My first (and only) car was a 1986 Chevy Astro minivan, grey on the bottom and white on top with a very thin red stripe running horizontally along the center separating the two. By the time I inherited this oversized vehicle box in high school, it had been in the family for over a decade. It was defiantly not cool.
But! It was a super efficient people-mover, with seatbelts for six (or seven), not including me. Its gargantuan size also meant there was plenty of room for all my junk, which piled up like absolute crazy: papers, notebooks, slightly damp towels and speedos from water polo and swim practice. Opening the sliding side door was an "at your own risk" kind of thing because I couldn't reach all the way over from the driver's seat so was never too sure what had fallen in the footwell.
The tape deck that all but wore out our Graceland and Cloud Nine cassettes on so, so, so, so many road trips growing up was eventually swapped out for a CD player, which was pretty much the best thing ever. From then on, I was never without my entire collection, each disc slipped into those portable cases that opened like books and made for easy on-the-go soundtracking.
I loved loved loved clunking around in this thing.
Aaaanyway! I got to thinking about the old beater this morning because Mr. Bob Bob Robert Bob Sorokanich, one of our very own beloved Gizmodians, recently started a new gig at Road and Track. I asked whether they just listened to this Gary Numan song in the office, all day every day. (They do not.) I played it a couple times and started reminiscing. Feel free to share your own auto memories below.
Welcome to Soundtrack, what Gizmodo's staff are listening to every night.