I Love My Volvo?

They were as common as fleas on a dog here in Maine back in the go-go 80’s. Herds of sturdy, businesslike, sensible shoes, 240 series Volvo sedans and their even boxier wagon siblings. At the time it seemed almost plausible to believe that these 240 wagons had actually been shipped direct from the factory in Sweden with a matched pair of slobbering black labs onboard as standard equipment. It was rare indeed to spot one of these rolling boxes without a pair of pooches and of course the obligatory I (heart) My Volvo bumper sticker prominently displayed out back.
I Love My Volvo? Yes sir. This generation of Volvos inspired a level of devotion, dedication and commitment that eclipsed mere owner loyalty. Even today just ask any dyed in the wool Volvophile about these beasts and you’d better be prepared for a long impassioned soliloquy. “Best car I ever owned!” “300,000 miles and still runs like a top!” “Safest car on the planet”…and words to that effect. Well that last bit was probably at least close to true. The 240 series Volvos were notably safe for their era with deep-dish steering wheels, crumple zones; three point belts and even those wacky ladder-style headrests (was the idea not to block the rearward view from the eyes in the back of your head?). So I’ll admit that they were safe. And I’ll also agree that the occasional 300,000 mile 240 is not unheard of. But that’s where the story begins to unravel a bit.
If you accept the proffered 300K-mile number at face value it’s darned impressive. But, being the car curious fellow I am, I’ve pressed a few of these Volvo-heads for more details than they’re comfortable revealing. I tend to ask unwanted follow-up questions like, “How many transmissions have you gone through in those 300,000 miles?” answer: “I’m not sure if it’s five or six…but IT’S A GREAT CAR!” What about the brakes? Turns out they’ve needed to be replaced about every third oil change or so. Oh yeah, and the headliner has been sagging like that since about 75,000 miles and the sunroof leaks when it rains but THIS IS THE BEST CAR I EVER HAD! Electronic gremlins? Plenty! Oil leaks? You bet. Engine rebuilds? That has to be expected on fine cars like these. By now you get the idea. It’s fascinating when you think about it. By any objective measure these Volvos were mediocre at best and a good case can be made for the fact that they tended to break down and fall apart at an alarming rate. So whence this the fierce owner loyalty? Where does the love in “I Love My Volvo” come from?
As “exhibit A” in this mystery I offer the human mind, which where love is concerned, seems to be hardwired with a “don’t confuse me with the facts” software package. These Volvo Lovers are not interested in frequency of repair statistics or any of your other worthless technical details. They’re minds and hearts are set. They’ve simply decided that their car is the best darned four wheeled conveyance ever built and it will take a lot more than an endless stream of blown head gaskets, loose tie rods, squealing brake pads, dead batteries and clouds of black smoke spewing from the tailpipe to change their minds! Love is blind! Pass the Bondo! I love my Volvo! Makes sense to me. Hey I think the original Dick Teague designed AMC Pacer is a great looking car!


Keep the sticky side down,

Tim Sample

A Maine Car Guy is Born

If you’re reading this you can thank my wife and my brother-in-law Charlie for making it happen. For years they’ve been telling me, “You should have a ( fill in the blank ) “show”, “column” “blog” about cars.” A few years back my wife claimed that for my next birthday she was getting me a couple of rolls of those ubiquitous bright colored triangle flags which flutter across the “front line” at used car lots across America. It would have looked perfectly appropriate given the half dozen vehicles, which at any particular moment call our driveway “home”.
I can’t help it. It’s just the way I was raised. Some of my earliest and fondest memories of my childhood in the 1950’s are of cars. My dad was a “car guy” and my older sisters had obviously followed in his tire tracks. Here’s a partial list of vehicles parked in our driveway when I was 7 years old in 1958. A green ’57 Ford Country Squire station wagon complete with acres of plastic wood, a silver 1957 Thunderbird (with the porthole removable hard top), a Jaguar XK 120 Roadster, a British Racing Green 1953 TD MG and a 1940-something Singer roadster.
I fell in love with cars that summer and I’ve never fallen back out.
I remember when my sister Sue was a teenager her first car was a massive burgundy red Buick convertible. I’m not certain of the year, ’54? ’55? But, man that was a car! The grill, a gaping chromium maw, looked as if it could easily swallow a VW or two on the way back from the drive-in. Huge chrome “venti-ports” adorned the front quarter panels and the seats were overstuffed leather lounge chairs. Here’s what I remember most vividly about that Buick. My sister let me sit in the driver’s seat and pretend to drive. As I settled in behind the wheel I noticed that the entire interior was slathered in big chrome badges indicating the great features available to the lucky motorist (That’s me!). The family pizza sized steering wheel itself screamed POWER STEERING in big shiny block letters, a brace of chrome Chiclets on the armrest proudly announced POWER WINDOWS and nestled on the red carpeted floor a few inches beyond the reach of my scrawny little kid legs lay a brick of shiny metal with soft rubber inlays promising a young speed demon the immense security of POWER BRAKES. Who wouldn’t be hooked?
The years flew by and the carousel of great cars continued to turn. By the time I entered adolescence I was reading every car magazine I could get my hands on. I wasn’t picky as long as the topic was cars. I read “Uncle Tom McCahill’s colorful reviews in Popular mechanics, learned about Ed “Big Daddy” Roth’s latest creation in Car Craft and Hot Rod and breathlessly followed a young Richard Petty and his faithful blue #43 Plymouth as he battled Fred Lorenzen’s 427 Ford around Darlington and Daytona Speedways.
So I’m the right guy for a car guy blog, I figure. If you check in regularly I’ll give you my two cents worth on the great and not so great cars of the past, present and future. If you’re wondering about the car in the photo accompanying this blog, that’s the first car I ever owned. Pop bought it for me when I graduated from Boothbay Region High School in 1969. It’s a 1956 Chevy Bel Air “Sport Sedan” which was what they called the 4 door without the B-pillar that year. Equipped with a stock 265 small block and two speed power glide transmission it was no drag strip demon but, WOW, what a fantastic first car. If you want to know the true story behind how it came to be painted like an American flag (and what happened after that) it’s on my 1999 CD, Aint Life Grand available on my website, timsample.com. Meanwhile, thanks a whole lot for stopping by. Leave a comment and check in when you can. This is gonna be fun!

Keep the sticky side down,

Tim Sample