We’ve all had our first time behind the wheel. Filled with trepidation, excitement, and nervousness, it is one of those firsts in life that we will always remember.
I was about nine or ten. Working in the yard, my father told me to move the pickup forward a few feet. After dropping the clutch and peeling off half of some shrub of my mother’s, I got a more complete lesson driving around the nearby cemetery later that day.
The pickup was a 1970 Ford F-100 my father had purchased new with the 240 cubic inch straight six, three-speed manual, and am radio. That was it.
Despite my impressionable age, I have never seen a pickup as eager to be overworked as that old pickup was.
The yellow F-100 at the bottom of this ad is identical in color and trim.
He kept it until 1985. The tin worm had set in and the body supports gave way, putting the transmission linkage in a bind. Stuffing a few 2×4’s under the body, we went to trade it off for a very lightly used 1984 F-150.
So our question: Whether you were of age or not, what was the first vehicle you ever drove?
1977 dodge pickup. Slant 6. 3 on tree. Manual choke brakes n steering. No options. That’s what I learned to drive. First car. 80 olds delta 88 royal brougham. Power everything. Later found ford does brougham better.
Growing up I drove tractors and some old pickups (always Fords) on the family farm but the first actual car I ever drove was my Moms 1982 Olds Delta 88. It was a sharp car, a 2 door Royale that was two tone light redwood over burgandy with a burgundy interior and Olds Rallye wheels and a 307. I guess I was about 12 or 13 when she would have me move it around the driveway and things like that. I started to drive it when I got my learners permit and really wanted to inherit it as my first car but she gave it to my brother when he joined the Navy and needed a car. The dumbass wrecked it within a year but I was able to get my other brothers equally cool 1973 Grand Prix as my first car. I still have the GP and I picked up a copy of my Moms Olds last year.
’70 Maverick, then ’69 LTD. As commented before, drove Astre and Granada in driver’s ed, but much later.
’67 Fiat 850 spyder. Straight into a curb. I was nine.
1978 Chevette. Hey, at least everything from then on was an improvement.
1965 Chevrolet C10. Green and rust colored, with a 350/350 combo in it from the ’71 Impala that my Mom wrecked.
One of my only memories of being three was sitting on my grandfathers lap and steering his old econoline van in his driveway. This was repeated through the years with his next econoline and of course being on his knee on his old Massey back on his wood lot.
The first car I actually drove was a 81 tercel sr5 which was also the first time dealing with a stick. I learned quick and beat the guts out of that thing during its short live time with me.
1978 Chevy Pickup when I was 12
1963 Buick LeSabre… although I wasn’t technically “driving” it… I was 7 or 8 at the time. A neighbor girl and I were messing around in it in our driveway when I managed to take it out of Park, and off we rolled… down the driveway, across the street, and into another neighbor’s mailbox. Mom wasn’t too pleased…
The first one I actually tried to drive ended rather poorly… I was 14 at the time, and my dad’s ’52 Chevy pickup needed to be moved, so I hopped in it and moved it. Unfortunately I didn’t know at the time both the clutch AND the brake pedal had to be pushed at the same time to make it stop… I used a parked trailer instead. Dad was not pleased either.
My old man first turned me loose in his mothers 75 Buick Lesabre that she didn’t drive anymore. He felt his 74 Buick Electra 225 would be too much. My recollection is that my biggest initial problem was too much pressure on the heavily boosted power brakes.
The old man was of the smoothness school of driving as was one of my automotive idols, Jackie Stuart. I eventually learned to accelerate, brake, and drive around curves to his satisfaction. My father and Sir Jackie believe that smooth was safer and faster. My driving experience has been consistent with this. The old man is now 78 and still a very smooth driver in his Chevy Equinox, if a bit slower.
After a few lessons on that car I was allowed to drive his car and my mothers 82 Chevy Caprice which felt like a sports car compared to the Buicks. The 77 downsized GM B&C bodies really were much better handing vehicles that still had the old school quiet isolated ride. Quite a while later I was allowed to drive the old man’s full size Chevy Blazer as well. My brother bravely volunteered his manual transmission Ford Escort so I could learn to drive a manual transmission.
Nearly 30 years and God knows how many miles later, I think they did a great job.
