My interest in history has some roots here.
When I was very small, possibly before I started kindergarten, my Dad took me and my younger sister for a ride around the block in his Model A Ford.
It was his high school car, given to him in the ’50s by his father after Dad said he wanted ‘a car that he could work on.’ It became the longest project of his life. When he (and two years later, his brother) went to college in Minnesota, he drove this from Albany, and drove it back for Christmas and summers every year. It never had a top speed above 45, and he has tales of stalling in the snow, pushing it downhill, running to jump back in.
It had no brakes for our ride around the block, I think he managed it with the gears. He is now downsizing, in his way. To prepare the Model A for the move to storage, where he plans to continue working on it, he machined new parts for it, repaired an axle, and rebuilt the mechanical brakes. I am going to inherit this thing someday.