Our Cars – The Final Chapter in the Mazda 323F Story

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Way back when I joined the ranks of Hooniverse writers, I introduced myself and my cars. As well as the Sapporo, I had a red 1991 Mazda 323F which I had just recently crashed into a tire wall at Ahvenisto, a race track in central Finland. The damage to the Mazda necessitated the change of two doors and a fender, after which it was sort of okay-ish but no longer as good as I wanted it to be, as the panels were somewhat rough and ready instead of the clean ones with which it came from the factory.

The Mazda sat the following winter on my street, and after some time it ended up with my brother, who took it with himself to Helsinki, where he lives, works and studies. This past weekend, the 323F fell victim to an attempted theft, which left the steering column and its contents mangled and bashed, along with some vandalism damage on the outside. Little things, but they add up; the now undriveable car was hauled to a garage where the damage was appraised. Most everything in the steering column would need swapping, so the tab ran high and the insurance company ended up offering to total the car instead of getting it repaired.

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With the now-sold E34 at the apartment from where we’ve moved now.

My feelings are quite mixed. In one hand, I feel like a good car is going to waste, probably getting parted out at the salvage vehicle centre or being sold on as a whole. Then again, we got a good 70k of usage out of the car, it never let me or my brother down and – crucially – there would be necessary maintenance ahead anyway; the cambelt is nearing the end of its service life and the squealy clutch wasn’t up to par anymore either. But this is just justification that’s going on in my brain.

Essentially, the car is now going for the same sum of money it cost five years ago. With the one-time crash damage still looming in the back of my mind, I feel like I’ve already done the initial rites of letting it go some time ago. I’ve ruined it once, but this is just the final chapter after everything we’ve been through. The thievery damage to the car isn’t terminal in the sense that with junkyard parts it would probably make a fine driver with some effort, but with my car capacity filled to the brim, it makes more sense to finally let it go. Or this is what I’m telling myself. I’d love to trailer it home up north, source a steering column for it as a whole, and bring it back from the scrapheap it faces, but it’s not going to happen this time around.

I wonder if it’s an act of selfishness, but after my old three-door 323 hatchback was ruined in a matter of months after I traded it in for the 323F five years ago, I can’t help but feel I’d rather see my old car disposed of in an honest fashion, instead of selling it on. This means I wouldn’t be seeing it abandoned in a sorry state, beaten to bits, like the old one.

A couple of shots from 2009:

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I remember the day I got it, crystal clear: it had a bent front panel and skinny little 13″ tires, but the potential was there. I buffed the red paint to a showroom shine, replaced the wheels with 14″ ones first, then chunky 15″ ones. The useless old stereo was binned in favour of a Pioneer CD and the nose panel was swapped to a straighter, freshly resprayed one. With time, I sourced a pair of GT-model front seats, and piled on the kilometres.

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For some time, after graduating university and getting a job, I did something like 5k a month, driving across the country constantly to visit my GF who was still studying in Southeastern Finland. The 323F was loud, light, jittery and uncomfortable; no car of mine since has had such a bouncy suspension and the heavy and wide wheels didn’t help it, but it managed to be reasonably frugal if I kept the revs at 3500 on a highway jaunt, and the steering felt honest and true.

Those late, late nights when I left my GF’s place and soared west, stopping for fuel and coffee a couple of times, seeing no-one else on the road except the occasional trucker and the random moose. Dire Straits blaring out of the old, original speakers. Going far faster than necessary on surfaces far more slippery than safe, on winter nights darker than anything. Odo digits rolling in the light green illumination, the low washer fluid light permanently shining amber due to a sensor fault I never fixed.

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I’m sorry, dude, but it’s curtains.

 

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