First anything was a Farmall cub but with wide front axle not row crop it had a centre mount grader blade which was the most effective brakes it had the pedals did nothing as a boat launching tractor the brakes were gone but for going flat out along a beach the blade was primo for brakes first passenger vehicle on public roads was an Austin Gipsy 4WD hardtop pickup I doubt many have even seen one but the one I drove was a 66 apparently by 64 they had them figured out just in time to go out of production,
Age 12 in the Austin about 8 on a tractor most of the farm kids then could drive tractors before age 8
NOT of age. When I was 11 my father let me do figure 8’s in my school parking lot in his 84 Monte Carlo SS. I was tall for my age so I had no problem seeing over the dashboard.
A few years later when I was 14, my stepmother refused to drive it, saying it was “too big”. My father wasn’t working, so the SS just sat at the bottom of the driveway while they used the newer (and smaller) Prism.
They were gone for the day with my brother and stepbrother. I got bored, went down and started it up and drove it about a mile up the country road we lived on. I was too scared to go any further so I turned around and came back. No one was the wiser.
My grandfather’s Subaru Brumby (aka Brat) on his farm. First when I was about 6-7, he would get out of the ute in 1st-low and climb in the back to feed out grain for his stock while I steered. I figure if I wasn’t there he would jump out and hop behind the wheel when he got near the fences – a lot safer with a helper! I don’t remember doing that when I was big enough to reach the clutch, I think instead I was the one in the back with the bags of grain (too small to manage them previously).
My very first time ever behind the wheel of a ‘real’ vehicle was when I was 12 or 13 and my dad finally gave in to me hammering him about starting to teach me to drive. We went to the parking lot of the high school I would soon attend and that’s when I took the helm of our tutone blue and white ’85 Bronco. It looked a lot like this one: http://www.cardomain.com/ride/616881/1985-ford-bronco/
I could’ve spent HOURS behind the wheel of that rig! With the power of a 351W and such a short wheelbase, what a blast. Dad kept a sharp eye on me as I piloted the big Bronc all over the nice empty expanse where I could do no harm. This was well before I got my learners permit but by then. Even though it wasn’t my holy grail Jeep CJ, hell it wasn’t even a Mopar but the ’85 was still an unfathomably cool potential first set of wheels and started planting ideas in my head. Would it someday be mine? If so, the 31″ tires on 15 x8 white spokes would be gone in favor of a 6″ lift, big honkin super swampers on a fresh set of slot mags. The rear fiberglass hardtop would be put in semi-retirement in favor of a soft top, and those dual turbo mufflers had no place on MY future rig, oh HELL no! Cherry bombs for me, thank you! BUT, it was not to be….
Shortly before I got my full on learners permit, we sold the blue ’85 to a family friend. It was getting a few miles on it and while we were taking fewer and fewer trips up to NJ, or down to FL or AL to visit family, this behemoth LOVED its petrol. Our ’79 Vandura was for those trips and it too was getting long in the tooth so we swapped it on a ’88 Eddie Bauer Bronco in copper and tan, looking much like this:http://www.supermotors.net/registry/9036 except under Dad’s control that top would NEVER be removed. With that dopey aerodynamic front clip, a much more homely color scheme and an anemic 302, this wasn’t half the rig of the ’85 but Id much rather be learning on this than the usual buicks and tauruses my friends were learning on. Still, it was a stopgap, and we were down to one vehicle that we actually owned, Dad always had a company vehicle. This would make for the first vehicle I ever took on public roads.
Fast forward to 1990 when I got my actual license. Dad had to give up 2 late 70s 4×4 Fords and badly wanted/needed another pickup. I would need something to drive too, and since it would be primarily in my hands opportunity knocked. Dad would hear nothing of a Jeep since it wouldn’t fulfill pickup duties. A scrambler…well I could’ve talked him into one, IF Jeeps weren’t scarce as hens teeth in west TN back in the day. Dad was even less impressed with the virtues of smaller trucks that I was (except the commanche and Dakota) and a J-series, well…rarer than hens teeth! We looked at chevys, gmc’s and even a few fords (dad really likes his fords) and I came close to getting stuck with a hideous tan and blue tutone F-150…DAMN, what psycho ever came up with the idea of blue and tan?!?! But the price wasn’t right, I balked pretty hard, and my Dad does have a slight preference for manuals. I wanted to learn a stick in the WORST way, so with time we found it: A pristine black with tan interior ’84 Dodge Power Ram! 318, 4 spd granny gear trans, 4wd, short bed, no luxo options but a creampuff with barely 60K on the clock. It looked a bit like this: http://www.cargurus.com/Cars/1984-Dodge-Ram-Pictures-c6662 No, it had no removeable roof and it wasn’t a Jeep but I learned how to drive a stick, and THAT truck is the first vehicle I ever drove all by myself. Dad still owns it, actually. Its seen a 4 inch lift, 360 heads, some engine work…but its still a beauty. One day it will be mine once more! Hopefully not for a while yet though.
