According to Bob Dylan, mobster Joey Gallo “opened up his eyes to the tune of an accordion.” I, on the other hand, opened my eyes to the smell of petroleum, and the sight of a uniform-clad mechanic dad who left for work early in the morning and came home late at night, always smelling of gasoline, grease, and oil. It’s a pleasant recollection, and sometimes stepping into Hemmings’ own Sibley Shop — which perpetually smells of old garage — is enough to bring back a flood of memories.

From the time I was a kid, going “up the garage” was a special treat, initially reserved for Saturday morning gas runs in my older sister’s Thunderbird convertible. As I got older, going up the garage meant working on school breaks, starting with sweeping out the bays and cleaning up, later progressing to pumping gas, checking under the hood, and adjusting tire pressures. Much later, in high school, the job involved spinning wrenches, too, but my dad was determined that I follow a career path different from his own.

What sparked your engine for auto enthusiasm?