Bust out the thin ties, fedoras, and martinis, ’cause we’re going on a roadtrip. You have no idea the self control I am exercising by not grabbing my phone and calling about this car. Yeah, it’s triple brown, and yeah, the seats are ripped, but damn if I don’t love me some mid-60’s Cadillac convertible. It’s supposedly been sitting for 20 years, so all the fluids will need flushed out and all the belts and hoses will need replaced, but so what? For a total investment of $7000 (assuming you paid the full asking price), you’d have the ability to cruise endlessly at the speed of your choosing behind that gorgeous, forward angled and stacked headlight front clip that screams “get out of my way, Philistine, before I chew you up the same way I am this highway.”
Sure, I would prefer black or dark blue, and the ’66 model has a cooler interior, but $6000 forgives a lot of sins. I just keep telling myself it must be full of rust, or a scam, or has a horrible rod knock. That’s the only way I can sleep at night without this behemoth in my driveway. But what if it’s fine? What if it’s just been sitting in somebody’s grandpa’s garage and they’re just now cleaning out the place? Please, somebody talk me out of this.