1966 Mercury Comet Cyclone GT Two Door Hardtop
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In the winter, after a good snow, we would drive The Bomb over to St. Catherine's, the local Catholic church where snow drifted deep across a large parking lot out back. Building up a good head of steam on the driveway, we would snap the car into a wild 360-degree spin all the way across the parking lot — with the windows open.
After a few runs you'd have to shovel out the interior.
On Thursday evenings we would take The Bomb to Yellow Springs, Ohio, about 60 miles west of Columbus and home to Antioch University, where we folk-danced on a brick patio under the stars until 11:30.
The trick was to get home by midnight, and we usually made it.
But one evening, my sister drove the full run from Yellow Springs back to Columbus on I-70 with the parking brake on. When she exited the freeway and stepped on the brakes, nothing happened. We went screaming over the shoulder and into the clover leaf. The Bomb dutifully ejected its hubcaps, and came out the other side of the field intact.
That night, we gained an even deeper appreciation for the two-ton hunk of steel.
And so a fond goodbye to the noble Mercury brand.
You were the car of my grandparents' dreams — but the wheels of my best memories.
Williard is a renewable energy consultant in Belmont, California