I showed up to my driving test in a ‘75 Volkswagen Campmobile Bus, with the rear curtains drawn.
The examining officer informed me that I would never pass the test in that car. In Maryland, he could deduct 21 points at his absolute discretion, and you needed an 80 to pass. So when an officer said “you are going to fail”, it usually came to pass.
I ran it through the course and parallel parked it slick as you please. I got a perfect score, and a nice smile from the cop. A good day.
That thing was a hoot to drive on country roads in the hills. You would come over the top and keep your foot planted on the floor all the way down, to build up speed. Usually, there was a one lane bridge at the bottom, so you kind of had to have faith in your Guardian Angels, because the brakes on the thing were useless. If you were doing 80 mph at the bottom, you could just bleed off speed all the way up the other side.
I still drive like that. Drives my wife crazy.
In NC in 75 you had to execute a three point turn. Took me five times to get my license. Dad had a 70 Buick LeSabre. Darn car was just too big. After four failures, we borrowed my uncle’s Nova.
A year later Dad gave me that Buick.