In the late '90s, after seven or so years of seeing the LeMans sitting forlornly in a corner of our backyard, I decided it was time to take it for a drive. I invited my buddy Bill to share in this optimistic adventure. The gas tank was empty at that point, so I flipped down the rear license plate and poured a few gallons of hi-test down the filler. All the other fluids needed topping off and the tires needed air, while the belts and hoses were crack-filled but functional. Fortunately, the master cylinder hadn’t gone dry, so the brake pedal still stopped short of the floorboard. At the time, I owned a couple other older Pontiacs, so I borrowed a historic tag and a battery from one of them. I was able to find the keys, and lo-and-behold the engine started with some fuel poured down the carburetor. After letting it run for a few minutes letting it warm up and making sure it wasn't going to die, Bill and I climbed in, belted up, and headed on down the driveway. She passed the brake tests, so we pulled out onto the city street. The engine was a little balky, and the transmission was still hesitant to upshift, but it was quite a thrill to make multiple circuits around the neighborhood.
At the time Bill also drove a big-body Pontiac (a beautiful Bonneville), and I remember we both remarked how much smaller the A-body felt than our boat-like B-bodies. However, I hadn't forgotten my time behind the wheel of a Corvair, so I also had GM’s smallest car of that decade for reference, and the LeMans is noticeably larger.
Sadly, the thrill was short-lived and the car was parked and ignored for another three years until we had to move to Long Island, but that’s a story for another post.
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