The bench seat had more springs than - well - this and had been reupholstered with something very scratchy (although I'm sure it was the most durable stuff available).
It took FOREVER to roll down the windows. I'm sure I rode in the truck during colder weather, but in my mind the windows are open and those seats are scratching the back of my bare legs.
The sound of the engine as it revved toward the next gear still has a soothing effect. The clutch was tight, so gear grinding was a fairly standard event. But even that sound doesn't startle me out of pacificity.
At the bottom of the gear shift column was something that resembled a stack of pancakes. Similar to this - except all the pancakes were the same size.
My OCD tendencies were in full force even then. I would stick each finger into a fold of that shift boot. Never mind that my fingers could get pinched during gear changes and that Grandpa would get upset that my hand was where he had no reason to expect it.
What did your grandpa drive?
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