Alright, so maybe you're asking yourself what is the deal with this nutjob and this old beat up taxi cab. Well, in short - for as far back as I can remember, this car has been a long time coming, since I, your humble and astute author, happen to be a pseudo authority on cars that are one jump start away from the junkyard. I just happen to like cars; like some people collect buttons, guns or Beatles memorabilia. However, before you start thinking ALL my sentences are going to be long run ons, let me explain that my affection towards the automobile is a bit different from others. You see, I don’t like “nice" cars. I like cars that no one else wants. My whole life I’ve always been the woody wagon driver, the beat up police car owner, and yes - even a old cab owner. I have no desire to own a new BMW, but if I *had* to have one, I think I would prefer one that has been totaled. Even when I was a kid, I would take a hammer to my matchbox cars or paint the wheels black - it’s just a part of who I am. But what I have always really really *REALLY* wanted, was a NYC Taxi. You can't get anymore "cars that no one wants" than a NYC Taxi. I love the energy of a NYC Taxi - they are just…different. Why are they different? Because they simply do not exist for very long when they are done being a taxi. I mean really - who wants a car that THOUSANDS of people have burped, vomited, farted and....*ahem* who knows what else inside of? I guess I just feel sorry for them. I would challenge anyone to find a NYC taxi that is still around from the 70's, or 80's or even the 90's. They are few and far between. A few, and I mean a VERY few NYC Checkers still exist, but, well....not very many. While I am not so insane to believe an inanimate object is "alive", I do find that certain items in life that are not made of flesh can be abuzz with energy. If people can justify and validate the idea of feng shui, I can imagine my car too, has it's own variables of vibe. Taxi’s are an embodiment of New York life - they are absolutely relied upon, when not being cursed at by various city dwellers, and, for silly clueless hillbillies and tourists - they are printed on shirts, coffee mugs, star bucks cards, plates, silverware and even shoes (Naturally, I have a pair). So, since they are obviously revered the world over, why would I buy a toothbrush painted yellow with checkers on it, when I can have the real deal? Anyhow - New York Taxi’s, unlike other cities, are made for New York. They are put into service brand new - and can only remain on the streets for 3 years if fleet owned - and five years if an owner operator. They are inspected every three months and there is a list of rules and regulations involved in the industry that only a unique and gifted prodigy could know to the letter (http://www.nyc.gov/html/tlc/html/rules/rules.shtml). Not only that, to actually earn a hack license, is not *quite* as easy as you think - there is quite a bit to it. I happen to have a NYC Hack License, which I'm rather proud of - and this is what one must do to earn one: http://www.travelsinacab.com/ruses-rants/how-to-become-a-nyc-taxi-driver
Now, for the past few years I had been perusing Craigslist looking for Ford Crown Victoria’s in the New York City area. Fleet garages don't sell their cars the traditional way - they just get sold wholesale to other cab companies in other places, if they are not cut up for parts. But owner/operators do on occasion sell them outright, in hope an idiot like me out there wants to buy it. So - I would always put a price range of $200 to $1500 just to see what was out there, knowing full well the only thing that would pop up in that price range would be a beat up cab. Every now and then one or two would pop up, but - well, I just never bit on any of them. Then, one day, the universe aligned itself with me, and here came this ad for a 2006 Crown Victoria. In what my fiancee would likely state as being an embarrassing flop of fate, the ad just really reached out to me and tapped me on the shoulder - as if to wink and say "oh...well hello there Mike". I don't know how to explain this, but, whenever I look at a car and I get this feeling I'm going to get it, it always happens - and I had the feeling (read my blog on other similar junkers I've taken ownership of below). The ad had four pictures of the car attached and it looked just grand. I liked that it still had it’s decals on it and it’s Medallion Number, 8D69. New York cabs are identified by their unique medallion number (which now cost $1,000,000 as of 2011 and have a higher return than gold). It had no plates on it and I could see a few crinkles and scrapes, as I would expect. It looked absolutely sad and pathetic wedged in front of some other car like a puzzle piece on some street in Queens in front of a garage packed with decrepit looking Lincoln Town Cars used as NYC "black" cabs, that looked like they were just shipped here from Beirut. Quite literally, it was kicked to the curb. It was speaking to me saying "Mike! Mike! Save me and take me on a family vacation!". Here is the first picture and advertisement:
