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com?utm_source=medium&utm_medium=referral">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="cad4">A long weekend was coming, so I announced we were going to see my family in Massachusetts. It’s about a 10-hour drive, and it was uneventful until we hit Connecticut, when the radiator started leaking — a lot. We stopped every 10 miles for water. The last 75 or so miles took a while, but we made it home.</p><p id="6dbe">My dad couldn’t wait to get under the hood and pull the radiator. He took it to a local mechanic, who gave the radiator a clean bill of health. The leak was a result of a bad connection. Live and learn.</p><p id="e5c6">One thing we hadn’t paid attention to was the battery. It didn’t have a bracket to secure the battery in place. On the way back to Virginia, the battery slid into the fan just as we hit the Jersey Turnpike. We sat off the side until an enterprising tow truck came by. The driver said he had a spare battery and would let us have it for $75.</p><p id="1019">He didn’t tell us that the battery would keep the car running only as long as we didn’t turn off the engine. For the next 400 miles, we had to have the battery jump started whenever we got gas. We had jumper cables, but it wasn’t easy to get someone who was willing to give us a jump.</p><p id="cd85">It was nearly dark when we approached the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. We had a choice of getting gas or paying the toll to cross the bridge. Back then, the toll was about$ 14. As luck would have it, we ran out of fuel.</p><p id="17e3">A friendly farmer walked over with a gas can to help us along. He poured a little into the carburetor and promptly set it on fire. A state trooper came to our aid, getting the car towed to a local shop, and then had a truck driver he’d known for many years give us a ride.</p><p id="89e1">Once we crossed the bridge, we called a friend who agreed to pick us up.</p><p id="5765">The next day, after arranging for financial assistance from Navy Relief, another marine drove me over the bridge to get my car. So, in addition to the $200 bill to get the car running, I spent another$ 42 in tolls to get home.</p><p id="e325">We needed a week to recover from our long weekend.</p><p id="91d9">If you’ve read this far, thank you for stopping by.</p><p id="09ea"><i>I accept tips, which go directly to <a href="https://www.diningforhunger.com">Dining for Hunger</a>, a recognized 501(c)(3) organization that looks to end food insecurity. If you can spare a dollar or two, I’d be grateful.</i></p><p id="0b5d">More stories from Bruce Coulter.</p><div id="ad3e" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/one-photo-and-a-few-words-part-5-4fa271e262c6"> <div> <div> <h2>One Photo and a Few Words: Part 5</h2> <div><h3>Boston’s theater district keeps the lights burning</h3

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BEHIND THE WHEEL

I’ve Had Some Interesting Cars in My Lifetime

Radiator leaks, battery fails, and a small car fire in one trip

Photo by Daniel @ bestjumpstarterreview.com on Unsplash

Uncle Sam didn’t pay a decent wage in my time. As a private in 1976, I earned the grand sum of $374.40 monthly. I was hardly living a life of leisure on less than $4,500 annually.

It should come as no surprise that buying a new car wasn’t high on my list of things to do as a not-so-bright 17-year-old marine. My priorities at the time were women and booze. I was more successful with alcohol. Sigh.

If it started and had brakes, I was in the market for a good used car. In 1980, I bought a used 1964 and-a-half Ford Mustang while stationed in Norfolk, VA. It was a beater with one solid, undented quarter panel on the front passenger side. And it started. All this for $400.

My dad bought all the kids their first car — six in all. He came home with a 1965 mustang for me. There was one problem. I didn’t learn to drive a stick. So he brought it back. Yeah. I’ve been kicking my ass over that for a long time.

The first thing I did was drive to the Mustang Barn in Chesapeake. A friend and I pulled a C4 transmission literally out of the dirt. We got back to my house, cleaned out the transmission, and got it in place from under the car. Five minutes after we crawled out from under it, the jack slipped. I think we both said a silent prayer that day.

I pulled the plugs to change them out with new ones. The car wouldn’t start. I cleaned and put the old ones back in. My mighty mustang roared to life. It wasn’t much, but my wife at the time and I had transportation.

I will not call it reliable. Not long after we got it running, the brakes failed. After repairing the brakes, my wife drove to my office. One of my corporals took care of the one good quarter panel on the car by crunching it in the parking lot.

We eventually got rid of the mustang and bought a 1967 Ford Fairlane. Surprisingly, it ran rather well, and I thought my luck with cars was changing. Yeah, sure it was.

**My road trips have been interesting.** Photo by Tim Foster on Unsplash

A long weekend was coming, so I announced we were going to see my family in Massachusetts. It’s about a 10-hour drive, and it was uneventful until we hit Connecticut, when the radiator started leaking — a lot. We stopped every 10 miles for water. The last 75 or so miles took a while, but we made it home.

My dad couldn’t wait to get under the hood and pull the radiator. He took it to a local mechanic, who gave the radiator a clean bill of health. The leak was a result of a bad connection. Live and learn.

One thing we hadn’t paid attention to was the battery. It didn’t have a bracket to secure the battery in place. On the way back to Virginia, the battery slid into the fan just as we hit the Jersey Turnpike. We sat off the side until an enterprising tow truck came by. The driver said he had a spare battery and would let us have it for $75.

He didn’t tell us that the battery would keep the car running only as long as we didn’t turn off the engine. For the next 400 miles, we had to have the battery jump started whenever we got gas. We had jumper cables, but it wasn’t easy to get someone who was willing to give us a jump.

It was nearly dark when we approached the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. We had a choice of getting gas or paying the toll to cross the bridge. Back then, the toll was about $14. As luck would have it, we ran out of fuel.

A friendly farmer walked over with a gas can to help us along. He poured a little into the carburetor and promptly set it on fire. A state trooper came to our aid, getting the car towed to a local shop, and then had a truck driver he’d known for many years give us a ride.

Once we crossed the bridge, we called a friend who agreed to pick us up.

The next day, after arranging for financial assistance from Navy Relief, another marine drove me over the bridge to get my car. So, in addition to the $200 bill to get the car running, I spent another $42 in tolls to get home.

We needed a week to recover from our long weekend.

If you’ve read this far, thank you for stopping by.

I accept tips, which go directly to Dining for Hunger, a recognized 501(c)(3) organization that looks to end food insecurity. If you can spare a dollar or two, I’d be grateful.