The Peugeot 504, My Most Beautiful Failure
At age 18, against my dad’s wise advice, I purchased my first car, a beat-to-shit, sun faded red Camero. Truth be told, I bought it to impress the hot guy selling it, in a lame attempt to appear cool. I soon learned that this car was my personal version of Stephen King’s killer car, Christine. It quit running when it rained, attracted rabid dogs (seriously..,but that’s ANOTHER story), developed enormous cancerous holes where it had been “bondoed,” left me stranded more times than not and consumed my entire savings in futile repairs. When I sold it, I had to exit from the window as neither door would open. I felt angry, like a failure, a sucker and totally NOT cool. I couldn’t afford to buy another car, so I rode my 10 speed everywhere and wore my tough girl “I don’t care” attitude instead of a bike helmet.
After a year of the “bike ride of shame” my dad suggested that we find a “good car” for me. I felt like I was being offered a rewind and replay of my Camero fiasco. My dad had a penchant for auto-exotica (at least for those times.) I grew up appreciating everything from a Studebaker, Fiat 124 and learned to drive a manual transmission in our Opel Cadet. We diligently scoured used car lots looking for my redemption car. Road weary and mildly disillusioned, he first spotted “her.” I remember dad’s words “now THAT looks interesting.” I remember thinking “please, please, please, let this be the one.” As bad-ass as I pretended to be bombing around on my Raleigh road bike, I was sooo over pedal-power.
We were holding our breath as we tentatively approached the lovely lady. I heard my dad’s breathing change slightly as he softly uttered yummy sounds, “mmmmmmmmmm.” “Lor, it a Peugeot!” All I knew is that it was love at first sight. From her glossy, cabernet exterior, rich chamois, velour interior and most excellent sleepwalking lion logo, I was hopelessly smitten (AND if this wasn’t fabulous enough…a manual tranny and old school crank sunroof:-) When I was finally able to divert my gaze from her awesomeness, I saw my dad wore the same dreamy, goofy, lovestruck grin as me. He winked and told me “Now, Lor, THIS is a great car.” I drove it home.
The Peugeot 504 is in a league of its own. I took every opportunity to uncover the provenance of “mon amour.” The 504 was considered the French Mercedes. It was noted for its advanced suspension, comfortable ride and good handling. It was designed by Pininfarina a noteworthy Italian design firm. I had a picture of me in my 504, taken by my dad (sadly lost in one of my moves). The image shows a girl in her early 20’s, long hair slicked back in a fishbone braid, aviator Ray Bans, goofy grin, her hand placed lovingly on the steering wheel. My dad, my Hero, had helped me find my cool.
Approaching a year of driving bliss, it became apparent that I needed a brake job. My dad and I took her for a quote at a European Auto Repair shop he frequented with his cars. I knew since it was an unusual car that the cost would probably be steep. Neither of us were prepared for the brake job to exceed the cost of the car. My dad turned white as a sheet, I was numb and paralyzed. “No way” we uttered in tandem. “Way” was the unemotional, blasé response from the service manager. We consoled ourselves into believing that maybe this place was just crazy expensive. The mood grew heavier with every additional quote.
The ride home screamed in silence. I looked at my dad hoping, PRAYING he had a trick up his sleeve. I was shocked to see tears running down his handsome face. “I’m so sorry, Lor, I really messed up. I had no idea it would cost this much to fix. I know how much you love her…..I do too. I’m so sorry.” As we pulled in the driveway, both our faces stained with tears of grief. The only option was to sell. The day our Peugeot 504 resumed life in the hands of another, was devastating in many ways. I was destined to resume pedal-power, believed I had forever lost my cool and was jolted into the realization that my dad was as humanly flawed and prone to failure as me.
Thirty-four years later, tears of heartfelt memories and beautiful failures, interrupt my writing flow. I still have a Raleigh for pedal-power, if needed. I’m not concerned about maintaining the “cool persona.” I drive a sweet, fun, MX5 that is as reliable as the road is long. The Peugeot 504 was a wonderful talking point with my husband (a diehard car guy) on our first date. My dad has been gone for over 24 years. Shortly after his death, I pulled into a service station to gas up. I noticed a man that bore an uncanny resemblance to my dad a few pumps away. He caught my eye, winked and drove off in a Peugeot 504.