Now, for the past few years I had been perusing Craigslist looking for Ford Crown Victoria’s in the New York City area. Fleet garages don't sell their cars the traditional way - they just get sold wholesale to other cab companies in other places, if they are not cut up for parts. But owner/operators do on occasion sell them outright, in hope an idiot like me out there wants to buy it. So - I would always put a price range of $200 to $1500 just to see what was out there, knowing full well the only thing that would pop up in that price range would be a beat up cab. Every now and then one or two would pop up, but - well, I just never bit on any of them. Then, one day, the universe aligned itself with me, and here came this ad for a 2006 Crown Victoria. In what my fiancee would likely state as being an embarrassing flop of fate, the ad just really reached out to me and tapped me on the shoulder - as if to wink and say "oh...well hello there Mike". I don't know how to explain this, but, whenever I look at a car and I get this feeling I'm going to get it, it always happens - and I had the feeling (read my blog on other similar junkers I've taken ownership of below). The ad had four pictures of the car attached and it looked just grand. I liked that it still had it’s decals on it and it’s Medallion Number, 8D69. New York cabs are identified by their unique medallion number (which now cost $1,000,000 as of 2011 and have a higher return than gold). It had no plates on it and I could see a few crinkles and scrapes, as I would expect. It looked absolutely sad and pathetic wedged in front of some other car like a puzzle piece on some street in Queens in front of a garage packed with decrepit looking Lincoln Town Cars used as NYC "black" cabs, that looked like they were just shipped here from Beirut. Quite literally, it was kicked to the curb. It was speaking to me saying "Mike! Mike! Save me and take me on a family vacation!". Here is the first picture and advertisement:
Every evening I looked up my usual Craigslist search and every day the guy selling 8D69 put up a new ad. For days and days and days it went on like this - with the already reasonable price going lower and lower; nobody it seemed was interested - Surprise Surprise! But people's lack of vision and fears work to my advantage when it comes to the crappy car ownership biz. Clearly, a higher power was telling me to buy this car. I wanted it BAD. REAL BAD. And since I don't have $1500 to blow on an old car, I was pleased to see the price was going lower, and lower, and loooowerrrrr. Anyhow - this year car was actually perfect for three reasons other than it simply being a NYC Taxi, which will, no doubt, cause you to leave this site before finishing reading. Stick with me....it gets really emotional! So anyways....as I was saying, first, in 2006, it would have had applied to it’s skin the old style decals until the newer ones most people are familiar with became regulation. Secondly, it could have very well been a participant in the Garden of Transit program in 2007 where NYC Taxi’s had those “not sure how I feel about this” flower garden paintings applied to the hoods, roofs and trunks. Thirdly - and most importantly, I liked knowing that when I go to New York , which is often - and sip a coffee on the pedestrian plaza in Times Square (where they closed off part of Broadway), that I could know my car thundered right through there if only for a year or two. Also, and I guess for a fourth reason, is that it was a owner operator car - meaning it had regular drivers (a very good thing) and was on the road for five years, and not just three, which basically means it is one trip away from having the word "Deceased" stamped on it's title to serve as a death certificate. Five years of shagging fares in New York City is a lot of years of stop and go with various nefarious people slamming what would be MY car doors. Now, does this make a lick of sense at all to ANYONE why these strikes against it made me love it all the more? Probably not. Anyhow - I thought to myself life is short and soon enough the Crown Victoria will be going the way of the Dodo bird and Checker cab and I ended up calling the number listed on the ad. I spoke to a guy who I couldn’t understand at all. He was Pakistani and quite friendly, but for a guy who was advertising the car's sale EVERYDAY, he seemed a bit disconnected and aloof when it came right down to it, as if discussing the car was an inconvenience. When I told him I wanted the VIN (I would need this for insurance and to transfer my plates for registration to drive it home), he hemmed and hawed, but I finally got it out of him. I asked him if it ran good - he told me it did, but that the transmission was “70%” - stating it slipped when you went over 65 mph (notice the ad makes no mention of this). He told me the car had 310,000 miles on it. PERFECT is the only thing I could think of. The more miles the car had, the more no one would want it. The more miles the better. I would have been disappointed if it had any less. Clearly, if I didn't buy this car, it would most certainly be hacked up for parts and the rest discarded, or used as a gypsy cab or see short term service in New Jersey before heading to that Times Square in the Sky. One thing was for certain - the car, if nor for a psycho like me, would not be going on a family vacation anytime in the future. But luckily, I DID have this car on my radar, and little did it know the travels that awaited it.
