Scribbles by ME

Ruby the Red Corvette Convertible

Not long ago my husband asked me what kind of car I had always wanted.  I told him it was an older model BMW.  I liked antique cars. He messed around on the Internet and came up with the perfect car and a convertible to boot.  We made arrangements to go and see the car the next week.  I wasn't very excited at first, but after he had made an appointment to see this treasure, I began to picture myself in this beauty.  I began to plan where I wanted to keep it and what I would name her.

A few days later he got up after a fitful sleep and announced that we weren't going to get the BMW because he feared I might have an accident, I wouldn't be very well protected. He also decided we didn't really need to spend the money.  After all, he reminded me, we have three perfectly good vehicles.  So, I was a bit disappointed, but I agreed with his reasoning.

He was quite busy on the computer for a couple of weeks.  Then, one day he showed me this "awesome" car he had found:  a 1993 red Corvette convertible that would be considered an antique in just three years.  He continued to talk about this car until, finally--seeing the handwriting on the wall--I told him to buy the darn thing. 

Three days later I found myself in St. Louis on the way to pick up this beauty and bring her home.  I was pretty certain the BMW wasn't made out of plastic like the Corvette and cost less than the Corvette.  But, I kept my thoughts to myself.

There were several hurdles we had to overcome in the opening days of Corvette Convertible ownership:
1.  Trying to figure out how to put the top up and down. We still don't know how to put the top down.  Yes, we have an instruction book.
2.  Trying to decide the best way to "pour" myself into the passenger side took some practice.  To get out of the car I named Ruby, I have to literally crawl on all fours.  Have you ever seen a 66-year-old woman trying to exit a Corvette or any low-to-the-ground vehicle?  I hope not because it is not a pretty sight.
3.  We live three miles down a dirty/gravelly/rocky/holey road.  Getting Ruby the Corvette DOWN the road and home, nearly made Rick have a nervous breakdown.
4.  The next day we are off to get the license plates.....NOT.
5.  Dead battery.  A car dealership that we bought one of our other cars from, sent a tow truck. About a 30 mile trip. Rick was in the throes of hyperventilation trying to figure out how to get the car onto the flatbed truck without damaging his baby.  Make that BABY.  I just went into the house.  The thoughts I had at this point should not be recorded.  A grandchild might read this blog someday.
6.  Seven hundred dollars and two days later, we made the 45-minute drive to pick up Her Royal Highness.
7.  We make a sixty-mile round trip and another journey over the dirt road with Rick in tears.
8.  Rick couldn't keep his hands of HRH in the next few days.  He polished, wiped, fondled, and inspected every inch of Ruby.
9.  Several sleepless, napless days later, he decided that we must find a storage unit to store the car in.  Horrors of horrors!  He had found our outdoor cat Callie-the-One-Eyed-Wonder on top of his car.  Her muddy tracks convicted her instantly.
10.  I won't even go into the problems we had getting the Corvette to the storage unit, but I will mention that--sight unseen-we have  paid for one year in advance at a storage unit about 15 minutes from our house.
11.  It turns out the storage units are not built like a garage where you just drive in.  They have a concrete step of maybe six-inches.  In other words, Ruby the Corvette was not going into the unit without metal ramps.  I was nominated  to return home and get ours.  It was a tedious adventure, but one we did overcome.  Ruby was stored with a white cover made especially for her and locked securely inside the storage unit.
12.  A week later we prepared to take her on a cruise drive.  We pack up everything we need which isn't much because Ruby doesn't hold much more than us.  We borrow better metal ramps and attempt  to drive her out.  SURPRISE!  She catches part of her undercarriage on the ramps and is teeter-tottering half in and half out!  She won't budge.  Rick goes bananas.  I wisely keep my damn mouth shut after mentioning that there is a tire garage two doors down.  Perhaps they might help.  Several minutes later help arrives.  All that we have to do is have me put the car in reverse while the two men push up a tad and backwards.  (Would this be an appropriate time to mention that I have never driven a 6-speed in the floor and have always had a difficult time getting any kind of manual transmission in reverse?) No, I didn't think so. 
13.  The Superman who had come to help us pointed out that if we turned the ramps over--as they were made to work--the car would not have hung up.  I didn't dare inquire of Rick what this advice and help cost us.
14.  I spent four horrifying hours in Ruby with Rick at the wheel. In my mind I appeared as one of those stuffed cats people use to suction-cup to their car windows.  Rick came to hair-pin curves, never braked, and just generally zoomed all afternoon. I wanted to upchuck all over his stupid car.  He continued to reassure me that Corvettes were made for this kind of road and driving fast, very fast.  I wasn't impressed.  Where is a policeman when you need one?  Next, time I'll stay home.