Today, a friend asked me why my dream car is a Fiero. It’s simple.
When I lived in Cobourg, my neighbor had a red 1984 model. Compared to all the Corsicas, Tauruses, Tercels, and the occasional Golf in my town, the Fiero was cool. It was smooth, it was sleek, it was really low and rakish, it had the engine in the middle, and it produced a subtle muted growl out of it’s shiny chrome exhaust tips. It was everything I could ever want in a car. It was proof that dreams could become realities, and that nothing was impossible. In that place, and at that time, nothing else matters. No matter how the day went, or what went wrong in Kindergarten then, I knew that I could always come home, look out the bay window, and see this pretty little number parked in the driveway. It was the reset button, proof that cars could be more than the sum of their parts. They weren’t very good cars, but that doesn’t matter. The Fiero will always be a part of my life that I’ll never forget. And with prices this low, how can I not afford to grab the brass ring, and have a car that makes me feel like gold?