Count me in with the lap driving bunch, with my dad in the family ’56 Hillman Husky. I hope to see a write up on that one someday, although I don’t think you could find one at the curb. The first one I drove on my own was a ’63 Corvair when I was 13. I was always small for my age until high school, so I liked that small car. It was well used, and was a stop gap car that Dad bought when the ’62 Lark threw a rod bearing. We had it about a year until we could afford to buy a newer car (a year old ’68 Vista Cruiser). The Corvair had a 4 speed, and I killed it many times before I figured out how to get it going. And now, around 45 years later, most young drivers don’t get to experience a manual transmission.
Like others, I remember steering as a small child while sitting on my father’s and grandfather’s laps, but I don’t recall the specific cars involved. With my dad, it was most likely a ’73 Pontiac Ventura (bought new in the fall of ’72, owned until ’78) or a ’78 Ford Granada that replaced it (bought reconditioned sometime in 1978, after the original owner had experienced a fire under the dash related to the AC system). My grandparents had a succession of 1971-74 Fords of various shapes and sizes (Pinto [X2], Maverick, Gran Torino, Custom 500, F100) and it could have been any of them. My grandparents also used to let me drive a ride-on lawnmower up and down their driveway when I was about ten years old.
The first car I ever drove for real was a 1987 Plymouth Sundance. My parents bought it new in the summer of 1986 (IIRC, the all-new ’87 Sundance/Shadow came out a little earlier than the start of 1987 model year proper), and I first drove it when I got my learner’s permit in 1987. Their other vehicle at the time was a 1976 Ford Club Wagon, which they wouldn’t let me drive because they felt it was too big for a novice driver to handle.
I first started driving at about age 8 on my uncle’s 1939 Ford tractor. But that’s boring.
Not so boring was hubcap stealing in my best friend’s dad’s 1958 Ford Fairlaine 500 with a 332 V8 (Y-block?) with 265 horses, in Mexico City when I was 12. It would shit and git. Stop? Not so much. We would have to breath it until the brakes cooled down. I would spend the night at my friend’s house, and when we were sure his parents were asleep, we would push the Ford out of the garage and down the street when we could start it without waking up his dad.
The adrenaline rush we got when we popped of a cap was one of the most orgasmic feelings I’ve ever had, and certainly better than any of the drugs that I once ingested. My friend made some folding green by selling the pilfered chrome domes to one of the numerous “used” hubcap dealers near where we lived.
As Junior Johnson once responded to the question as to what was more exciting-racing or running liquor, he was succinct. Running hooch. In racing, the worst thing that could happen to you was to not win the race. Running shine, on the other hand, posed other problems for the losers-hitting a big oak on a backroad could be fatal, and getting nabbed by the Feds was good for an extended, all-expense paid stay at the Graybar Hotel. Stealing hubcaps wasn’t quite that dire, but it was a rush.
I think the 332 was the early small displacement FE engine. Believe the 312 was the big Y block.
The first self-powered machine I drove was my father’s ’71 Cub Cadet Hydrostatic Lawn Tractor (149 model). A couple years later he let me steer his white 1965 Impala Sport Sedan (283/powerglide/blue interior) around the block.
A few years later he told me to pull his beat-up white ’76 Eldorado convertible forward a few feet — he was doing something to it (I forgot what). He did not tell me that one must apply the brake when shifting an automatic transmission into gear and it almost got ugly.
The first car I actually drove on the street was my stepmother’s nasty base beige AMC Concord sedan with her in the passenger seat. My driver’s ed car was a base ’84 – ’86 Cavalier sedan which I really liked. My Illinois driver’s license test was taken in my stepmother’s next car, a lavender ’84 Sunbird Convertible with cloudy rear window.
The first vehicle I ever drove by myself was what became my beloved first car, a rusty light blue 1978 Firebird Esprit (Chevy 305-2). Rather than repeat my lengthy diatribe a second time on this site, I’ll just say that my first solo drive in that Firebird was a 12-hour 700 mile journey that cemented my adoration of non-gold ’77-’78 Firebirds.
