Goodbye 2011--the Year I Found Stella

It's New Year's Eve, and I find myself sadly reflecting back on what a very difficult year it has been.  I learned a great deal about myself this year--I persevered through trials as I never thought I could, but I never want to put myself to that test again.  Even with all the unfortunate or painful memories that have haunted me today, there is one 2011 event that always brings the smile back to my face--finding Stella.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  that little red corvette found me, changed me, saved me.  I could not think of a time in my life when I could ever have needed it more.  It's just another reminder that there is some kind of great plan for us all.  That the good things (and yes, even the bad) happen to us for a reason.  That you're meant to be tested and loved and hurt, and when it's all said and done you couldn't be who you are without all these experiences.

2011 was a year of difficult change, but each and every time I drive around wrapped in the warmth of Stella's engine, she reminds me that together we weathered the storm.  The days that I wanted to cry I rolled down her window and the wind blew my tears dry.  Mike and I laughed together sitting behind her sun-bleached wheel as she put miles between us and the worries of our world.

And even when she brought us back home again, we were stronger each time.

Merry Christmas!

Ironically, it's Christmas Eve and we have absolutely no snow!  It's a beautiful, sunny day outside and I find myself thinking that it would be great weather for driving the Vette around if only it weren't in STORAGE! ;)

Stella's doing great--our buddy Steve is kindly keeping her in his one-car garage which she shares with Steve's motorcycle (hopefully they're good friends by now :P).  Mike starts her up occasionally to keep her belts and other moving parts from getting too cold and stiff, and checks her fluid levels to be sure they aren't dropping too low.  One month of winter down and it hasn't even been cold enough for us to consider putting her up onto blocks to keep her tires off the ground!  I'm sure winter will make up for lost time--it always does!

To prevent another summer of repairs like the one we just endured, Mike and I have done a better job (so far) of financial planning to fit Stella in alongside our other lofty plans.  For now we have no major repairs in the works, although I would like to replace the seat belts next if possible.  As a special treat, we're contemplating getting a personalized license plate for her in the spring, but only if I can get her name in some combination of letters/numbers.  Otherwise I think I'll just bide my time and save my money.

Merry Christmas Stella!

Absence

Now there's snow on the ground, which is strange.  It seems like just days ago that Stella was driving us around in 90 degree heat, the engine so hot that our legs sweat through the fabric of our pants against her leather seats.

I miss her and think about her all the time. :)

First Season

Yesterday was the day Mike and I chose to park Stella into long term winter storage, where she will wait out the long, cold and dark months of winter protected from snow, ice and salty roads.  Spring will never seem so sweet as it will next year when she rolls out of that garage again for the first time!  

And now that I've made it through the first 'driving season' with my Corvette, I find myself reflecting on the memories it gave me in just the short handful of months I've been lucky enough to call it mine.  I distinctly remember seeing it for the first time, stopping to get a closer look, and falling hook, line and sinker.  It wasn't the first time I'd seen an old '70s Corvette, but it was the first time one made me feel this way.  It wasn't just any antique car--it was mine.  

I remember spending a week struggling with the decision to buy it or let it pass me by.  I felt crazy--I couldn't even believe I was considering it.  It meant not buying a house, not having that new wardrobe I'd been talking about.  It meant financial sacrifices and a long term commitment to a project I literally knew nothing about.  

Sometimes it takes a fleeting moment of blind courage.  And just sometimes... something amazing comes out of it all.

My first ride.  My first time ever inside a real Corvette, and it blew away my wildest dreams.  I couldn't believe the sounds--the grumbling of the engine, the whoosh of that enormous fan.  The smells of worn leather, exhaust, and heat from the engine.  Or even the feel of that amazing machine, churning, vibrating and roaring beneath my legs and feet.   

My arm spent a lot of time surfing the wind outside that window.  As I struggled through the most difficult year of my life, I found myself comforted and soothed by time spent behind Stella's wheel.  Bad days were blown away with the wind, and problems left far behind in her dust and burnt rubber.  She saved me.

A few short months after that very first ride, Mike and I saved her right back.  Her engine gave out on the side of the road in a puff of white smoke, and I'll never forget the smell of the coolant burning into steam off that hot engine.  With my heart in my throat I asked  Mike if we could breathe life back into this spent hot rod.  I threw logic, reason and better judgement to the wind and made her run again.

And if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing.

