A ride with a difference.
There is a certain prestige attached to wheeling about in an old car. The older the better although we are a few decades away from driving the envy of our neighbourhood. An elderly Peugeot doesn't quite pass as an old Morris Minor.
Don't get me wrong, I like our chariot with all its foibles and scratches because it does what a car is meant to do...gets us from A to B. Nothing more, nothing less. The only tiny bit of a drawback is when the climes drop below freezing. The handbrake goes on strike and one can pull it with all one's might...it turns to putty in one's hand.
Isn't it typical, when you haven't got it, you need it. Parking now needs to be thought out in advance. First gear refuses to take over as a deterrent for rolling backwards, and often there are just not enough parking places that are on the straight and narrow. Not to mention the fear of all driving students...a hill start.
Bob rolls his eyes as he doesn't quite believe me. For some reason he usually finds flat parking spaces and has only once had to brick it up to keep my hysterical preditcions at bay. Unlike me who had a scary moment only this morning while parking on a minute incline which in summer doesn't need the aid of a handbrake but today made the car inch a few centimeters backward until I lodged a brick under the front tire.
Yes, I tend to travel with brick or thick log and have become adept at speedily putting it in place. An hour or two later can get quite interesting and hair-raising as often the brick has decided to morph into an ice block unwilling to dislodge. Try edging a heavy car forward enough to kick the brick...not much fun.
Rather quaintly, I have my own brick at a friends house, hidden near the wall and reserved for me only...not many others who'd need it anyway. Winter is an adventure of note, sometimes funny, sometimes horrible but hardly ever boring.