For me it was my Dad’s friend’s mint 71 Chevy Cheyenne. He borrowed it for us to go fishing and out in the country he let me drive it. I was maybe 10, but tall for my age.
We were an import household by that time and the memories of the Chryslers and Cadillacs were fading. I will never forget that day for many reasons, including it was when I became a GM fan for life.
Holy shit was that C10 smooth. It had the 350/350, factory A/C and a killer blue/ white two tone. I remember chrome trim rings or something like that. The ride was (seriously) like a Cadillac on those country roads. What suspension travel! Later I would learn about its coil spring rear suspension.
Not to sound like a total asshole but that morning I predicted luxury trucks would take off some day. I felt GM made the best vehicles in the world, and they did. Shortly after that I got to drive a 73 Mustang 302 and let me tell you that was a huge piece of shit. I formed a very low opinion of Ford and a fondness for the Mustang II. It was a much better car. Things are all relative you know.
Back when I was about 3-4 years old, I stole the keys to our ’87 Chevy Z-24 from my dad’s pocket while we were at a Dairy Queen..I made it as far as starting the car before the girl at the window told my dad what was transpiring.
First time I actually controlled a vehicle on my own was my dad’s ’88 Chevy K1500 Silverado 5-speed when I was 12..he let me drive it up the road to our driveway (and I did not stall it!)
First vehicle I legally drove would be my mom’s ’99 Pontiac Bonneville..nice riding car, but nothing exciting (never really understood that Pontiac “driving excitement” slogan in the 90’s)
At the age of 12, driving dad’s 1977 Jeep Wagoneer, hauling tree branches (the result of a windy summer storm) from the front yard, around our ranch house, to the backyard fire pit. I was forbidden to touch the accelerator, which was fine because even at idle in Drive it would do 15). I tried to make as many trips as I could, hauling one or two branches at a time, with my arm out on the window and the radio on.
Hmmm, horrifyingly enough for a huge car fan, I can’t remember the first car!! It was in 1988, the moment I turned 15, and was either my parents’ 1983 Mk V Ford Cortina (manual trans) or my grandparents’ 1986 XF Ford Fairmont (auto trans and Aussie model). I drove both around the same time in paddocks on the family farm where my grandparents lived.
I only drove the Cortina once before it was traded on an ’85 Ford Sierra, so the Cortina may have been #1. I remember the non-power steering was heavy at low speed, but the clutch was ok. I did most of my learning in the Sierra – it was nice to drive, although the trans gate (gaite?) was too close together, so I frequently went from 2nd gear to 5th instead of 3rd.
The Fairmont was definitely the first vehicle I drove by myself though, until I was banned(!) at least. My grandfather was shifting the stock for my Uncle and would let me drive the Fairmont while he was doing so. I was practicing slow speed slalom manouvres and discovered the speedo worked in reverse. So naturally I did the slaloms in reverse, as you do. And then repeated them faster to see what the speedo said, as you do. And as I was short for my age, I was kneeling on the seat with one leg, as you do… My Grandmother observed this enthusiastic reverse-slaloming and was strangely not amused, which prematurely ended my Fairmont driving career. Go figure…
Milestones:
* first vehicle I drove (aged 10 in 1984) – a red tractor (Massey Ferguson? International?)
* first time I scared my Dad enough that I wasn’t allowed to drive again until I was of licencing age – the red tractor…
* first vehicle I drove alone (1984) – Honda XR250 motorbike
* first vehicle I crashed (1984) – Honda XR250…
* first car I drove (1988) – ’83 Cortina or ’86 Fairmont
* first car I drove alone (1989) – the Fairmont
* first car I was banned from driving – the Fairmont…
* first manual (and first 4 cylinder and first station wagon) – the Cortina
* first auto (and first 6 cylinder and first sedan) – the Fairmont
* first van (1991) – ’82 Mitsubishi L300
* first column-change manual – the Mitsi above (this did not go well)
* first V8 (1991) – ’75 XB Ford Falcon GS (sounded awesome but was all nice noise and no real power, and had the 5 turns lock-to-lock non-power steer)
* first car I drove alone with passengers other than my instructor (1991) – ’73 Ford Escort
* first car I drove that had the gear level pull out of the transmission tunnel and end up loose in my hand, leaving me confused (1991) – the ’73 Escort
* first rotary (1992) – ’71 Mazda RX2
* first truck I drove, and also first diesel (1995) – 1994 Ford Trader 0510
1968 Datsun 1600 (510), at the age of 10
1985 Ford Mustang at age 6 though I just steered it, my dad shifted the gears and pressed the gas, I guess it doesn’t count.
