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by Bobby McCarthy
Copyright (c), 2003, My Daily Driver -- All Rights Reserved I was driving my car last week, on my way to work as usual only this drive was accompanied by an outside ambient temperature hovering in the low teens. Even with my engine running at normal operating temp, it could not generate enough heat through the big steel hood to melt the permafrost. When it's this cold out, the roads are white from salt distribution and each passing car is coated with same layer of ashen white that distorts the vehicles' original color. The reason one does not see many shiny clean cars on days like this is due to "fear of freezing." What this means is, everyone living in this climate has had their doors or trunk frozen shut. So, conventional wisdom would dictate that the introduction of water to your car in this weather would be ill advised. Hence all the white toned vehicles rushing down the freeway. 
Usually, when you think of classic cars, one immediately visualizes sunny California. Top down, Rodeo
Drive or Sunset Boulevard. While the thought of an average mean temperature of 72, is delightful, some
of us do live well north of the equator. I live in New England. As this column is published, I have
been knee deep in arctic weather since Thanksgiving. Driving a classic, vintage or old car during a
northeast winter only amplifies the commitment to this vehicle of choice. If you are fortunate enough
to live in the Sun Belt and drive one of these cars, right on. As for me, my goodness, I'm wishing for
spring. Well, like my father said, "Wishin' the wood would chop itself will only make yer family freeze," or something like that. Anyway, driving a thirty year old car year 'round in New England is a seasonal adventure. If you've never experienced the rhythmic, synchronized scraping of windshields echoing through the neighborhood, then you just haven't lived. Now as you may or may not know, when the temperature is hovering around 1, even owners of brand new cars cringe a bit before turning the key. So let's try to start a car from 1971. First, I have to have faith in the battery. 600, 700, 800 cold cranking amps? I forget what I bought in July. Worked great then. The vinyl interior feels like a glacier and my breath is condensing on the inside of the windshield. My Gortex-gloved hand fumbles with the key and I press my right foot to the floor. Requiring a true effort, the darn thing starts. A cold car, regardless of 
vintage, is not a happy car. Its' funny, in the summer months, I find my attention focuses on the
temperature gage and in the winter, I constantly feel the heater vents for warm output. On a day when it
really starts snowing and the roads begin to cover, friends and co-workers ask me, "Oh my, are you going
to be OK driving that old car in this weather?" I suppose their concern is somewhat founded considering
I have rear wheel drive, box-like aerodynamics no power brakes and a slew of antiquated technologies. I
just reply, "Yeah it's amazing all those folks in the '70's didn't perish driving their cars in foul
weather."
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