Fast forward to my decision to get it. I told the guy on a Friday I would buy the car - but I would not be able to get there until Tuesday. He told me he would hold the car, but….eh…I wasn’t so sure if he would or not. Truth be told, the guy was irritating me - here he had the ONE guy on earth who wanted this stupid car more than anyone else, and he was like "whatever". But actually, in all honesty, I could have been misinterpreting our communication issues with thinking he didn't care. All weekend I was a little nerved up the car would suddenly sell, because the fool kept advertising it everyday still, despite saying he would hold the car. On Monday I called him to remind him I would be driving from Vermont , which isn't just a hop and a skip across town, and I would meet with him at his house on Maple Street in Hempstead to get the car (where he told me to meet him). He seemed to have forgotten about me, but then said he would meet me at 2:00 and sort of pretended that he remembered me the whole time. My father drove down with me so he could drive my “nice” car back. Upon arrival, of course, he (the seller) wasn’t there. I called him, and he said he would be right over in 20 minutes. About a half an hour later, I looked in my side view mirror and roaring up the street was my lovely 8D69. I snapped a photo as quick as I could.
Fast forward to my decision to get it. I told the guy on a Friday I would buy the car - but I would not be able to get there until Tuesday. He told me he would hold the car, but….eh…I wasn’t so sure if he would or not. Truth be told, the guy was irritating me - here he had the ONE guy on earth who wanted this stupid car more than anyone else, and he was like "whatever". But actually, in all honesty, I could have been misinterpreting our communication issues with thinking he didn't care. All weekend I was a little nerved up the car would suddenly sell, because the fool kept advertising it everyday still, despite saying he would hold the car. On Monday I called him to remind him I would be driving from Vermont , which isn't just a hop and a skip across town, and I would meet with him at his house on Maple Street in Hempstead to get the car (where he told me to meet him). He seemed to have forgotten about me, but then said he would meet me at 2:00 and sort of pretended that he remembered me the whole time. My father drove down with me so he could drive my “nice” car back. Upon arrival, of course, he (the seller) wasn’t there. I called him, and he said he would be right over in 20 minutes. About a half an hour later, I looked in my side view mirror and roaring up the street was my lovely 8D69. I snapped a photo as quick as I could.
The guy was super nice and answered all my questions. He clearly didn’t really give a shit about the car - and admitted he had nothing to do with it, that he was selling it for a “friend”. But in any event, I understood - I didn’t really expect anyone selling an old cab to be all emotional over it - so I simply asked if I could drive it, which he was all for. He told me he fixed the transmission and stated "everything fine" giving me two A-OK's with his hands. He said it just needed fluid added (later on I discovered the problem was a simple seal on the drive shaft). I did notice the tires on the car were as bald as Kojak as it sat there idling begging me to climb aboard, but I didn't really care.