Why?  Because that car is beautiful.  It speaks to me and takes me away--it's my great escape and my one great indulgence.  Because I truly love it.

She spent her first season with me getting shown off, admired, and driven around daily just for the absolute hell of it.  With no destination in mind we cruised.  We smiled and laughed, day-dreamed of the future and bragged about all our lofty plans.  She posed for many pictures and with Mike behind the wheel and me riding shotgun, she memorized the streets of this town.

I'm a proud momma to this baby on four wheels, and with a first season as packed full of memories as this one, I can't wait to make more next year!

Cheers

To the little red Corvette that I'm sure has truly saved my life.

Major Surgery Round 2

Stella went under the knife for the second time this summer to have the radiator replaced.  At first we had intentions of doing it ourselves over the winter, but various circumstances convinced us to take care of it sooner. After doing some research, our options included:

• Using a radiator sealant (temporary)
• Having the old radiator re-cored 
• Buying and installing a new radiator (plastic, metal or aluminum) 

Using a temporary radiator leak sealant was the quickest and cheapest option.  You can buy this stuff at any AutoZone or auto parts store and all you have to do is dump it into the radiator and drive your car around for a half an hour. We entertained this idea very briefly, mostly during the period of time when we were considering removing the radiator over the winter, as a kind of "get us to winter" fix.  After all, we have a mere handful of weeks before Stella has to go into long term storage for Michigan's 5 to 6 month snowy season.

Having the radiator re-cored was an attractive option and a way to keep the radiator original, but it was more expensive and more complicated.  It would involve having a mechanic remove the radiator, towing the Vette to some other location while the radiator was re-cored (because the re-core and the radiator removal wouldn't be able to be done by the same mechanics), then towing the Vette back to the mechanic to have them re-install the newly re-cored radiator.  So, we'd be paying for the labor hours, paying for the re-core, and paying for the towing fees.  Not to mention, I have no idea were I would be storing it in the interim. 

The last option was to buckle down and buy a new radiator designed to fit our make and model, which was eventually what we chose to do.  We didn't want to go with the cheapest choice, which was plastic, and couldn't quite afford the aluminum radiator.  We wanted to--aluminum radiators are most effective at keeping the engine cool and as I've discussed previously, old Corvettes run hot--but much like with the engine replacement, we simply couldn't  go above and beyond.  The original radiator was made out of metal and lasted 35 years--so hopefully I'll get at least half of that time from this metal reproduction!

We tried a new mechanic this time and so far we've been pleased (although I have yet to get the car back, so we'll see how I feel later today when I do! ;) ).  The work was supposed to take two days, and the morning of the first day I got a call saying that they've run into "all sorts of problems."  Apparently to remove the radiator will require removing parts of the engine (which were getting in the way) and parts of the front wheel suspension system (which needed repairing).  

Basically, this mechanic told me what I already know (and love despite myself) about this car--everything that Mike and I haven't replaced already needs to be replaced.  Luckily, those things are getting fewer and fewer as we go. ;)

We gave the (slightly reluctant) go ahead and we'll be picking her up today.  With only a scant few weeks before it snows, I'll be enjoying that car as much as possible before her long winter's nap. :)

Hot Mamma

As I've mentioned before, my husband Mike and I are just about as uneducated as they come when it comes to being mechanics (although Mike has an impressive knowledge base compared to mine), and spending time with Stella is a constant learning process.  For example, we recently learned that she doesn't do so well in traffic jams. >_<

Corvettes were designed to be as aerodynamic as possible--curvy, low to the ground, a pointed nose, etc--but although this made them very fast (and totally BAMF), it didn't make it any easier on the engine.  With a smallish grill underneath each headlamp, there just isn't enough air moving over the engine to keep it sufficiently cool.  This problem is made substantially worse when the car is running but not moving, such as it would be in a traffic jam.  The engine temperature, which usually sits at a scorching 200 degrees to begin with, creeps quickly into the 220s-230s after five to ten minutes idling in traffic.  This is not uncommon, but it took some time for Mike and I to learn that.

Unfortunately, each time we learn something, we tend to find a hole in something else. ;)

Thinking we had a coolant problem, we took Stella to our favorite oil-change place where a trustworthy father-son duo have been looking underneath our cars for many years now.  After a radiator flush and reassurance that our engine was behaving just as typically as any engine would've back then, they brought to our attention that we had a pretty nasty hole in the radiator anyway.  This didn't come as a huge surprise--since the engine was replaced we'd been noticing a sizable puddle beneath the radiator regularly.  Not to mention, no news is quite as bad as hearing that the engine block was cracked.  Everything else seems like small potatoes in comparison.