When I was about 6 in the mid 1950’s, a family friend let me sit on his lap and steer his deep blue ’55 Pontiac 4 door sedan down our driveway. I still remember the Indian head emblem on the steering wheel.
For actual driving, it was probably the family’s ’63 Meteor, on a private dirt road at our summer cottage. There were about 5 cottages on the road, and after the age of about 14 or so most kids were allowed to drive ‘carefully’ on their own. Like most kids then, I had my full license within a month or two of my 16th birthday.
My biggest regret was when a visiting business acquaintance of my father’s took me for a drive in his E-type, in about 1965. He stopped on the highway and offered to let me drive it. I was maybe 15 – and turned him down. Still can’t quite believe that, although the fact that it was a standard had something to do with it.
1st vehicle I ever drove was a Early 1960 Series IIA Land Rover on my grandparents acreage. It was a great work truck & utility vehicle I was 13. Clutch was shot and the engine frequently fouled the spark plugs.
1st Truck vehicle would be a 1994 or 1995 Ford L9000 Aeromax with a 3406E Cat and 7sp pulling doubles over Donner from Reno to Sacramento when I was 26.
My dad had just bought a brand new 1971 19 ft Winnebago Brave. I was 14. We were getting ready to go coast to coast (we lived in Southern California). We would eventually wind up in Erie, Pa where he was born and many of his friends and family still lived. I thought I should make sure the fresh water tank was full, engine, transmission, radiator, etc were all topped up for the long trip. When I took off the radiator cap (attached to a long tube from the grill to the engine between the seats), I could not see any antifreeze at all. I stuck my finger as far as it would reach, still dry. So I got the garden hose out and began to top it off. It ran for a good minute or two, so I stopped and looked again. Still dry. Then I looked on the other side and saw another long tube with a radiator cap on it. I took it off. Antifreeze was right up to the top. Then I read the printing on the radiator cap I first removed. It said “Oil”. Then I pulled out the 4 foot long dipstick attached to a long tube going to the engine. There was what looked like chocolate milk going the whole way to the top of the dipstick handle. Then I looked at the second cap. It said “Radiator”. I knew I would be killed if the old man found out what I did to his new Winnie. My parents were out shopping at the time. I had a 62 VW bug that I was fixing up and had just got running. My first drive was in that car to the parts store to get a case of oil and a couple of oil filters. I learned also how to shift (I pretty much already knew how from moving it in and out of the driveway. Made it back OK and drained the engine, changed the filter and started it. Ran it for a few minutes then drained it out again and put on the second filter. Just as I finished they drove up and I started it up again. The oil looked fine and the engine sounded OK. We took off on our trip with me crapping my pants for the first hour or two, waiting for it to start knocking or blowing up. It ran fine. UNTIL about 3 hours or so, It started to buck and cut out and shake. I knew right then I was dead. The dealer would say, this engine is full of water. What did you do? Then dad reached down to the floor, turned a lever and it started to run perfectly. He had a puzzled look on his face, turned the valve again and the same thing happened. Turns out after we were towed into a shop, he had had a second fuel tank installed and a loose clamp was sucking air, causing it to cut out. I think I sweated out about 5 gallons by the time I found out this was the problem.
Haha, best story yet!
Thanks! I never forget that one. Finally got up the nerve to tell my parents about it, about 20 years later. Mom laughed. Dad smiled, but still had a funny look on his face. They had that Winnie for years, never had any engine problems.
The car that popped my driving cherry, so to speak, was my dad’s nineteen-seventy-something Mini van that had been converted to a station wagon. Motoring come much more basic than that! I was 11 years old and mum was teaching my brother to drive in an empty parking lot. I guess she didn’t find that nerve-wracking enough because she then offered me a turn. After a couple of lurches and stalls I actually got to burn around the car park for a while. Can’t imagine my dad ever letting me do that!
The first car I drove regularly (and in which I learned properly) was the family Subaru Wagon – a 1981 Leone 4wd with four on the floor and 1600 twin carb sport motor swapped in. It wasn’t fast, but when you’re 15, anything feels like a Ferrari after you’ve just climbed off a bicycle!
First vehicle was a Massey-Ferguson tractor, in the lap of my great uncle on his sugar cane farm about the age of five.
First car was a 1977 Chrysler Galant station wagon owned by my parents, which was a rebadged Mitsubishi built in South Australia.
