Barracuda

Just another fond memory of our days in Bettendorf, IA:

Every man has a flashback to their teen years and my father was no exception. In the spring of 1968, he bought a Plymouth Barracuda Fastback for the family car! She had a fold down back seat that was great for us kids at drive-in movies (See Mary, it is a family car) and a fold down trunk barrier that allowed my dad to carry home lumber for projects. (Very pratical, Dad!) I can remember the weekend he spent detailing the Cuda - racing stripes down her side and pin stripes front to back. She was a funky mint green color with white racing stripes. It was the engine that was my father's true love though. I can remember my mother's screams of panic on the interstate one trip to Michigan when my dad took the Cuda up over 95 mph!

But Dad also travelled a lot and always took the company car. That meant mom drove the Cuda during the week. Now remember we moved from a Detroit suburb - where streets were paved concrete. In Iowa there were a lot of gravel roads - and gravel roads were maintained by spraying tar on the old gravel and then spreading new gravel on top. The tar helped the new gravel "stick." One summer afternoon not long after we moved to Bettendorf, we encountered a road crew refreshing Utica Ridge Road near home. Mom saw the "Wet Tar" sign and the road crew. Most folks were turning around but her unfamiliarity with the area, the tarring process and the close proximity to home probably played a large part in her decision. Mom decided to keep going - past the road crew waving frantically at her! Mom decided to go faster - after all the road crew was waving at her to do so. Or at least she thought so!

I knew we were in trouble when we hit the end of the gravel road and encountered pavement. The Cuda's tires sounded like they were driving through sticky warm caramel. We pulled into the driveway and got out. Oh the damage! There were giant sprays of tar behind each wheel and up the side of the car. Mom's upper lip quivered in remorse.

I don't remember the conversation between my mom and dad when he returned home that week. I am sure mom sent us down to the basement and closed the pocket door. I do remember my father spent the entire weekend next to his beloved with a can of kerosene and a pile of rags. I also remember that weekend as one of the few times I wasn't my father's shadow. I am sure Mom knew Dad needed to be alone!