Regrets? As Frank Sinatra crooned, I’ve had a few.
There was a decision to forego a semester abroad in college in favor of keeping a part-time job. I slogged out a few more weeks at a dubious internship instead of joining my family on a now-classic vacation. Most regrettably, I made the mistake of selling my first car.
Three generations of Bigelows had driven the ’82 Oldsmobile Delta 88. It first belonged to my grandfather, and then my dad, who handed it down to me during my senior year of high school in 1994.
Aesthetically speaking, she was rough around the edges. The ceiling fabric drooped. The driver’s-side door wouldn't unlock, so I had to crawl behind the wheel from the passenger’s side. The radio only played AM stations. The bumper may have been, shall we say, slightly damaged in an incident involving a two-story brick building that jumped in front of me at the last moment.
But the V-8 under the hood was in immaculate condition. A thing of beauty. Dependable as a dog. It roared to life with every turn of the ignition throughout its 185,000-mile life. If I would have kept her, there’s no doubt the Olds would have hit the 200K mile marker and kept on going.
It would have taken a certain owner to withstand some of the cosmetic failures of the car, but I should have kept that car instead of opting for something newer less than two years later.
Looking for something similar, I stumbled upon this rust-colored ’82 Delta 88 coupe for sale for $5,000 in the Pittsburgh area. It’s got 84,000 miles on the odometer, according to the dealership.
I’d prefer the four-door sedan and a different color, but this is a rock-solid boat. If the engine behaves as well as the car I remember so fondly from my youth, a prospective buyer could drive another 100,000 miles out of this vehicle. Value-wise, that breaks down to $1,000 for every 20,000 miles traveled.
Beauty or not, there may not be a better bargain out there.
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