[Fwd: Alfa fun]

[Bernie Bennett <bennetts77833@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

 Alfa Digest Members:

I received this note from Bonnie Valant-Spaight last weekend. For those 
of you that are new to Alfas, Bonnie is the daughter of the late Gary 
Valant, proprietor of VALCO Alfa, Alfa tech, AROC USA tech advisor, & 
racer. Bonnie's brother Mike you probably know.

We corresponded back and forth and this Friday went and visited with her 
mother Nancy at Bonnie & husband Tracy's home in Houston last night.  I 
asked her if I could forward the below  message on to the digest. She 
said yes and please include her email address. She also sent me the 
original unedited version the newspaper article / contest entry. It is 
included in text form at the end or this message.

Best Wishes,
Bernie Bennett
Brenham, TX

-------- Original Message --------
Subject: Alfa fun
Date: Thu, 8 May 2003 07:17:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bonnie Valant-Spaight <bvalantspaight@domain.elided>
T



Hi everyone -
     The Houston Chronicle had a contest to write a story about your 
first car, and my story was one of the winners! To see it, you can go 
to     
http://houstonchronicle.p2ionline.com/myfirstcar/p12.htm

If you click on the article, you can get a legible version. It is a 
happy coincidence that the article is published today, my father's 
birthday.

Hope you like it!
Bonnie

 My parents gave me my first car, a 1974 Alfa Romeo Berlina, on my 16th
 birthday. Everybody in my family drove an Alfa Romeo, and getting my
 own was a rite of passage. This passion for Alfas came from my father,
 whose love for these automobiles stretched back to his own teenage 
years. In
 mid-life, he left a promising career as a chemist at Texas Instruments to
 pursue his dream of restoring, building, and racing Alfas. He rebuilt and
 restored my Alfa with his own hands, painting it cherry red at my request.

 Driving this car was a joy. Its many quirks and oddities gave it a 
personality
 that new cars, no matter how nice, just lack. The speedometer went out  -
 twice - but by that point, I could tell how fast I was going by the 
sound of
 the engine. My Alfa had its own voice; my dog could pick out the sound of
 my car when I was a mile away and would unfailingly greet me at the door.
 Between the engine's roar and the clicks, whirs, and hums of the 
dashboard,
 riders were always subject to low-level cacophony, so much so that my
 friend once sarcastically nominated my car for "best place to listen to
 classical music in Dallas." The personality wasn't limited to sound; the
 smell of old Alfa vinyl still reminds me of home.

 Alfas are notoriously unpredictable cars, and this one was no 
exception. I'll
 never forget the time that the windshield wiper fell off the car while 
I was
 driving, or the time on the highway when the muffler mount gave out and I
 ended up dragging my muffler around the "bad" part of town. Then there
 was driving through the Mojave desert in August with no air conditioning,
 or trying to peer through the frost on the rear windshield because the 
wire
 had fallen off the defroster. But surprisingly enough, my car never 
left me
 stranded.

 Owning this car was also a learning experience. After I moved out of state
 for college, I did everything from routine maintenance on the car, like
 changing the headlights, spark plugs, and oil, to more exotic things, 
such as
 installing new fuel pumps and windshield wiper motors, bleeding the 
brakes,
 and repairing the steering box. My dad would send me little repair "care
 packages" with the parts and tools that I needed, including instructions
 written in his own hand. He also made a "show and tell" picture book for
 me, with annotated photos of my car showing the important parts. In the
 back of the book, he included the instructions, "When in doubt, call 
Dad."

 My father passed away seven years ago from cancer. That first summer
 without him was the hardest, and when I felt low, I went to my car. 
Getting
 in the car was like getting a big hug from him, and hearing the engine 
spring
 to life was like hearing his voice. My father wasn't big on words, but I
 always knew how much he loved me by how much care he put into restoring
 and repairing my first car. When I think of that car, I always think 
of him.
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