Must have been my Dad’s Citroen DS 20 Pallas on a country road in France when I was 12 or 13… I still remember the sound of the hydraulics “waking up” when you started the engine.
Aside from sitting on dad’s lap at the wheel of his 1950 Plymouth in 1957 at 6 years old going down our alley when we still lived in the city of St. Louis, my first real taste of driving (without touching the gas pedal) was in dad’s 1955 Dodge Royal Lancer La Femme(!) in the Northland Shopping Center parking lot in Jennings, MO on Sundays when I was 13, so I would, in dad’s words, “know what to do” in case something happened to him while going somewhere.
That car was flashy – lots of chrome, white roof, black middle and some sort of pinkish-orange lower, a two-door hardtop.
I learned to drive in dad’s next car – his magnificent 1960 Impala sports sedan – 4 door hardtop. Yes, I rolled all the windows down and opened the vents wide as often as I could, too…
Mom’s 1963 Tempest. Red 4 banger with the shift lever on the dash.
I drove a good one. My sister had a ’68 Cutlass that had a problem with the power seat. My sister isn’t very big, and she’s a “close driver”, so the seat was all the way forward when she drove it, and it kept getting stuck there. The dealer was a friend of my dad’s, so we were well taken care of, even better than most families who bought a lot of cars from that dealer. They came and picked up her car, and left a ’69 Hurst Olds in the driveway. I was about 14, and I had been moving cars for about a year at that point, and my dad sent me to pull his car out of the garage and move the HO over to the other side of the driveway. I got brave and took the HO out onto the street and drove it about a half mile around the neighborhood. Twice. I got away with it. Next car I drove solo was a Plymouth Scamp, a huge step down.
I’m pretty sure it was either my mother’s ’84 Dodge Aries K, or my grandfather’s ealry ’80s Buick LeSabre. It would probably be one of those park it in the driveway situations.
Most of my early driving was spent on ride-on mowers. I also remember cutting alfalfa on my great aunt’s farm as a kid too. I just had to keep the tractor straight while an adult helped me drive.
As for actually legally driving on the road, it was either my mother’s ’91 Escort, or the driving school’s late ’80s Nissan Micra.
Legitimately driving, once I had my learner’s permit, I’m sure my first car I drove was our 1974 Datsun 710 sedan (I later inherited that car). Before that, I’m a bit hazy, as a “laptop” driver I think my Uncle may have had me steering his ’51 Chrysler Windsor (which he inherited from my Grandfather), though I probably also similarly “drove” my Father’s ’65 Olds F85, his ’59 VW bug, and his ’69 Ford Country Squire. The second car I would have legitimately driven was his ’73 Ford Country Sedan. This year I’ll have been a licensed driver for 40 years…hard for me to imagine it was that long ago…I’m sure as with most people here, driving was a big deal to me when I first started out
Does sitting on my cousin Bert’s lap steering his 51 Dodge Coronet count? I was 4 at the time. Pretty heady stuff for a four-year-old car nut!
I notice that Glen.h also had his first drive on a Massey-Ferguson tractor. I working at a large ranch when I was around 14 and just pulling trailers and what not around the service yard. That lasted a month and I was then put on a Caterpillar D8 so that I could pull a land plane. In retrospect that D8 had a lot of what today’s macho guy looks for in a vehicle. It had a big bad ass diesel engine, a six speed manual transmission, the appearance of at least a 18 inch lift, some real road hugging weight and a sinister appearance.
I will admit that it was a tad tedious on “cruise night” but at least it would get you noticed.
The absolute first motorized vehicle I “drove” was a Penn Central EMU for about 100 feet in Croton Harmon station when I was 4 years old.
The first gasoline powered vehicles were go karts in summer camp and the first car was the family’s 1974 Volvo 164E.
The first vehicle I actually drove was a Ford 8N tractor, pulling a grain box from the owner’s very rural Minnesota farm down a dirt road to a neighbor’s where the cornfield was being harvested.
The first road vehicle would have had to be Pop’s 1950 Packard with Ultramatic.
A red 1972 Chevy Vega. It was my grandma’s car. I got it after she was no longer able to drive. Awful car, but I still have fond memories of all the things that happened while I had it.
If rolling a car down the driveway and accross the street backwards counts, a 55 Chrysler T&C. At 15, a 72 Buick Estate Wagon, my hot rod!!
