In 1993, my husband bought me a used Mercedes, the car of my dreams. Although 10 years old, this was the loveliest and most reliable of vehicles. The model was the 300SL, which ran on diesel.
It took only a moment behind the wheel to know that this was my car. The 1983 model had the coolest classic styling, with a sleek band of chrome that ran from front to back. The car was black, with black leather seats, a black leather steering wheel cover and walnut dash. We got a good buy on it.
If there were a single word to describe the way this car felt when driving it, that word might be 'solid'. This used Mercedes had a low center of gravity. The strongest of crosswinds wouldn't budge this car. It was responsive to the max. I put a lot of miles on this car and it never failed me, no matter what I put it through.
As for aesthetics, this beautiful used Mercedes beat every other car I'd owned, hands down. I drove this illustrious used Mercedes from California to Oregon and to Nevada on a regular basis for ten years. No mishaps, no tickets and no accidents.
In my younger years, I'd been somewhat of a car collector. I liked to drive. Living in San Francisco, I commuted to Palo Alto five days a week, attending school in the mornings and working at night. Driving the forty five miles every day gave me time to think and kick back after all the work. I liked sports cars especially. My first sports car was an old 1962 Triumph TR-4. British cars aren't known for reliability.
It was fortunate that my next door neighbor in San Francisco was an old timer, then retired foreign car mechanic, who specialized in British cars. The TR-4 was a persnickety vehicle. With the number of miles I put on it, it went wacko about once a week, in dire need of tweaking out its cough and timing problems. This kind neighbor would tweak out its rough spots every week he said he liked to keep his hand in, so as not to forget his craft. He did a great job.
This TR-4 was a great ride, but far too temperamental. What finally soured me on this vehicle? It lost the fan belt at a very inconvenient time. I got it to a British Motors shop, where I thought it would be a simple matter to replace the fan belt. Instead, I was informed that, in order to replace the fan belt, the engine must be removed! No kidding. That cost a pretty penny. The TR-4 promptly went up for sale.
In those days, I wasn't smart enough to understand the virtues of a used Mercedes. Besides, I didn't think I could afford such a luxurious vehicle.
My next ride was a 1968 Porsche 911S. A beautiful car, which handled well and was fast. I was into fast in those days. Again, the maintenance was a killer.
Still not cured of the exotic sports car rush, I bought a Porsche 914 race car with a blueprinted engine, but street legal. It was a lot of fun to drive, but by now I saw the upkeep would quickly become a killer. I sold that one at a nice profit to someone better able to support its upkeep.
Between the time I sold the 914, in 1985, and 1993, when my husband bestowed me with the glorious 1983 used Mercedes, I went back to basics. Would you believe a VW bug? The exotic cars had beat me into motoring submission. I just wanted an economical, utilitarian car that got from point A to point B without regularly raiding my bank account.
Who would think that a used Mercedes was the best choice for a car aficionado? That was one slick car!
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