Ford Laser | RIOT’S REDEMPTION

Do you have a name for your car? I call mine Lancy. Lancy is the perfect mummies car, she has a nice compact exterior for easy parking, but she’s roomy inside with a lovely large wagon back end, plenty of room for baby, pram, food shopping etc. I’ve owned Lancy, a Mitsubishi Lancer Wagon for over a year now and it was only the other day when I was driving into Newcastle that I decided she needed her own name. I was willing her to overtake a truck up a hill – my inner monologue was something along the lines of: “Come on get up the hill, come on Betsy you can do it, hmm I can’t call her Betsy, umm Lancer, Lance, no not lance it’s a she, Lancy? Yeah that’ll do, Come on Lancy you can do it”. She totally over took the truck, redlining it. All my Cars have had names, hence why I thought Lancy deserved her own. Lancy Love

My first car was a little Ford Laser hatchback which my father gave me when I got my licence. My friends and I named Her Noah because she was filled with all sorts of stuffed animals, in my head Noah was female just super cool with a male name. Noah used to spend her time: going on late night drives to Gosford, playing music too loud, speeding around corners too fast, rubbing her belly on dirt roads and fire trails and playing chicken with guard rails up at Mt Sugarloaf. Noah only had a little engine, but before I got her she was in good nick, she had a light little body and was quite nimble. I think about Noah often and hope she’s loved wherever she is now.

I sold Noah to buy a Suzuki Vitara 4WD wagon, something a bit more capable on the dirt roads of the Watagan Mountains that I’d come to love driving. I don’t quite remember naming the Suzuki, but she became Betsy in the end. “Come on Betsy, you can do it, you can do it” Betsy’s little clapped out 1.6 engine didn’t like to move much. Once she got wound up a roundabout or corner would always come along and I’d been screaming “f*#k hold on Betsy, please Betsy” as the rear tyres squealed and bounced sideways. Betsy spent her time: on the beach, playing music too loud, bouncing around the Riffle Range, running over gutters and freaking out people in car parks (she used to pull up and smoke would rise from under her bonnet as she had messy leaks that required extra oil and water to be carried at all times). I sold Betsy when she became unused as I was walking to work and had my husband’s Patrol to drive. Betsy went to a young fella who loved her, but crashed her, she’s a cube now.

Bombodore, the Holden VT Commodore sedan. F*#k me I loved this car. I used to drive it around whenever my parents would go away – because driving a Commodore was way cooler than driving my laser, especially to go lapping in town. My mother owned her for ten years, and then I owned her for another four. She was Me. She was Family. She was Heavy, Noisy, Oily, Big, Boisterous and Beautiful. I have fond memories of riding in her as a child, found memories of freaking out my dad when he took for a driving lesson in her and found memories of the first time I drove her around in a circle in the dirt. The Bombodore spent her time: chewing up tyres and fuel, going around in circles in the dirt, playing music too loud and driving around aimlessly smelling like tobacco. She’s a cube now, I ran her into the ground and she enjoyed every minute of it, as did I. I will always love her.

There was also a point in time where I road my dad’s Honda 110 Postie Bike around, I crashed it twice and then went and bought a Honda 125 Scooter, I then fell pregnant and sold the scooter.

Anyway back to Lancy. Lancy spends her time: taking my son to swimming lessons and doing the food shopping. Umm yeah, Lancy hasn’t met a dirt road and she hasn’t had a sub-woofer and aftermarket speakers fitted – Yet – I’ve promised her there will be a time when she gets to enjoy playing music too loud and driving around aimlessly, once my sons older.

I feel that each car I’ve owned has matched the point I was at in my life. Maybe it’s that our cars are an extension of ourselves – Would you agree?

Memory: Learning to drive.

My father is a very calm man, but I’ve never seen him as stressed as when he was trying to teach me to drive.

He was in the process of fixing up an old Manuel Toyota Corolla for me, when I first got my learners licence. He had previously let me drive around in country paddocks in his 4WD Patrol. But after the first time we took his rather wide and powerful Nissan Patrol on the road he decided he was going to get me a small automatic car with power steering and he quickly sold the Corolla and got a Ford Laser. The Laser was immaculate once he was done fixing it up. I loved that Laser. It was nice and easy to drive.

I should add that my dad is a panel beater and this was back in the day when you could buy a write-off and repair it, which is exactly what he did with the Corolla and the Laser.

My dad refused to try and teach me to park, so he paid a driving instructor with a Toyota Rav4 to do that.

There was a time in-between him fixing up the laser that he took me for a lesson in my mother’s Holden Commodore, which for a 16 year old with not much driving experience was an army tank, big and powerful. I loved it. He gritted his teeth the entire time, I think it made him get the laser fixed quicker.

It was a fine day and we heated up to visit my grandfather at Kurri. A lot of the roads on the way the speed limit is 80/90, but I doubt I was going anywhere near that as it was one of my first times on the road. My dad would keep getting me to pull over to the side of the road so all the cars behind us could go past. I can remember on one of these pull out of the way stops, I was gliding to a nice smooth stop before a road marker and he was jumping up and down in his seat saying STOP! I was very cranky because I thought I did a beautiful smooth breaking job just like the paid driving instructor had been teaching me. I explained this to my father and his response was ‘’Break harder and faster when you’re in the car with me” The more I think about it, I think that was the only time he took me out in my mother’s car.

The difference between my mother and fathers teaching Technics where like night and day. My Dad would freak out and tell me to slow down and STOP!! and the radio was always off!! My Mum would sit in the passenger seat, relax and tune out to the music on the radio as I drove around collecting my minimum hours.

I would also like to point out I got my licence first go and scored 98% on my test, losing only two points for my reverse park (which is really amusing as I nearly always reverse into parking spots these days). So both my parents’ methods of teaching me to drive worked. The fella in the Rav4 paid off to, as neither of my parents had to try to teach me to park.