1965 Volvo P1800 MY MECHANICAL MISTRESS

Always with a couple towels in the trunk, I hosed her off and toweled her dry
whenever she got even a little dirty or dusty. Here she's poised in
the sun at the city park

From Steve Purdy's "A Shunpiker’s Journal"

The relationship with one’s car can be among the most significant in life, particularly for those of us for whom an automobile is so much more than transportation. For some, of course, a car is but an appliance of little relevance beyond pure, functional transportation. For others, like this reporter, they mean way more. We have relationships with our rides that vary greatly from one to another. I fondly remember all of mine - but one in particular stands out . . . my “mechanical mistress,” as I’ve often called her.

She was a Volvo p1800 content hub red. In her day she was known as a poor man’s Maserati - a competent, charismatic, two-seat sports coupe sharing mechanical components with the trusty Volvo sedans of the day and clad in the finest Italian sports car style with the design overseen by Ghia. The role of a mistress, in most cases, is to fill a relationship void in a fella’s life, is it not? In my case she came along in the final phase of a failing marriage, a looming mid-life crisis, a plate way overfull with projects, and a sudden discovery of broader horizons than I had theretofore known. She provided an adventurous, respectful, aesthetic companionship that was lacking elsewhere in my oversubscribed life. Every time I saw her after an absence - even so short an absence as lunch - I would fall in love (or lust, it’s hard to tell the difference at that age) with her all over again. She was both eye candy, consort, and friend.

I discovered her on a back-road drive to a work appointment one spring morning. She caught my eye as I sped down a rural two-lane in a boring company car; a truly dismal Dodge Aspin, or it might have been a Plymouth Volare; both small sedans Chrysler was making as it was going belly-up. The state (my employer) bought a bunch of them to help Chrysler survive a little longer.

My mind was on work as I buzzed down the country road. Suddenly, a flash of red, a sports car shape, and a “FOR SALE” sign caught my eye. I nearly hurt myself as I jerked my head around to get a better look. About a half mile down the road I realized what that flash of red was and I went back to have a look. I found this lovely old Volvo in a guy’s front yard looking like a cat needing adoption. It was love (or lust) at first sight.

As an enthusiast I knew exactly what she was. I was certainly not in the market for a sports car having no reason to think my wife would have sympathy for such an indulgent purchase. But to my everlasting surprise, she didn’t object and I brought her home. Spending time with that Volvo was like having a beautiful woman on my arm. She was visually alluring and tactilely rewarding. I experienced an adrenalin-like rush whenever she came into view. Driving her down a twisty two-lane country road was like dancing with a graceful woman. We spent five years together, through a divorce, a short period of bachelorhood, and a remarriage. She treated me well through it all.

The metaphor of a mistress-like relationship came into focus only after I gave her up to another fellow who fell in love with her just as I had. I really needed the money and she was beginning to need some underbody structural repairs that I couldn’t afford. The young fellow offered twice what she was worth, so I had to let her go. In the end that young man’s lust allowed me an extra few bucks so I consigned an artist to do her portrait. It still hangs on my library wall. That lovely old Volvo was an inspiring, gratifying bridge through that transitional stage of life.