When I was a freshman in college, my car was a nicely preserved 1935 Chevy Sedan. It ran great, but those old "Stove-bolt" sixes were famous for being cold natured. Forget Electronic Fuel Injection. With no automatic choke, no thermostat, not even carburetor heat, they didn't like to run cold. They needed a lot of choke and throttle magic to keep them running until they were thoroughly warmed up, and on a cold morning, that could take awhile.

Nowadays, cars have little personality. You get in, you turn the key, it starts, you go. If you've ever owned a pre-1960s car, you know that it wasn't always thus. Each car had its own personality, its own starting drill. For the Chevy, it was something like "choke out, pat the gas twice, throttle off, crank briefly, choke in ¼ inch, throttle down, crank again." Each step takes a precise amount of time. The rule was simple: Follow the starting drill, the thing starts. Don't follow it, it doesn't.

I lived in a boarding house about a mile from the campus. With my lowly "C" parking sticker, it was hard to get a spot much closer, so I usually hoofed it. One cold, clear, sub-freezing morning, though, I decided to try taking the car. My friend Norman asked to come along. Being late as usual, and typical college freshmen, we didn't give the car a lot of time to warm itself.

The house was literally on the wrong side of the tracks from campus. The grade crossing had a set of warning lights and bells, but no barrier. To make matters worse, just down the track and around the corner was a small switching yard. Whenever cars were moved around down there, the bells clanged and the lights flashed, but there was, in fact, no train coming.

After a time, those of us in the know adopted a seemingly rational strategy: Approach the tracks, stop, look both ways, and if there was no train in sight, boogie across.

The only problem was, no one had explained to the stove-bolt Chevy the "boogie" concept, especially when cold. Satisfied that the warnings were the usual false alarm, I revved the engine and started across the track. The engine went, "rrrrroooouuuggghhhhh, chug, chug, cough, cough," and expired, neatly straddling the railroad track. That's when I heard the dreaded "WAAAAAAAHHHHH" of a diesel locomotive. This time, those clanging bells and flashing lights weren't kidding. The behemoth coming around the corner was no switch engine, and it was moving fast.

Did I mention that the headlight on those old diesels was about 12 inches in diameter, and very, very bright? Norman and I learned very quickly that "deer in the headlight" feeling.