parking lot had not iced over, or if I had shown up five minutes later, I still would have had my truck, and may have eventually bought that Lightning that I wanted all those years ago, cementing myself as a Ford Guy.
Of course, there were many other events in my life that could have change my gearhead “destiny” before and after this point, but for me this was the major crossroad that got me to where I am today.
I believe that we all have a moment like this: What’s yours?
Mom took me to see Gumball Rally… but I have enough understanding of Karma to not build an AC Cobra replica and I sure can’t afford an original. I wanted to know the size of engines in everything after that movie.
I’ll send my “hate mail” later :).
Everyone in my family except one uncle who bought Oldsmobiles owned Fords when I was a youngin. I reckon by rights I should be a Blue Oval guy, but I’m a Pentstar guy.
Why? I really don’t know, maybe it’s because I saw the Georgia State Patrol using them and getting on speeders like a dog on a bone.Or maybe it’s because the very first drag race I was in was when I was 10 and riding in a neighbor boy’s 51 Plymouth that he’d put a 354 Hemi in. He got into a race with another boy who had a 32 Ford with a Chevy V8 of some kind. He blew that Chevy powered Ford into the ditch and I’ve wanted a Plymouth like that since.
My first car was a half rusted beat up 55 Plymouth Savoy 2 door Sedan that I still own. Only it’s in 100% better shape now. I’ve owed Mopars, or Morpar powered cars since. The only exception was a 1963 Ford Galaxie 500XL Convertible with a 427 and 4 speed. It’s the only car I kick myself for selling.
Brought home in a 57 ford in a carboard hospital baby box, despite that have had all makes of projects. dart challenger scamp. javelin chevelle 32 coupe f100 maverick grabber. current daily curse 92 cummins dodge. current car project 70 ranchero gt, current ricer yaris, current bike Honda 750 4. The only car I lusted after was the challenger 440 4spd after I traded my gmc and two new yorkers and cash I was the owner of a rotten flexy flyer that lasted 2 months before a cop sent me for a VI that condemned it.
Dave, I can totally understand where you are coming from.
When I was in high school, I had a 1987 Mercury Cougar XR7 with the anemic 5.0/AOD combo. My sister had worked at a car dealer that had a “push it, pull it, or tow it” trade-in event, and for some reason, this resulted in a wholesale lot full of non-Mustang Fox Body cars for $250 each. I got two Cougars out of there at these events, but the 2nd became my ride for my senior year.
I thought it was the coolest car in the world (minus the lack of power), and I had plans to drop in a 5.0 HO out of a LSC or a Mustang GT and make it faster. I didn’t have a brand affiliation, but I was heavily leaning toward the Blue Oval side of things, because my dad also had another 5.0-powered vehicle: a 1992 F150 4×4 Flareside with the rare and elusive “Nite” package.
I made it through high school with the Cougar, and got accepted to a local college within driving distance, and my parents were nervous that the Cougar wouldn’t be up to the task of getting me to school and back, as it was starting to have some issues. As fate would have it, my sister, now working at a Nissan dealer, called me and told me that she had a new car for me: a 1989 Nissan Maxima SE with 199,000 miles on it. It was a one-owner car, owned by a traveling wine salesman, and was up to date on all its maintenance. I was disgusted. Why?
Well, for starters, it was FWD. It only had 6 cylinders, and was (gasp) a foreign car! And all that mileage! I hated the idea, up until I sat in the car. I took it for a drive, and to my surprise, I LOVED it. It drove nicer and handled better than the Cougar, and was faster to boot. My parents said I could keep the Cougar too, but I had lost interest real quick and sold it to buy a 3rd gen Camaro. The Maxima was a great car, and I racked up nearly 30k more on it until it got rear ended on the way to school and totalled. That car did teach me some valuable lessons on being a gearhead in today’s day and age.
From there, I realized that I wasn’t brand-royal to any one company anymore. Owning that Maxima opened my mind to the possibility that staying loyal to one brand could mean that I’d miss out on excellent cars from many car manufacturers that have made some cool vehicles over the years. Since those days, I have gone on to own many different cars from all sorts of automakers. I even got into the whole Subaru thing for a while too, with a 2002 WRX wagon and a 2009 WRX hatchback. I also learned that daily driving a car that constantly needs work is not fun, but having a 2nd car that you can mess with is a better idea. That slot in my fleet that was occupied from bumping the Cougar to “project car” status has not been vacant since!
I’m a Ford Guy because of $165.
Three weeks before my 16th birthday I had saved $500 of my own money,I struck a deal with my Grandmother so she was going to loan me another $500 for a car. $1000 in hand (well at home) I was riding the bus home from school one Friday past a lot with 3 cars for sale,2 looked cool,the other I dont remember.
Well I got home jumped on my bike and went to check out the cars. One was a 67 or 68 Camaro the other was a 67 Mustang. Both had V8’s,both autos I think the Camaro had a power glide.
I remember wanting the Camaro. I got both numbers off the windshields and headed home to wait for my dad to get home. I called on the Camaro and we met up soon after. I grabbed my money.
I dont remember much about the test drive because my dad drove,I had no license. Dad said it was ok and I set about making my first car deal. What I failed to notice was the price, $1200. I made the only offer I had,$1000 he came back with $1100 and that was it. Dad wouldn’t chip in the $100 so I was done.
The next day I called on the other car,a 1967 Mustang 289 auto asking price $1100.