Nevertheless, Mike and I had to decide where exactly to focus our restoration at this point.  Owning a car this old is probably similar to owning an old house.  You may want to paint the rooms, pull up the carpet and put down some hardwood floors--make it look better in general--but you've got to fix the pluming, furnace, and structural damages first.  Because a great looking house doesn't do you a damn bit of good if it can't perform the functions of a house.  If it can't keep you warm, keep water in your toilets, or keep the roof over your head.  To everything there is a season, and Stella's vital organs take precedence over her worn seats and cracked dashboard.  I've gotta make this car better from the inside out--but I'm going to have to start deep inside.

I've already replaced her heart--time for her guts. ;)

A Little History: Options

These days when you shop for a car the price you find initially is the "standard" price.  The price you pay when you get the bare minimum without all the bells and whistles.  If you want additional 'options,' such as a sunroof for example, that's gonna cost you a bunch more.  Well, over three decades ago things weren't that different in that department.

In 1976 the average price for a car was between $5-$6K, which put the '76 Stingray a little on the higher end of the spectrum, running around $8K for the standard package.  I don't know anything about the original owner of my '76, but one of the many speculations I've made about him (or her!) is that this kid went all out.  How do I know that?  I know that because my '76 is no 'standard package.'

The most important feature is that Stella has automatic transmission.  Automatic!! Can you believe that??  These days if you buy a Corvette that thing comes with manual as a standard, like all true sports cars were meant to be.  If you're manual transmission-challenged like me and you want automatic, you're going to be paying a lot of money to get it.  I can't tell you how many times I've thought of myself as lucky to have stumbled across this particular old Vette and by complete random chance it happened to be automatic.

My second favorite 'option' are the automatic windows.  My very first car was a 1996 Geo Prism--20 years younger--which had the good old fashioned crank 'em down windows.  The kind you had to actually be sitting next to the door in question to operate.  But not Stella!  All I've got to do is push a button and those windows go down.  And somehow, despite everything else in horrible disrepair, those window motors somehow still work awesome!  (But surely now that I've said that they will go up in smoke just to spite me!)

Stella also comes complete with air conditioning, which I think is a luxury feature despite its pointlessness on a sports car.  I mean, air conditioning?  When you've got T-top panels you can pull off to let Mother Nature's air conditioning blow apart your meticulously arranged hair? ;)  The air conditioner doesn't work and when we had the engine replaced we requested that it be removed from the engine compartment to reduce overall weight and give us more elbow room under the hood for future projects.

As mentioned above, Stella is a T-top.  1976 didn't have the option of a convertible, but instead limited production to hardtops and the coupe.  Taking off the top is definitely a level of joy-riding to be undertaken on a warmer day, but it's a blast every time.  In fact, after riding without the top on for a while, putting the T-tops back in place can make the cabin feel a little cramped.

The last 'option' it seems to me is the security system.  I know very little about this feature, having done embarrassingly little research, but Stella has a keyhole (much like a regular door lock) just forward of the Stingray emblem on the driver's side.  This keyhole is not found on the passenger side.  Upon further investigation, it was discovered that this key hole provided access to a type of security system.  A primitive ancestor to today's car alarms, so to speak.  Just what this system does or if it works remains yet to be seen.  I don't have high hopes though--neither door lock works anymore. B-)

All this being said, the original owner put a lot of money into making this car just what he wanted it to be.  What happened to Stella for the next three decades is a bit of a mystery.

Stella Gets Admired

Few things make me happier than to see other people enjoying Stella the way I enjoy her.  

These pictures were taken at my coworker Chris's house one night when he had us over for a BBQ dinner.  As we were leaving Chris came out to see the car and the whole group followed us outside, crowding around Stella and admiring her.  We offered to give Chris a ride (which he accepted without hesitation) and while Mike did the honors, all of his kids ran back to the house to grab their cameras so they could pose with the car when it came back.  I could only watch and laugh as they lined up in front of her one by one and then in groups, taking picture after picture.  I love stuff like that.  Not because watching people gawking at my car makes me feel badass (even though it does), but because I feel like Stella deserves it.  The more time I spend with her the more I feel like she's had a rough 35 years.  I don't want to drag race or go hot-rodding around, or stick a huge engine under the hood that will make her go 0 to 60 in less than 5 seconds.  I want to enjoy her, and I want others to enjoy her too.

