Photo: Who in the hell knows - ask GIS if you really give a crap about such pointless minutiae
Photo: Who in the hell knows - ask GIS if you really give a crap about such pointless minutiae
It was 1984, and I had just purchased a used Rabbit GTI, black with red interior. All the options - vent windows, sunroof, air conditioning, digital AM/FM radio/cassette with 4 speakers, front license plate bracket, floor mats - everything. It was an oddball in that it had bits and pieces from the different years (the only one I can remember right now was the black instrument surround from the later car, but there were other items I’ve forgotten in my old age). It looked more like an ‘84 but was titled as an ‘83; maybe the PO did the updates or maybe they were factory - nobody will ever know.
I took off first, with dad following behind in his E28 528e. I turned on the radio, and the following song was on:
From that moment on, this song will always remind me of that car. Given what a fun yet incredibly unreliable piece it was, the song has a little extra meaning to it. The opposite sentiments expressed in that song, missing you and I ain’t missing you, sum up my experience with it. I miss the blasts through the canyons and back roads and I miss those great seats, but on the other hand I didn’t miss being stranded by the side of the road nor all the trips with it strapped down to the back of a flatbed when some other gremlin, usually electrical, cropped up. I missed the red interior and all of the features, but I didn’t miss how hot black cars got, especially in SoCal summers.
I’d love to have another one in a vain attempt to relive my youth, but only if I have a towing plan, a garage and a reliable car to drive when it’s dead.