I want to steal the name of her blog. Seriously.
How it all started.
Even as a little girl, I had dirt under my fingernails and grease smeared across my face. I grew up in the garage, at the shop, out in the yards with my Dad. Dad worked in tire retread and his hobby was cars, so I saw a lot of cars, a lot of trucks and a lot of men in my childhood.
Weekends were spent at the race track or at car shows. Dad raced a 1972 Nova before I was born, and I think everytime we went to the track he wished it was him out there. It wasn’t long before I wished it was me.
My first car was a Chevy Nova. I drove it everywhere, and I loved it like it was my child. But, it was my first car, and I was just learning how to take care of it and how everything worked. My parents always reminded me to check the oil and I always forgot. When the engine blew, Dad made ME replace it. (Of course he helped) And while I had always been around when he worked on cars, seeing the daylight through the hole in the block where the rod had flown through, and the whole process of the replacement, the sense of accomplishment when the car was up and running again, made me love that car even more and made me want to spend the rest of my life around cars.