I want people to see her as more than a car, more than a machine, but as a way to have fun and enjoy each other.  Something that can make the worst day blow off you in a minute, and make you smile each and every time you start it up.  Because it's not about the horsepower or the paint job, it's about the memories you make and the places those wheels take you.

The Squeaky

Well, we fixed the radio and the squeaky wheel but I'm not sure how we did either one! >_<  Oh the joys (and mysteries) of owning a car older than oneself.

On the Road Again

I'm telling you, the Corvette Stingray had enough curves to make a woman jealous! 

There just aren't words to describe what it looks like to open the hood of a 35 year old car and see something totally new inside.  Our mechanic, Rex, did a great job installing the engine and now she runs and sounds fantastic.  We've been advised by the greater Corvette community to take it easy on the engine for the first few hundred miles until it's been properly broken in.  It's startling to imagine that the motor now powering a '76 Vette is younger than the motor in Mike's 2011 KIA.  We weren't able to go up in horsepower (which was recommended to us by many), but instead stayed true to the 350, 195 hp crate engine.  We did what we were able to do (which was basically what we could afford to do) to keep her going.  Maybe someday we'll be able to go above and beyond.

We received a long, long list of parts which were replaced during engine installment.  I would list them all here for documentation sake, but unfortunately, I have no idea what most of them are.  The only thing I can say for sure is that at least four gaskets were replaced and all eight spark plugs (much to Mike's disappointment--he and Steve spent an entire afternoon replacing the spark plugs not that long ago).  I believe several structural items were also replaced, along with the water pump.  It looks like a totally different car underneath that hood and I couldn't be happier.

Tonight we went for a cruise and a Toyota Camry wanted to race us.  We laughed of course, having twice the cylinders he had, but politely declined.  "We're breaking in a new engine," we said.  I don't think he believed us--probably he thought we were too chicken, but that's okay.  Stella doesn't even have to be moving to catch the attention of everyone around her.  She's beautiful, you can hear her coming from a mile away, and she doesn't even have to hit 30 mph to be completely badass.  Don't get me wrong, that Camry would've gotten creamed, but Stella doesn't have anything to prove.  ;)

See?

Stella's Homecoming

My window rolled down and I felt the stress of the day roll off of me.  A smile stole its way onto my face and my problems seemed, if only for moments, to be miles and miles behind me.  The wind whipped my carefully arranged hair about my face and for once I didn't care.  The engine grumbled and it was the most beautiful sound... a sound I remember all too well worrying I would never hear again.  I slid my arm out the window and spread my fingers out.  I caught some wind.

Stella has a new engine.  She also has leaky windows, headlights that won't work right, a squeaky wheel, a broken radio, and turn signals that don't light up. But she's got us, and we're going to make her amazing.

New Engine

The engine replacement has been a long, frustrating and stressful process.  We've run into numerous physical and financial hurdles, and although Mike and I tried to prepare for the many unexpected surprises that replacing the engine on such an old vehicle would bring, we still somehow underestimated the harsh reality of it all.  I can say this--we've committed ourselves to this far more than we did the day we bought her.  Anyone can buy an old car and talk about fixing it up--but talk is cheap.  In fact, talk is usually free.  After only a few months of ownership, Stella put our love and dedication to the ultimate test, and dared us to put our money where our mouth is.

Our first obstacle came during engine delivery to the shop.  Apparently the service manager we spoke with didn't exactly do the best job communicating to the parts department that a crate engine was on its way, destined for an old Corvette in the hurt locker.  Knowing nothing about it, the parts department sent the engine right back the way it came when it arrived at the shop.  Distraught, Mike and I managed to catch the delivery service before they left the area (remarkably, six hours later they were still making deliveries nearby! Talk about luck!) and told them to take it back a second time.  Finally on the same page, Mike and I were able to tow the Vette in the following day and finally get work started on it.

The mechanic gave us a 3-day time frame, which started on Wednesday morning.  By Friday morning, he had called to inform us that every single gasket from the old engine had to be replaced, rather than transferred to the new engine.  This drove up the price beyond what we had originally thought we could afford, and it also extended our time to the following Tuesday/Wednesday.  I wanted them replaced though--the last thing I want to happen is an old gasket to go and ruin my brand new engine.

