The first car I had in 1983 when I was a college student at the University of Minnesota was a 1965 MGB Convertible. It was white, had a red interior, and a black soft top.
If you know what MGBs of that era are like, then you probably already know about the issues I had once I inherited that car from my ex-husband’s used car inventory. The first thing I want you to know about that car, though, is that I identified with it. In many ways I felt a bit battered and broken, so when that car needed work to keep it on the road, I felt a pull to get those repairs done.
Over the first year I had that car, I had the floor pans welded because they were rusting through, the brakes replaced, the tires replaced, the engine reworked, and replaced the transmission. The car rewarded me with many hours of joy driving it, then rewarded me again with the joys of tearing it apart for a restoration.
But as many things go, my restoration project was waylaid by a marriage and a move into a house that had no room to finish the project. I wound up selling my entire project to a man with a body shop so he could complete the project for a profit. I never saw the car again, although I do have fond thoughts of it from time to time.
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