12 or 13 years old, 1990 or 91 Chevy Corsica — demo car my dad from the Chevy dealer where he worked. Yeah, it wasn’t even our car. And it was mom who took me out.
“Turn.”
“Turn!”
“TURN!!!“
2002 Buick Rendezvous…one of the first off the line. First time was in a parking lot in Torrington, CT.
In a snowstorm.
The exchange between Mother and Son went exactly like that in your situation
Car was a POS off the showroom floor, but i got my license in it!
Dad let me shift his 5 speed 1980 (iirc) Toyota Celica Supra when I was around 7 or so.
First time driving was when I was 11, in Mom’s boyfriend’s 1987 Escort Wagon with a 4 speed manual that he had just gotten from his parents when they switched to an automatic. He had his private pilot’s license, so he taught me to drive in the service drives of the local airport. After a week or two, we saw a cop pulling in to look around. We quickly switched spots and left without an issue, but I swore off underage driving for a few years (yeah, I was a “good kid”…).
A couple years later, Grandpa asked me to start his 1987 Buick Somerset 3.0 automatic to let it warm up for church. I told him I didn’t know how to start a car with an automatic transmission! Guess I never paid much attention to how it was done when I was a passenger, and mom and dad both had manual trans vehicles at the time.
Other Grandpa died when I was 14, and I spent the latter part of the summer driving his 1979 Chevy “Big 10” 350/350 around the fields picking up cucumbers that the harvester missed in between helping Dad and stepmom get the farm ready for an auction that September.
Mom passed down her 1987 Buick Somerset with the Iron Duke and 5 speed (How many families had two 1987 Somersets at the same time?) to me when I was 15. I promptly lost the only set of keys (fortunately, the dealership was able to cut a new one from GM records, they said the record would’ve been gone the following year) and backed over a small tree when turning it around in the driveway.
Driver’s Ed was me and another guy who’d also been driving for years goofing off and laughing at those who were obviously getting behind the wheel for the first time.
Do you remember when GM actually built a great sub-compact car? It was an Opel and it was built in Zaragoza (Spain). It was the Opel Corsa. My father bought the UGLIEST version of this car 22nd June 1983 with the UGLIEST colour (called “Canaveral Green”). I remember that date because it’s my brother’s birth year and almost my birthdate. I remember how my dad was thrilled because it was a 5-speed manual
Fast forward 5 years. There was a flat piece of cleared land near our house, where now there’s a park and a lot of buildings. So one day my dad calls me to clean the car and when we finish he says “Come on, I’ll teach you how to drive”. So he placed me at the wheel (I was 13, so big enough) taught me the tricks of stick shifting (we Europeans don’t need no autos) and off we went. Of course I didn’t know how to brake properly yet less how to shift down gears but I remember as one of the best days of my life because I was a petrolhead already.
Second time was very interesting as well, as an uncle two of my cousins was actually a driving instructor (he had this as a second job) and gave us a proper lesson with double peldals using a Renault 18 Diesel. That was great as well, but nothing as the fabulous Opel Corsa 1.2 TR of my father, which looked exactly like this one:
On a bitter cold January afternoon on a back road in Northwestern Pennsylvania, I was attempting to learn how to maneuver my father’s ’65 VW Bus in preparation for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’s driver’s road test. Under powered but fairly easy to shift, the bus’s notoriously bad handling characteristics and my untrained hand came to bear when at the crest of a hill, where I hit a patch of glare ice which sent me into a series of fishtail swerves. I remember trying to control the swaying breadbox with that humongous steering wheel all to no avail, eventually rolling it over on the passenger side in a snowbank next a farmer’s field.
After the old man told me to “get your a** off of me” – I landed on top of him – we got out, righted the machine and after straightening the passenger side’s outrigger mirror, continued on with the lesson.
A humbling experience but one that has remained with me.
In 1957 I was 13. Mom had a ’57 Chevy and my dad had a ’54 or ’55 VW. Can’t remember the exact year, but it still had the flippers in the door posts for turn signals. I already had some experience with the VW driving it on the dirt roads of a nearby farm, but I had never been on the street.
One day the VW had a dead battery, and my dad asked if I would drive the VW while he towed it with the Chevy and we would “pull start” it. Brief instruction followed: “You put it in gear and hold the clutch in. I’ll get us going, and when you see me wave just let the clutch out. It’ll start right up.” We pushed the VW to the street, he found an old piece of manilla rope about 20′ long, tied the back bumper of the Chevy to the front bumper of the VW and we were ready.