Wednesday night rolls around and Mike gets a call saying that it'll be done by 6 PM, provided the test drive goes smoothly.  We hear nothing else from them, so assuming that all is well, we show up first thing Thursday (today) morning to pick her up.  We get there and her carburetor and air filter are still pulled out and unattached.  The tech guy states the obvious:  "It's not ready yet."  And I find myself struggling to not get upset.  At this point, I've been so worried and stressed about it for so long that I just want her back home and safe with me.  I miss her so bad.

And so, I've spent all day today waiting for my phone to ring.  Paranoid to even take out the trash and leave it alone for two minutes, lest it should choose that perfect time to ring.  But of course, it rings while I'm driving and I get another voicemail from the mechanic, this time saying our water pump won't work with the new engine.  It won't be ready until (best case scenario) tomorrow morning.  And for some reason, be it that he felt bad about the trouble we've had (i.e. them sending the engine back and taking a week longer than projected) or simply because he likes the car, a guy at the shop brought a water pump from home off their old 350 engine.  

I still don't really know when exactly it will be finished, if it will run when they turn the key, what it will cost me, or how I'll get it back home.

But damn, my Stella-baby looked so beautiful on that shop lift.  Broken engine and all. :) 

Rescue Corvette

The engine replacement process has begun, and I find myself pacing through the day like a nervous new parent awaiting bad news. It's been a long three weeks since all this went down by the side of the road in a puff of white smoke. I remember seeing that cracked engine for the first time and crying the whole drive home. Not because my fun was (albeit temporarily) over, but because I felt so bad that this happened to such a great car. A car that is so much more than that--which brings me pure, honest joy each and every time I take a ride. Like a malnourished and abused dog is rescued from a life of neglect and cruelty, I feel like this Vette has been rescued. Adopted and swept away to a better home, Stella's still in her recovery period.

She will know love like she hasn't known it ever before. :)

Reindeer Games

My husband and I have had bad luck with cars lately. A series of unfortunate events took place so close together recently that I've begun to feel a little apprehensive about leaving my car(s) unattended or being around other moving vehicles in general. It seems like each time I venture out it's like asking for some new tragedy to happen.

The first such event happened to my car. My 'everyday' car is a '08 Chevy Malibu, which I pretty much use just to drive to work and to run errands if Mike is working. I work as a pharmacist in a department store and therefore park my car close to the back of the lot. In part I do this because I have to, but I also like to keep it far enough away so that I might avoid unattended shopping carts scratching it up. Well, after a 10-hour shift one week I leave to get into my car (which is parked all by itself in the back of the lot, as usual) and see that a note has been left on the windshield. It basically is apologizing because somebody's daughter, a new driver, pulled too far into the parking spot directly behind me and dented my rear fender. Fantastic! My once flawless Malibu now has a suspicious-looking dent right by the license plate. I considered myself lucky in this day and age that someone was courteous enough to even leave a note, because as you're about to find out, most people don't.

The second incident happened to Mike's everyday car, a 2011 KIA Sorento. I'm a huge fan of this car, and we bought it brand new in April of 2011. He takes meticulous care of it, so he noticed right away when a mysterious dent appeared above the passenger rear tire. Mind you, this tire is tall enough to reach my mid-thigh, so this dent is several feet off the ground. No note was left behind to explain it, and it could have only happened when the car was (again) left unattended in a parking lot. To get it fixed involved removing several of the exterior panels, including the rear panel, part of the roof, and the passenger side rear door.

Unfortunately, the remaining incidents involve my beautiful Corvette. As much as I hate to have anything happen to any of the cars, I'd much rather they happen to the KIA or the Malibu, as they are much easier and less costly to have repaired. But if I didn't have bad luck I wouldn't have any at all, so as Fate would have it, tragedy seems to strike the Vette most often.

Most incidents have come from close-calls on the road. We live in an area that is undergoing heavy road construction, and it is my firm believe that even the best drivers act like complete jack-asses in construction zones. People don't read signs, don't pay attention, don't check their mirrors, and in general seem unaware that they are not alone on the road. We were cruising along down a road which had been reduced to a one-way street one day and we were in the far left lane, about to pass a car on our right. Suddenly, without warning (and of course without a turn signal) the car in the right hand lane made an abrupt, 90-degree left-hand turn right in front of us! We slammed on the brakes and the tires screamed. I remember the whole thing like it was in slow motion, seeing us coming at that car and truly believing that we weren't going to be able to stop in time. I could smell rubber, the tires were smoking against the pavement, and I thought in my head of how I would run this guy down and beat his ass if he crunched up my Stella-baby (and this was only a few short weeks after purchasing her). Luckily, the dumbass completed his turn into the parking lot on our left just in time and we missed him by a narrow margin.

