The old Plymouth always got us to where we wanted to go, but an impatient person would never have been able to drive it. Forty miles an hour seemed to be it's top speed and Dad rarely went above thirty-five. He always had a large following, of cars that is. We looked like the engine of a long train plugging along. It's a good thing no one thought of road rage in those days.
Dad was always looking at the temperature gauge and if it got too high, he would take the car out of gear and we would coast for a couple hundred yards and then continue on for another few miles until it got hot again. One time the brake line broke and we finished the last thirty miles to Grandpop's farm with just the emergency brake. That was fun on the hills.
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