Classic car ownership is a labor of love. It’s a difficult, expensive, and on many days frustrating passion to have, and yet there’s no substitute for it. The simple reason for this is that we truly, genuinely love the cars we own and drive. We’re willing to wade through the costs and the headaches for those glorious days when it all works perfectly. But like all relationships, it has to start somewhere.
For me, it’s an interesting question. When I first got my Pontiac, first started working on it, there’s no doubt I liked it. I enjoyed it well enough, even for all of its foibles and imperfections, but I still didn’t love it. Through years of restoring the car, I grew closer to it, but it didn’t consume me. The exact moment I fell in love with that car, though, I’ll never forget. I had been preparing the paint and body for nearly three years, spending countless Saturdays with tape, Bondo and a sanding longboard perfecting the surface for the final coat. The actual spraying was a two-stage process, one day for the white, and then another day about a week later for the blue graphics. When the body shell finally emerged after the final color coat, still wet, not yet clearcoated, but finally taking the shape I’d worked so long and dreamed so hard about, in that moment I knew there was no going back. This car was part of me, and it always would be.
Now it’s your turn. When did you fall in love with your car?
Photos are courtesy of Matteo Ferrari and featured in our post about his Automotive Monogamy project.