We met the next day,Dad driving again and it was OK’d. Learning from the day before I offered $800,the guy came back with $1000,I went to $900,he to $950,me $925,then $935 sale price .
And that was that. It had begain.
My dad and grandfather came home from the Ventura CA Plymouth dealer in 65 with two new 65 Barracudas. I was a Mopar guy ever since. Never looked back, never really wanted anything else (unless it had a Mopar drive line). My wife’s 68 Cougar is the exception (cool car)…
BKB
My Dad had a White 1964 Ford Galaxie 500 my oldest brother had a yellow 1969 Dodge Super Bee, my middle brother had a red 1966 Chevy Impala SS and my first car was a 1970 Competition Orange Mercury Cyclone GT. I get into the brand rivalry because it’s good for some fun discussions but I guess I really am into all performance and classic cars because of my role models.
I have always been into chevys, but my car was also an accident.
When I was 19, and enlisted in the navy, I took my first set of orders to El Centro, CA. It had been strongly recommended that i own a car when i get there, as El Centro is 100 miles away from the nearest “100 miles to” sign.
So, my options were simple. Buy a car.
I drove by a dirt lot dealership in Zion, IL and saw this gorgeous ’75 Olds Delta 88. I believe it was a convertible. I was in love. So I went back with a friend to test drive, and buy my gorgeous Olds 88.
The salesman pulled it around, and parked it out front. When I got into it, and put it into drive, the car would not move.
Disappointment.
Well that glorious behemoth had been concealing another most amazing piece of GM engineering.
One 1979 Monte Carlo.
Long story short, 10 years later, my 79 Monte hates Lohnes.
When I was younger, my dad had a 1971 Satellite Sebring, and before that he had a 1967 Barracuda fastback, now he drives a HHR.
My first car was a 1973 Dart Sport with the powerful 225, 1 bbl. I had also gained a Mopar mentor at the time, my friend Bill aka Heartbreaker.
GM killed the REAL Pontiac V8 (after ruining it with the awful 301).
And then Ford returned to American racing (reversing one of the dumbest moves in the history of man) and built the Mustang SVO. . . . End of story.
GO FOMOCO! Die, GM, DIE!
I read an article celled “Look Honey, I Bought You the Bottom of the Line!”. Find it at http://automotivemileposts.com/garage/v1n5.html.
That changed my whole outlook on what cars I should and should not buy. I had an Imperial Crown. Sold it and bought a LeBaron. I had a base black Crossfire coupe. Sold it and bought an SRT-6 roadster. I had a RAM 1500 SLT. Sold it and bought a Laramie.
Do not settle for less when shopping. You will kick yourself for as long as you own the vehicle.
I like pretty much all makes, if it’s a cool car, who cares about the badge on it. My first car was a Mopar, had another one of those years later, had a Buick Century as a beater, a few VWs, but mostly Fords and Mercurys for the last 20ish years … probably because I’ve been a Ford parts guy for about that long, and you can’t beat the employee discount!!
I went nuts at the chance to buy a 69 GTO from the original owner in 91. Several years later bought a 66 Nissan Patrol a friend drove in High School 87. The pride of my fleet is a 1923 Model T that was owned by a local American Legion for over sixty years. Might be a BS worthy story about that car? I lean to 60s Pontiacs and late 60s early 70s Buicks, but the Model T was the first Ford I ever bought.
When I got my license in the fall of my sophomore year, I was driving Dad’s hand me down, spare car, ’73 Coupe de Ville. It was not a muscle car by any means, but the giant ass engine with the towing package made for fun full throttle rides. Unfortunately, my older sister all but destroyed it before I got it thanks plowing into a tree in the snow and literally jumping it like Bo Duke. I was with her during the latter event and thought it was the coolest thing. Thinking back, we’re lucky to be alive.
Dad decided to sell it after fixing it because he didn’t feel it was a good car anymore. So, in the spring of 1984, Dad grabbed me to go look at a car, or two. First stop, the Yugo dealer. Any of you ever had a parent seriously look at a new Yugo for you to drive? Thankfully, Dad realized what a POS they were and we left. Next stop was to look at a used Honda, a ’77 Accord 2 dr hatchback. It had low miles because it was the winter car for a lady who owned a Vette. Dad bought it. I always thought they were good looking, but the 83 hp and the two speed manual shift auto made it a super slow turd. Going from 8.2 ltr to 1.6 ltr at 16 years old was like a prison sentence.
I drove it a year, abusing it badly, having fun with the handbrake; then on the way home from a job bussing tables at Anthony’s restaurant, I passed by this crappy little used car lot on L St. There was a ’71 Catalina sitting there. It stopped me in my tracks.Charcoal Gray, jacked up, big wheels, side exit exhaust, and the Poncho 455. I was in love. Literally. I had to have it.
I got a second job as a telemarketer and worked my butt off at minimum wage to get it. I drove by the lot every single day that summer. I have to admit that summer was the time I had the most focus and drive of any time of my life. I drove my parents nuts about it. I was even going to bail out of a month long European trip with them to make more money in order to get it.
Dad finally decided to see and test drive it. One look and he hated it. He knew what I would do in it. I was in the back seat when Dad drove it with the salesman.I saw him drive in such a way that I had never seen him drive, before or since.
Long story short, I didn’t get it.We went to Europe with the promise that he would help me buy when we got back. It got sold while we were there. Heading off to my senior year sucked beyond belief.