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Oh, sweet memories! The 1968 British Escort was my first car. I am still grateful, because it taught me so much about auto repair. Simple as it was, something failed almost every day. Rebuilding the generator (anybody remember those?) was a semi-annual ritual. The transmission needed new synchros every 5,000 miles. Water found ways to enter that I never figured out. The 1.1 liter engine was powerful enough to carry a lighweight driver, unless one wanted to go uphill, of course. It also kept pinging, no matter how far I retarded the timing. The single circuit, no power assist brakes sometimes needed help by dragging my foot on the pavement -- which was easy to do, considering the rust holes in the floor. A strut once broke while taking a corner - the car's funny posture afterwards drew quite a crowd of admirers. But no doubt, the best part was the speeedometer; it must have been possessed, because the glass in front of it kept rattling even when the car wasn't moving. I must have that manual!
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