Mostly impressively, the following week I was coming home from work when Mike called me to warn me that a 'minor accident' had occurred with the Corvette. This was after all the above had happened, so I was immediately freaked out and demanded to know what had gone down. Apparently Mike had been driving the Vette down some backstreets (because he thought that would be 'safer,' heh) when a deer jumping over the car. Did you catch that? In broad daylight, a deer jumped over my Corvette! And I don't just mean it jumped over the edge of the fender or something, I mean it honest-to-God leaped over the top like a damn reindeer. The antennae on the rear fender caught its under-belly as Stella passed underneath, and of course pulled it out of the fiberglass enough to leave a few small hair-line cracks in an otherwise flawless body.

And then of course the engine broke down. >_<

Up In Smoke

Thirty-five years of wear and tear, deterioration, and lack of proper maintenance have taken their toll on one tough engine. We took Stella out on the highway a couple of weeks back and started puffing white smoke from beneath the hood. We killed the motor immediately, but the damage had been done, as you can see from these pictures. The engine cracked impressively in three separate places, two of which you can see in the first and second picture and a third time in the bottom picture. It looks like we might have slipped a rod... maybe blown a head gasket first which put too much stress on the engine. Whatever the cause, "catastrophic internal failure" is what followed. We got her safely to the side of the road and watched helplessly as all her vital fluids flowed in a steady stream onto the pavement below. I was scared and sad, and I felt my heart in my throat while the tow man attached heavy, rusty chains to her tires and pulled her slowly up onto the flatbed and off the road.

We considered cutting our losses, but after almost four decades, I couldn't let myself be the one to put this beautiful machine into the grave. I will admit this--Stella makes me do crazy things. The fact that I spent "house money" to buy her is enough proof of that, so there's no point in denying it. So a brand new engine is en route to us even as I type this. It's due to arrive on Monday, and we found a great mechanic who ensured us that three days later we'd have our girl back and better than ever. I can't wait to hear that engine grumble back to life!

Passion Project

This picture captures the moment I first glimpsed the old vintage Corvette that would soon become mine. In purchasing it, I fulfilled a dream of mine that had grown hazy and impractical in my mind, as the daydreams of my childhood matured into the goals of my adult life. Some of those dreams lived on--made the "cut" if you will--and some didn't. In high school, while my girl friends were plastering the inside of their lockers with magazine cut-out pictures of hot young men, I was cutting out pictures of hot, fast cars. I guess some things never change.

Mike and I took a plunge and spent what few dollars we had to buy a neglected old Vette that needed serious love and attention. It was parked in my driveway before the ink had time to dry on my college degree. I consider myself lucky to have found it, but I also consider it lucky to have found us. A more passionate, dedicated duo it could have waited another 30 years for and never found. I love it, and I confess that love with enormous sincerity.

Since then, we've begun the restoration process in the haphazard, uneducated way of two people learning a trade for the first time. Every single time I commit myself to getting my hands dirty, I learn something new about this little slice of history. Each worn and deteriorated part we replace seems like a glimpse into the future, when we'll someday transform her back into the mean machine of her younger days. It is not a commitment I take lightly, and since the day I signed up for it, I have shed blood, sweat and tears in making those first few tremulous steps forward. I've laid on my back underneath her, chipping away at decades worth of grime and grease, not caring if it covered my arms or my face. I've sat in her worn leather seats and driven fast enough to peal the laughter from my lips. I've stood on the side of the road in a plum of white smoke, realizing that I might be the first person to love this poor Vette in a long, long time.

Full restoration will probably take years, if not decades of my life. So here's to all the firsts, the lasts, and the milestones along the way! Here's to Stella: the Vette that stole my heart.

Stella 1976

The first time I ever saw her was on a beautiful early summer afternoon, not a cloud in the sky, the way it seems so many fateful days are. We were driving down a busy street in the country, one we had never driven down before, wistfully jumping between peaceful neighborhoods looking at houses. We weren't exactly close to the point when we could purchase a house, but it was fun nevertheless to dream. I had the day off of work and not a care in the world. We had gone to a delicious Mom 'n Pop breakfast joint that morning and then we just drove--me with my flip flops kicked off--not caring how much gas we were wasting. I loved doing that. Just driving around the way we were. There was something soothing about that constant feeling of motion and staring out at the rolling landscapes that enticed me so much and so often.

