posted on Apr, 21 2007 @ 07:26 PM
Meet "The White Trash Mobile" as my friends called it, and 17 year old Vagabond standing in front of the scar from where somebody had forced the
drivers side door open with a crow bar.
In the right light, the tremendous oxidation didn't show so much, and you couldn't tell that it had the gutless wonder 2.8 V6 (upgraded by a bad
throttle position sensor and an intake leak) as long as it was parked.
I wish I had that car to do over again. Knowing a thing or two more than I did at 17, I could have made that thing a pretty worthwhile ride. I've
always wanted to get another one, just to fix up and sell, basically to prove the point that it wasn't inherently a POS.
Despite all the complaining I do about the 2.8 V6, it actually put out as much horsepower as the V8 in my mom's old '75 Camaro RT... which would
have been my first car if my dad hadn't loathed it so much. Shame really... my grandpa saved that car from the scrap yard around the time I was born.
I've thought about trying to track it down and buy it some day.
But oh well, the white trash mobile was a decent second-best.