“Just wait until you try a New York pretzel,” my dad said, as our pale yellow Coupe de Ville glided down Route 3. I admit I was skeptical. I mean, I was almost six years old already, and I knew what pretzels from a store tasted like. They were good, but hardly the stuff of dreams. My Dad was undeterred his enthusiasm. “The street vendors have these big carts where they cook the pretzels over a charcoal fire,” my dad continued. “They’re hot and a little crunchy on the outside, but soft in the middle. You put a little mustard on them and they are out of this world.”

Food was always inextricably woven into the weekend adventures with my dad. Sometimes he would introduce a new pizza place that he had come across in his travels (like Pizza Kings). Sometimes it was a bakery with great cheese buns (Hahns). Or an amazing burger joint (The Brook Tavern). Or the best sloppy joes in New Jersey (Bangiolas). Or hot dogs with long slices of pickle and birch beer on tap (Johnnys). Whatever the place or cuisine, he made it all part of the adventure, and the adventure on this day was my first trip to New York City to see the Auto Show.

I sat in the passenger seat of the big coupe, in this time before modern annoyances like child seats, rear-seat laws, airbags, and seat belts. I guess as it is with most recollections from childhood, that Caddy seemed bigger than life. Only it was bigger than life, with an enormous split bench in front and a long expanse of dashboard that dwarfed me in a wall of plastic wood. I loved the small details that the car had, like those little sentinel lights on the leading edge of each front fender that showed that the headlights were functioning, and the Cadillac emblems, ducks and all, seemingly everywhere. The car’s eight-track player clicked back to Program 1, and Barry Manilow appropriately began to wax poetic about the New York City Rhythm.

“Here comes the Lincoln Tunnel,” my dad announced. He had already primed me for this part of the trip, and I was eager to see what driving under the water felt like. “Like a big bathroom,” I thought, as we drove through the tiled tube, my eyes scanning vigilantly for even the slightest of water leaks.

There were a few things that I could always depend on while growing up: Mom’s chocolate chip cookies, wedgies on the school bus, and my monthly issue of Car & Driver. It was a happy day for young Drew Karpinski when the mailman would deliver a fresh new car magazine. I had read it from cover-to-cover, including the letters, the ads, and most of all, the articles on all of the new cars. To this day, I can visualize the layout of these articles, the attention-grabbing cover headlines, and even the advertisements that seemed to appear in every magazine. Yes, it was a time when you could have 10 records for just a penny, California Car Covers were serving up sheep skins by the Benz-load, and eternal bliss was just a set of Kleen Wheels away!

I had not driven anything more powerful that a Big Wheel at this formative stage in my young life, so I obviously had no real experiences to validate anything of what I read, save for my passenger seat observations of whatever cars my dad had at the time. I would hang on to every word, except for those of which I had no clue of their meaning. Understeer? Oversteer? Trail braking? No problem for kids today…look it up on the iPad and read Wikipedia, or better yet, watch a YouTube tutorial. For me, though, I only had a Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary and a set of World Books from 1972. Great for learning about the transformation of Europe or the pollination of a flower, but not so much for brake fade or sway bars. I would have to rely on context clues, and trust the overall opinions of the writers.