I loved this thing. I was just simply giddy about it. You never notice how YELLOW a taxi cab is until you are either sitting behind the steering wheel, or are about to buy one. If the engine fell out of it at that moment, I would have literally tied a rope to the car and dragged it home. I slipped behind the wheel - and like all NYC cabs, I felt totally wrapped in yellow; it was a strangely intoxicating feeling to know it would be coming home with me. It felt sturdy. I felt sturdy. The car just seemed tight and right. Despite the euphoria, I noticed immediately that the gas gauge was right on “E” (which irritated me just a smidgeon), the brake light was on, the ABS light was on and so wasn’t the engine light. I also noticed the NYC Taxi inspection decal on the windshield was only a few weeks old, so either the inspection station was friends with the owner, or, during it's decommission process, many a wire was crossed in equipment removal (they were unnecessarily rough, parts of the dash were damaged when the meter was torn out). In any event - it ran great - I took it down the street a few turns and came back for fear it would run out of gas. This baby was SOLD. My dad was still sitting in my other car looking like he was pondering what devil spawn of junk cars I came from. My father has learned through the years that when I spiritually will a car to myself, it's going to happen, so ....it's best to just not bother even trying to talk with me about it. Plus, the more someone tries to talk me out of it, the more I fall in love with it; he knows this, so, he just sits silently and fights the urge to give me his "I disapprove" look. So, after paying the seller the agreed upon CHEAP price, he provided me with the correct paperwork and then asked me for a ride back to his shop in Queens, which I obliged after getting some gas. When I got gas, the gas cap was missing, but he went in to the station and emerged with a used one that someone must have left at some point. There is no doubt in my mind the original gas cap was back in this guy's shop on the floor somewhere after removing it to syphon the gas out of it while exchanging its good tires with its present junk ones. Speculation on my part of course, and while I may be a marginal hillbilly, I didn't just fall off a turnip truck either. Clearly, this car was squeezed like the last lemon on earth to drip drop every single penny of value out of it. Kind of pathetic if you really think about it. In any event, I drove the seller to his shop; he gave me directions back to the highway, wished me luck, closed the door and he never looked back. That would be the last stranger 8D69 would ever transport. A fitting end to a long hard career in the City of Broken Dreams.
As I thundered onto the highway, I felt like a million bucks - best car on the road as far as I was concerned and I couldn't believe I was the owner of a real live NYC Taxi Cab. Meanwhile, BMW's, Lexus', Mercedes...all passing me by - as boring as ever, and they meant nothing to me. As I headed out of the city limits, I could see Manhattan to my left. I know it’s nuts - I really do, but I almost felt a little sad for my car and New York. I felt like a street soldier was leaving behind the war and headed to a home in parts unknown - leaving all his little yellow friends to continue on with their daily battles. So many questions played in my head: How many hours and days did this car bake itself underneath that grand skyline? How many times did it hammer through the nuttiness that is mid-town? How many people *did* vomit, burp, fart or um.....*twiddles thumbs while looking at the ceiling* in this car? Out of the over 13,000 cabs in New York - this one was getting away - and it didn't matter to anyone. I got over my momentary eclectic emotional breakthrough quickly and proceeded home. Besides being excited, I was naturally a little nervous too - I mean, I didn’t really know this car yet, and well, it DID have as many miles as a trip to the moon and halfway back on it. But it really drove fine, it's V8 engine throttled and pounded softly like a chef on bread dough - and the further I got away from the city, the more it suddenly became interesting to others on the road. On Interstate 95 I crossed into Connecticut and honked the horn to say goodbye to New York.
I loved this thing. I was just simply giddy about it. You never notice how YELLOW a taxi cab is until you are either sitting behind the steering wheel, or are about to buy one. If the engine fell out of it at that moment, I would have literally tied a rope to the car and dragged it home. I slipped behind the wheel - and like all NYC cabs, I felt totally wrapped in yellow; it was a strangely intoxicating feeling to know it would be coming home with me. It felt sturdy. I felt sturdy. The car just seemed tight and right. Despite the euphoria, I noticed immediately that the gas gauge was right on “E” (which irritated me just a smidgeon), the brake light was on, the ABS light was on and so wasn’t the engine light. I also noticed the NYC Taxi inspection decal on the windshield was only a few weeks old, so either the inspection station was friends with the owner, or, during it's decommission process, many a wire was crossed in equipment removal (they were unnecessarily rough, parts of the dash were damaged when the meter was torn out). In any event - it ran great - I took it down the street a few turns and came back for fear it would run out of gas. This baby was SOLD. My dad was still sitting in my other car looking like he was pondering what devil spawn of junk cars I came from. My father has learned through the years that when I spiritually will a car to myself, it's going to happen, so ....it's best to just not bother even trying to talk with me about it. Plus, the more someone tries to talk me out of it, the more I fall in love with it; he knows this, so, he just sits silently and fights the urge to give me his "I disapprove" look. So, after paying the seller the agreed upon CHEAP price, he provided me with the correct paperwork and then asked me for a ride back to his shop in Queens, which I obliged after getting some gas. When I got gas, the gas cap was missing, but he went in to the station and emerged with a used one that someone must have left at some point. There is no doubt in my mind the original gas cap was back in this guy's shop on the floor somewhere after removing it to syphon the gas out of it while exchanging its good tires with its present junk ones. Speculation on my part of course, and while I may be a marginal hillbilly, I didn't just fall off a turnip truck either. Clearly, this car was squeezed like the last lemon on earth to drip drop every single penny of value out of it. Kind of pathetic if you really think about it. In any event, I drove the seller to his shop; he gave me directions back to the highway, wished me luck, closed the door and he never looked back. That would be the last stranger 8D69 would ever transport. A fitting end to a long hard career in the City of Broken Dreams.
