For teenage Americans, the first car is a right of passage.  It represents independence.  Freedom.  Maturity.

I still remember the day I met my first car.  It was a summer day in 1998.  I’d had my license for a few months, but until that day, I’d been forced to borrow my mom’s car whenever I wanted to drive somewhere.  All that changed in an instant.

My dad pulled up in a dark red 1986 Ford Thunderbird Turbocoupe and gave me a chance to take it for a spin.  Sure, it was 12 years old, and yes, the paint was a bit weathered, but it was a car!  My car!  And it had a turbo!  I loved it.

My 1986 Ford Thunderbird Turbocoupe

Over the next few years, that Thunderbird would ferry me to adventures, get me to and from college numerous times, and serve as a guinea pig for my efforts to become mechanically inclined.

Even though it had the sporting aspirations of a turbo, in reality it wasn’t very fast.  The back seat was elfin (though that didn’t stop us from squeezing up to four people in there), and the body forced a never-ending battle against the cancer of rust.  It was wonderful all the same.

After three years and 28,000 miles, I sold it to a guy who answered a newspaper ad.  How quaint.

Stats

• Dark red 1986 Ford Thunderbird Turbocoupe
• 2.3 L turbocharged inline-4
• 3-speed automatic transmission
• 155 hp / 180 lb-ft torque
• Coupe body style
• 171,000 miles when acquired (ca. June 1998)
• 199,500 miles when sold (ca. June 2001)