Family Loss

I’ve been fairly fortunate in that I have been able to part with various cars in my life, with a minimal amount of pain and sense of loss. I remember when I sold my Lotus 51, my grandfather commented, “How can you sell it after spending all those countless hours restoring it?” I really didn’t have a good answer for him. I had bought it as a 30-year-old derelict hulk with a couple of boxes of loose parts and over the course of a year, turned it into a concours winner. And yet, when someone came along with a fistful of money, how could I refuse? The Lotus moved on to a new home and I moved on to my next project car.

But with that said, I think at some point in time we all own cars that hold deeper meaning and connection for us—ones that, like a loved one, become a part of our very identity. Of all the vehicles to have this kind of a relationship with, oddly enough, I have a 20-year-old Ford Pickup truck that, at this point, I don’t know if I’ll ever part with! I’ve driven it a quarter of a million miles (the equivalent of ten times around the planet Earth!). That truck has seen me through graduate school, the birth of all my children, the birth of my business, countless race weekends, and has been a reliable daily part of my life for nearly 20 years. How do you decide one day to part with your right arm?