OK. Check list: ignition on, choke on part way, in gear, clutch in. Dad eased the rope taut and we were rolling. When we got to about 15 mph or so I saw my dad wave so I popped the clutch on the bug. The only problem was that dad neglected to tell me what gear to have it in and I had it in 1st. The rear tires on the VW dragged for 10 or 15 feet before the tow rope parted like a kite string. A post-mortem of the incident revealed the Chevy was ok, but the bumper of the VW was pulled slightly out. We were lucky that the rope was as old and rotted as it was.
Oh, the VW started, and my first drive on the street was around the block to get home.
1972 Buick Estate Wagon. 455cid, Rochester quadrajet carb.
It belonged to my brother. He purchased it to haul around his electric bass, amps, and gear. Our Dad didn’t believe in pickups or vans, so my brother got the biggest boat he could find. I drove it around Lake Merced in San Francisco in 1980. I was 13.
Incidentally, when the Rochester carb got all gummed up, my brother allowed me to rebuild it—I was still 13. Up to that point, I had only dissassembled the carb for cleaning on our Briggs and Stratton lawn mower engine, but I have always been fairly confident about my ability to get things back together. After spending a whole day on that carb, I bolted it back on, and gave the engine a crank. Once the fuel pump filled the bowl, it over flowed out the top vent hole—I left out a rather important o-ring on the float valve. The carb came off again the next day, o-ring installed, and all was well.
Q-jets are not exactly simple carbs, but don’t let them intimidate you. If I could rebuild one at 13, you might be able to as well.
If you count being a “laptop” driver, then my Dad’s 1962 Fairlane 500, but I really can’t remember when that was, maybe 1966 or 1967. It was before we got our 1967 VW Fastback, which I remember for other reasons.
I think I may have actually achieved a number of goals on a vehicle I did drive by myself, a neighbor’s 1976 Jeep CJ-7 with the 258 six + three speed man trans and nice set of Jackman wheels. Those wheels were the hot ticket back in the mid-70’s, everyone had them on their Jeeps and trucks back then.
A rather violent summer storm had blown through our area and several trees near our houses had lost their limbs (one of which landed on my first car-to-be, my brother’s 1969 Ford Torino GT). So many branches had fallen we were essentially trapped in our neighborhood.
My neighbor needed my assistance to help move the larger branches that had fallen with his Jeep. He would tie a tow strap around the large ones and I was to ease the limbs out of the way with the Jeep. Being that it was the first time I’d driven a manual (I was all of 13), it took me a while to get the feel for it, but eventually, I got it right. Once we got the really big branches blocking the streets out of the way, we went for a little ride around the area to survey the damage, and my neighbor let me drive him around! I felt like a king!
Yes, I still want a CJ-7 somewhere in my MM garage…
Like about 10% of commenters on this thread, my first time was on a farm, age 12. My father’s insurance firm held (or maybe wanted to hold) the policy on an apple orchard, and one fine summer Saturday we took the ’66 Wildcat about two hours outside of town so my dad and the farmer could talk turkey. Nobody knew it but my dad had only a few months to live, so this was one of the last trips we ever took together anyplace. While the men talked business inside, I wandered the premises. Some friendly farmhand there noticed my interest in the decommissioned, deplated 1956-or-so Buick that had been whittled down to an open-cab flatbed for chores around the property. It had an automatic, so I was allowed to drive it for a couple of minutes on the gravel pathways between the rows of apple trees. I manage to stay out of the ditches, and had more fun than I’d ever had on any rollercoaster or Tilt-a-Whirl at the fair.
My legal driving on the highways and byways of our lives arrived four years later, with my (now-widowed) mother teaching me to drive on her rather pretty copper/black ’67 Dart two-door h/t (no driving school for me!). It too was an automatic, but otherwise fairly bare-bones: /6; steering by Armstrong; braking by Legstrong; and windows by Fingerstrong. Got my license with it while I was still 16. That Dart was great for pulling donuts in the parking lot of my old gradeschool after hours… though of course only if there was a layer of snow or ice on the pavement
1974 Pontiac Grand Prix, faded red with most of the clearcoat and the vinyl top deteriorating, trunk rusting out and interior completely ravaged, wouldn’t have been embarrassed to drive a Malaise Era GM A-Special except that my dad had plastered the arse end with conservative gun-lover stickers and it went to the junkyard after about a month of me driving it, since Lane County ordered my folks to clean up their hoarded property in Santa Clara and the GP was unneeded.