The Cars Of My Father - Happy Father's Day 2011

Audi 5000 ad pic via usedcheapcars.org

One would assume I've heard about it before, but I have no idea what my father was driving when he drove my mother and me home from the hospital. I had four older siblings waiting at home, if that provides any clue.

In fact, I'm not sure what car we were in when my father began teaching me the make and model of every car we met on the highway, on city streets, and on rural backroads. I distinctly remember being unable to properly pronounce many of the German and American names (I was a three-year-old) but I had yet to care what we ourselves were driving.

What I do remember are the next group of cars, Audi after Audi after Audi, five in total. Quattro was mandatory, red was chosen 60% of the time, and he even set aside the need for a sedan when choosing the Coupe Quattro as his fourth Audi. These cars arrived in our driveway in quick succession. My father drove 100,000 kilometres per year. Yes, that's  nearly 1200 miles per week. Each Audi rolled its odometer to 100K and was then replaced.

Those late 80s/early 90s Audi turbos can't be considered fast in comparison to a modern RS6, and it's not as though they were the fastest cars on the road back then, either. But these Audis were unique, curvaceous, and elegant when other adults I knew were driving cars like the Pontiac 6000 or Nissan Stanza.

My father drove a completely reliable Hyundai Sonata before people knew they could be reliable. There was a Honda Accord we ran in Texas which may have been the most perpetually clean car I've ever encountered on a long-term basis. After moving back to Nova Scotia, when I had a brother in a Chevrolet Sprint, another brother in a Dodge Colt, a third brother in a Mazda 626, and a sister in a previously-mentioned purple Hyundai Accent, my father arrived home in a green Ford Escort Wagon. It was a stopgap, although I recall spending enough time in it for an English friend of the family to complain that it wouldn't hit 150 km/h fast enough. His wife's Euro-Escort was quicker, he insisted. His name was Norman, and his driving bordered on maniacal. My father and I enjoyed it; my mother didn't.

I had little acquaintance with Fuji Heavy Industries up to that point, but when my father parked a brand new 1997 Subaru Legacy 2.5 GT in the driveway, red and be-winged with a 165-hp boxer six that burbled like it was recovering from a wonderfully exotic disease, I was thrilled. Our family's first Subaru was fitted with a manual transmission. I can't remember my father driving anything without a clutch up to that point. 

I wasn't yet licensed, but my father lent it to my friend who was licensed, and he couldn't get over that snickety short-throw shifter. As if I didn't already live with a constant yearning for my 16th birthday, this guy tempts me with talk of short-throw shifters. I eventually learned to drive a manual in that friend's truck, an ancient rear-wheel drive Nissan. That partially explains his love of the Subie's leather-wrapped shifter.

Along came a couple more brief stopgaps while my father bided his time and eventually ended up in a navy second-generation Subaru Outback. Gasp... it was an automatic. Canada Old Age Security cheques were forthcoming. 

However, the Outback, like his first Subaru obviously, harked back to the all-wheel drive of his Audis. This Outback was tough as nails, and still is. It's more than ten years old and my best friend uses it to commute to his HRPD Crown Victoria. This obviously means my father's driving something else now, right?

It's another Outback, a silver third-gen car with leather and sunroof. He washes it constantly. Which basically means he's always washing it. As in, never not washing it. The cop I just mentioned? Well, just as they leave Tim Hortons on their way to a call a few months ago, his partner spots a guy cleaning out his trunk behind a Rubber Duck Car Wash. At 5:00 AM. Isn't that suspicious? Like, did this guy murder his wife or something? As they cruise by, my constable buddy realizes he knows the guy. "Ah, that's normal. I know him. He's alright." Although when I hear the story about 48 hours later I berate him for not calling to make sure my mother was... you know, alive and well. 

Increasingly, GoodCarBadCar.net is a reflection of how I spend my time, analysing auto sales data. There's still the odd review, an infrequent style analysis, some impressions of an important new car. But this is a statistics-based site now. If that leads you to believe my father is no longer the inspiration behind every automotive thing I do, you're wrong. 

And as much as automotive-related topics consume most of my day, most of my small talk with friends and family, and an inappropriate portion of my thought-life, the inspiration my father has provided for other aspects of my life have a far greater impact on me and thus the people who know me well. 

So to hockey dads who transport their sons to practice on cold winter mornings, artsy dads who teach their 6-year old daughters to paint, chef dads who teach their kids how to make pancakes for their mother's birthday, car dads who teach their sons the meaning of torque, and to my own father: Happy Father's Day.