I rediscovered this story I'd written back in 2019 capturing the fun, emotional journey of them buying their first classic car.
Following on the heels of a racist flake in Modesto offering a crimson first generation Corvair coupe, we were a bit crestfallen. Laurence's $5000 budget to snag a mid-century car was into its second concerted month of hunting. Another in northeastern Nevada, painted in Pert Plus metallic green was another candidate, but we neither had the time nor desire to go look at it by driving Lily, my weathered 1965 mustang coupe all the way into the desert in winter.
We'd shifted from looking from Craigslist to Facebook marketplace on a whim and hit refresh...a new listing? Posted 20 minutes ago in suburban Sacramento no less, and just $3000...we poured over the photos. Charmingly weathered "Artesian Turquoise" 1965 Corvair sedan with just the right amount of patina. We immediately sent a feeler message out to Arturo, a community college student and current owner. He responded promptly, and over the next few days in December set up a date to go look at the car. Sunday, December 22nd.
Late Saturday night a storm came in rather intensely, dumping thick sheets of rain all night and into the morning, but we weren't going to cancel because of a little spot of California rain were we? Sunday morning we hopped into the Mustang and I was glad I'd just Rain-X'd the windshield and replaced the wipers, because it was the squall of the decade. Punching the 200ci straight six up to highway speeds on the 880 in between ubiquitous Hondas, Toyotas and Amazon delivery trucks was a preview of what was to come.
We hydroplaned a bit on the poorly engineered curve onto the 980 and the wheel wheels surged with water, the new tires keeping grip well. Mist blanketed the roadway which made the windshield wipers hopeless, only the passenger side defroster duct was working, so I had Laurence hold an Athearn "blue box" model train carton over the duct to redirect it back towards my side. The rain poured harder as we approached the Caldecott Tunnel, a harrowing reprieve thanks to the original bore having such narrow lanes.
We popped out of the tunnel hoping the leeward side of the hills would be drier, but it was even more intense of a downpour. Water began leaking down the A-pillar and onto my shoes. The rubber seals long gone along the windows and the steel drain rails had turned to Swiss cheese decades ago. The interior fogged up even more and I had Laurence squeegee the windshield all the way to the Benecia bridge. Approaching the toll booth, the winds were very high, the rain sideways.
I gave the toll tender the now soggy $6 and rolled up the window for whatever that was worth. Wind whistled through the cracks as 40+ mph winds blew east across the span. Drifting semis and crossovers not looking where they were going made for a harrowing ride. On the far side of the bridge the rain was teasing hail, and traffic slowed sensibly to 45 mph and visibility was less than 200 feet. The brakes, myself and Laurence were waterlogged. I felt like Captain Billy Tyne of the Andrea Gale. We both looked at each other knowing we'd hopefully survived the worst.
We trundled through Vacaville and we'd had enough of the freeway, and jumped off at Pederick road, a lonely gas station in the middle of a farm field. We realized that the storm was chasing us northeast the entire time, and as we zoomed down this beautiful, straight country road, the clouds let up.
Farm fields gave way to bizarre 1970's ranch style subdivisions without any transition. Suddenly we were just a few blocks from Arturo's place and the rain was back, but not as bad. We parked, texted Arturo that we'd arrived and we spotted the Corvair across the street. I snapped a photo of it from the Mustang and we went out to take an initial look.
Glistening in drizzle, the Artesian Turquoise popped beautifully against the steely sky, the paint had cracked evenly all over, like a dry lake bed, revealing the oxide primer underneath in such a beautiful way. There were color matched patches here and there, which I snapped a magnet against to make sure they were all steel and not bondo. The left rear quarter panel had a weird rumple, but otherwise the body was gorgeous. It looked very well maintained especially for being 54 years old. The white interior and Corsa gauge cluster looked striking and not any major hint of wear other than a single headliner seam that'd given way across the center of the roof. The engine bay was immaculate, even with its original paint job inside and deep gloss black air cleaner and engine shroud.
Arturo, and his Dad came out to meet us, and he assured us that the car ran and that he had a bunch of extra parts as well if we wanted to buy it. So, after checking out the interior, we had him fire it up and then Laurence took the wheel. I couldn't resist taking a shot of Laurence behind the wheel for the first time. Quite a departure from his rapidly deteriorating 1990 Cadillac that had brought him to and from a misadventure in Oregon.
The 110 growled to life in an entirely new sound to us from the regular water cooled Mustang or Caddy. It had a nice get up and go, having us circle the neighborhood. The Independent front suspension performing admirably better over the Mustang's buckboard stock leaf springs. We had quite a bit of fun, and I could tell Laurence was sold.
The price was so generous we didn't haggle at all for such an uncommon variant, and he threw in a bunch of parts he had for the car as well. Also it was the holidays and his Community College life probably needed some extra cash anyhow. We walked in and his dad offered us a welcome cup of coffee for our soggy selves. Arturo learned from his dad how to do a proper bill of sale and Laurence shook hands with him and his dad and handed him the keys. We finished our coffees and headed out.
We conferred that we definitely needed to buy windshield wipers immediately, so we asked where the best auto parts store was and headed over. After some digging at the parts store we got fresh wipers and a replacement headlight and headed for victory lunch at a fun mid-century diner nearby. Over pancakes we excitedly planned the trip back (about 80 miles) and about future plans for the car and tinkering.
The rain gave way to a golden afternoon as we reversed our course. We stopped at an ARCO before hitting the road and a guy on a bicycle asked if it was his Corvair, and Laurence confidently answered "yes."
Laurence encountered the first idiosyncrasy of the Corvair; modern gas pumps fill the tank too fast and it seemed to trip the "full" sensor on the gas hose. We were kind of baffled by it, but thankfully realized what was up and filled the tank enough to get back. Also the fuel gauge was improperly adjusted, so he was flying blind there as I also was in the Mustang.
We punched it to 50 out on the two lane blacktop headed back towards the freeway and the stippled golden late afternoon light through the eucalyptus tree wind breaks over the body of the Corvair was a treat to see from the Mustang. We decided to have Laurence lead the way so if there was any trouble he could signal to get off the road and we could help each other out, since his turn signals weren't working. After a bit of mixed communication at the gas station adjacent to the freeway we took both cars out onto the freeway, and we got to see the Corvair stretch her legs.
Keeping up with traffic, we effortlessly ate up the miles back across the Benicia Bridge, and through the Caldecott Tunnel, opening up onto that unparalleled vista of the entirety of downtown San Francisco aglow in sunset, the bay itself, electric blue. Arriving back at the workshop at dusk, we were exhilarated! Mission complete. I appreciatively patted hood of the Corvair and then headed home. What a perfect holiday gift for Laurence after such a tumultuous year. Now we both have autos from 1965, and it wouldn't be long until we really got greasy under the hood of both cars to really enjoy the fun of working on fully analog automobiles.
Photos & words by me.
