The Midget Was Brand-New And The Color Of Ballpark Mustard.

1970 YELLOW MG MIDGET (NOT MINE).

No more than 200 miles on the odometer, when the idiot trying to pass me spun out of control and totaled my new MG Midget.

That was 1970, and looking back, maybe I was the idiot for driving a brand new, tiny sports car onto a snow-slicked Vermont road. The other driver was uninjured, and my buddy in the passenger seat was shaken but okay.

An ambulance took us to the emergency room, where the doctor picked shards of safety glass from my arm. The others were too deep, he explained, and would work their way out over time.

The friend we were staying with picked us up. He was on Killington ski patrol, so the next morning we got to the mountain early.

I skied Killington a lot that season, leaving Manhattan after Friday rush hour; arriving at my friend’s around midnight. Up early for a full day. Party that night. An early start Sunday; leave for Manhattan around 3.

On holiday weekends, we drove the additional distance to Stowe.

Sunday morning, we decided to sleep in and missed our ride to the mountain. This was a time in my life when non-ski clothes and toiletries went in a small daypack. We carried packs and gear out to the road and hitched to the mountain.

It may be because of that experience that I still pick up hitchhikers carrying skis; even a boarder on occasion.

The driver pulled into a line of parked cars. As we thanked him, another car pulled in next to us. It had New York plates, and two pretty girls.

I quickly explained what happened and our need for a lift back to Manhattan. It was their destination, as well. The girls needed to think it over. We agreed to meet them in the day lodge at 3:00 PM when they’d let us know.

Throughout life, we hear about or experience random but life-altering events. I didn’t know this would be one of them.

I made a date with one of the girls for a few nights later, on Saint Patrick’s Day. At lunch, I walked over to Rockefeller Center to see the parade. Negotiating my way through the throng, the girl appeared. Millions of people in the Big City, and we bump into each other a few hours before our date, the first of many.

Skiing has been a major influence in shaping my life. Who could have predicted that losing my new MG Midget on the way to Killington would result in meeting my future wife?

7 Comments

  1. joanne lasnier says:

    Nice story❤️ TY for sharing

  2. John Barker. says:

    What a great story. Too bad about the car. Excellent about your future wife skiing. A match made in heaven!!

  3. A great story and a great car it was. The color was called Harvest Gold the same color as my old MGB. In the early 60’s I drove my Green Bug Eye Sprite from Long Beach NY to Davos in the Lower Catskills. It was a wonder we ever lived through those slides for life on the Thruway ice.

  4. That is a very suspicious story. My memory of Jon’s cars from the 60’s doesn’t include anything even remotely close to what could be characterized as new. In fact floorboards seemed to be an option that Jon routinely didn’t have.

    I do have a clear memory of coming back from a day of skiing at Song Mountain in one of his junkers and stopping at a traffic light . We never left that intersection. The car caught on fire. We saved our skis and boots and lives but the car wasn’t salvageable .

    • Jon Weisberg says:

      Tom, You’re right! They were lovable old junkers. What you didn’t know then — and I’m revealing it now after all those years — I always removed at least one floorboard when I knew you’d be hitching a ride. ;->

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