Hitting the Road in a 1991 Pontiac 6000

It garnered two MPG more than the “Cash for Clunkers” program would allow.

US Fidelis, the Rusty Wallace-endorsed company that insures older cars, won’t ensure it because it’s over 15 years old.

I’ve replaced nearly everything on it – from the brakes and the shocks and the struts, to the fuel injectors, the ignition box, the front grille, the headlights and the headlining.

The last time I checked, its Kelley Blue Book value is the equivalent of a couple of tanks of gas.

But you know what?  It’s my car.  And I will do whatever it takes – within reason – to keep my 1991 Pontiac 6000 sedan in decent shape.

And you’re thinking… “Chuck, with all the cars out there at the dealerships and whatnot, why in the world are you driving a piece of junk like that?”

You think I could put together a blog piece if I DIDN’T drive a car like that?

The whole thing starts in Oklahoma City.  That’s where my car was manufactured, at the Pontiac factory.  Somehow it made its way to a dealership in Wellesley, Massachusetts, where my grandmother bought the car.

At the time, my grandmother was in her 80’s, and her cataracts made it difficult for her to drive anywhere but from her house in West Roxbury, Mass. to the beauty parlor downtown.  How she was able to retain a valid Massachusetts driver’s license during that time period, I’ll never know.

For years, whenever I would visit her, she would ask me to make sure the car was inspected.  And somehow the car passed inspection – even though it probably didn’t garner more than 50 miles of travel in a year.

In 2004, I decided it was time to change how things operated.  The next time I went to Massachusetts to visit my grandmother, I told her flat out – “You can’t drive any more.  I won’t hear of it.  If you need to get from one place to another, I will pay for cabs to come to pick you up and take you wherever you want to go.  But I don’t want to get a call and find out you couldn’t see an intersection and drove into what would eventually become a major car accident.”

My grandmother reluctantly agreed.  We exchanged some money and the title – and the Pontiac 6000 was now mine.

I had inherited a 13-year-old car that, for all intents and purposes – and despite annual inspections by the Massachusetts Department of Motor Vehicles – was barely safe to drive.  The tires were pitted and rotting.  The brakes were worn.  The shocks had as much support as 40-year-old pantyhose.  The paint job was fading and peeling.  There were dents in the right passenger side door frame.  The weather stripping had cracked and pitted, allowing the car to develop an internal frame leak.

This wasn’t a case of me trying to get a car.  This was a case of me making sure that none of these things caused an accident in which my grandmother would have been injured – or could have injured someone else.

I somehow nursed the car back to Albany, and immediately went to work on it.  This would essentially be my first personal car (not counting cars in the past that my wife and I leased).  And with that in mind, I began to replace and repair – and in some cases, stylize – whatever I could on the car.

First off – a new paint job, and the repairing of any dents or scrapes.  Thanks, Maaco.

Shocks and struts and brakes and an ignition box – a combination of Midas, Sears, Monro and Pep Boys.

Since the Pontiac was over ten years old, I found that I could take it to any General Motors dealership, so my adopted dealership of choice became DePaula Chevrolet-Hummer’s “Red Team” of Dennis Walters and his associates.  The Red Team at DePaula treats my car with respect and care, no matter whether the problem is small (my blower motor conking out) or big (an engine rebuild, for which they loaned me a Chevy Tahoe to drive until my 6 was roadworthy again).

Over time, I’ve thought about replacing the “6” – my nickname for the car – but over the past half a decade, I’ve gotten attached to this car.  It’s part of my psyche.  The dents in the car now are the ones caused by me.  The rust along the wheel wells are from my driving.  It’s taken me 100,000 miles in the past five years – as far south as Baltimore and Virginia; as far west as Cleveland and Toronto; as far east as Boston, and as far north as Quebec City.

Last week, I looked in the Want Ad Digest to see if there were any Pontiac 6000’s for sale – apparently one Capital District owner is selling his 1986 Pontiac 6000 for $400 or best offer.

So if my wife starts griping about my old car… I might just get an OLDER model!