As I thundered onto the highway, I felt like a million bucks - best car on the road as far as I was concerned and I couldn't believe I was the owner of a real live NYC Taxi Cab. Meanwhile, BMW's, Lexus', Mercedes...all passing me by - as boring as ever, and they meant nothing to me. As I headed out of the city limits, I could see Manhattan to my left. I know it’s nuts - I really do, but I almost felt a little sad for my car and New York. I felt like a street soldier was leaving behind the war and headed to a home in parts unknown - leaving all his little yellow friends to continue on with their daily battles. So many questions played in my head: How many hours and days did this car bake itself underneath that grand skyline? How many times did it hammer through the nuttiness that is mid-town? How many people *did* vomit, burp, fart or um.....*twiddles thumbs while looking at the ceiling* in this car? Out of the over 13,000 cabs in New York - this one was getting away - and it didn't matter to anyone. I got over my momentary eclectic emotional breakthrough quickly and proceeded home. Besides being excited, I was naturally a little nervous too - I mean, I didn’t really know this car yet, and well, it DID have as many miles as a trip to the moon and halfway back on it. But it really drove fine, it's V8 engine throttled and pounded softly like a chef on bread dough - and the further I got away from the city, the more it suddenly became interesting to others on the road. On Interstate 95 I crossed into Connecticut and honked the horn to say goodbye to New York.
As I continued north in to Massachusetts, the funniest thing started to happen; people were waving to me. By the time I hit Vermont, a few people honked their horns, gave me a thumbs up and even cars passing me would slow to a pace in order to take a picture. I thought to myself - what the hell is this? This is supposed to be the biggest lump of dung on the road, and people are giving me thumbs up? Taking it's picture? How strange. I'm used to driving cars that stick out. For many years I was a patrol officer so, obviously, I drove vehicles that everyone stared at. There is an entire litany of what this is like when driving, and...Oh. Oh my. Wait a minute, where was I? Oh yeah, my cab story - sorry. I'm almost done....honest.
As I rolled into my little village in Vermont, I pulled into my garage and got out and gazed upon this dream car of mine that nobody wanted. A rare survivor of sorts. I imagined this thing plying Gotham's streets every day and night, surrounded by the insanity that is New York City, with it's various hipsters, world wide tourists, small town movers and shakers who act the part but stick out like sore thumbs, the Lower East Side (LES) "what IS this" moments, the 4 AM Bleeker Street drunks, the sirens, loud music, and everything else in between. And now - here it was, for the first time in it’s entire life, in a garage. A real garage. Made of wood. And it was quiet. Not a noise. Just total ear humming silence. And all was right in our world.
As I rolled into my little village in Vermont, I pulled into my garage and got out and gazed upon this dream car of mine that nobody wanted. A rare survivor of sorts. I imagined this thing plying Gotham's streets every day and night, surrounded by the insanity that is New York City, with it's various hipsters, world wide tourists, small town movers and shakers who act the part but stick out like sore thumbs, the Lower East Side (LES) "what IS this" moments, the 4 AM Bleeker Street drunks, the sirens, loud music, and everything else in between. And now - here it was, for the first time in it’s entire life, in a garage. A real garage. Made of wood. And it was quiet. Not a noise. Just total ear humming silence. And all was right in our world.
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