I remember I'd been looking out my husband's side window when he suddenly asked, "Amanda, did you just see that car?" His voice was excited and a little shocked. Of course, I'd been looking the wrong direction and told him I hadn't."We have to go back then. You have to see this car." He said this absolutely, as if there was simply no other choice.

He did a quick turn around and we passed it going the other way. I only got a quick glimpse, but one glance was all it took. I recognized it immediately as an old Corvette Stingray, definitely 1970's, for the Stingray era produced some of the most radical, outrageous looking body types I can ever remember seeing, Corvettes or otherwise. It was the look European cars might have but you'd pay a lot more money for.

We turned around again so that we were facing our original direction and I wistfully requested that he pull over so that I could 'take a picture.' Mike pulled our car onto the gravel shoulder of the road without complaint. He immediately hopped out on his side, startling me, for I had planned on simply rolling down my window, snapping a picture with my phone, and then taking back off again. But fate had a firm hold on this particular moment in my life, I know that now, and I was meant to get out of the car. I was meant to get out and look closer.

She was parked in the tall, uncut and weedy grass of what appeared to be an abandoned house-turned small junkyard. Mike would tell me later that there were many oddities scattered across the property, but I honestly remember none of them except the car. It was captivating. Perhaps the only case of that mythical love at first sight that I had (or would) ever experienced.

Close up she was small and aggressive-looking. Sitting low to the ground, she seemed almost to be stalking prey in that un kept grass. Her body was free of blemishes and the color of a bright red apple, complete with a black racing stripe starting at her pointed nose, following down her hood, and ending over her license plate. A shockingly low price was written in white across her windshield and O.B.O. across her driver's side window. Less than 60K miles. Her tires were those ass-kicking chrome jobs so popular for sports cars of her era. They looked mean and huge, a focal point on a car that was meant to go real fast real fast. The body seemed to be melted around them.

I walked around her in circles, taking in the mint exterior and the 'Stingray' emblem displayed boldly just in front of each door. She had a 1976 historic license plate decorating the nose, leading me to believe that '76 was the year she rolled off onto her first road. Thirty-five years ago--ten years before I was even born. My father hadn't yet met my mother or even graduated from college. Her interior was worn and in need of refurbishing from decades of butts sitting in her leather seats. As I stared in at her dusty dashboard and dirty steering wheel (adorned with the crossed double flags of the Corvette), I could envision what she had once looked like. What she could look like again with love and attention.

Her body was in amazing condition for her age and her mileage was impossibly low. I stared at a the asking price scribbled across her windshield. We have the money, a whispery voice said from somewhere deep inside me. Certainly not in any 'Old Corvette Savings Fund,' for I meticulously planned a future for every dollar I made, but we had the money nevertheless. In a house fund.

My husband stood somewhere nearby, grinning at me stupidly and taunting me with phrases such as, "Imagine what it would be like to pull into the driveway inthis!" As if all the things I could do with this car, and all the fun I could have in her, hadn't already flown across my mind a million times. He knew this was my dream car, far more than any brand new, shiny sports car could be. This was the experience I always wanted to have but always believed was truly out of my reach.

I gave her another appreciative, longing look before resigning myself to returning to our own car. A car that was nice, that we loved, but was only a car. Something to get us around, to move our things from one place to another, and to get us to work and back. I realized in that moment the true difference between a vehicle and a car like that Corvette. A difference that I'd never really thought of before.

We drove away. Inside our car was quieter than before, lacking the earlier chattiness of an afternoon drive. I stared out the window and day dreamed, the same way I had about becoming a pharmacist or the way I would look in my wedding dress. I thought about the car.

I had learned over my young life to listen to my heart. You see, my heart doesn't speak to me very often, but I know right away when it does. It spoke to me when I met my husband, and for years after that regarding him, as we struggled through years of vast change and growing together. It spoke to me one sunny day on my college campus when it told me to give up my childhood dream of becoming a veterinarian and pursue pharmacy instead. It spoke to me the day I walked across the stage and held in my hand my Doctorate degree for the very first time.

It spoke to me now. As we drove away from that little Corvette I felt as if I had left part of my soul with it. Little did I realize that exactly one week later I would be driving around in it.