A Grandfather’s Tale: The Joys of My Old Car in 2025
October 15, 2050
Gather ‘round, kids. Let me tell you about a time when the world felt a little wilder, a little freer—back in 2025, when I had my own car. Not one of those sleek, auto-driven pods you see whizzing by on the grid today, mind you. No, this was my car—a beat-up, gas-powered sedan with a stick shift and a temperamental radio. It was mine, and it was magic.
You kids might not believe it, but back then, we didn’t just tap a screen and let some AI shuttle us from point A to B. Driving was an adventure, a skill. I’d grip the wheel, feel the engine rumble, and decide where to go. No algorithms nudging me toward “optimal routes” or “approved zones.” Sometimes, I’d just pick a road—any road—and see where it led. Out to the countryside, mostly. Oh, the countryside! Wide open fields, twisty backroads, and air that smelled like grass and freedom.

I remember piling my friends into that car—your grandma was one of ‘em, you know. We’d crank the windows down (by hand, mind you!) and let the wind tangle our hair. The radio would crackle, spitting out old rock tunes or some talk show we’d argue over. We’d drive out past the city limits, where the lights faded and the stars came alive. I’d park by some random field, and we’d sit on the hood, still warm from the engine, talking about dreams and nonsense till the moon was high.

Driving wasn’t just about going somewhere. It was about feeling alive. The way the car leaned into a curve, the little thrill when you hit the gas just right. Sure, it wasn’t perfect—traffic jams could drive you mad, and don’t get me started on gas prices. But even the breakdowns had their charm. Once, my car sputtered out on a dirt road at midnight. Took me hours to figure out it was just a loose battery cable. I cursed it then, but now? I laugh. It was my puzzle to solve.
You don’t get that now, do you? Everything’s mass transit—those humming electric tubes, all synchronized, no delays, no surprises. Or the auto-cabs that whisk you along without so much as a word. Efficient, sure. Safe, I’ll grant you. But there’s no soul in it. No moment where you’re alone with the road, deciding your own path. Back then, my car was my kingdom. I’d toss my camping gear in the trunk and head to the hills for a weekend. No schedules, no passenger quotas. Just me, the open road, and maybe a thermos of coffee.
I know things had to change. Cities got bigger, air needed cleaning, and, well, folks wanted safety over stories. By 2035, the auto-pods were everywhere, and my old sedan got harder to maintain. Gas stations started vanishing, replaced by charging hubs. Then the laws came—manual driving restricted, then banned on most roads. I sold my car in ‘38. Broke my heart, but I couldn’t keep her cooped up in a garage forever.
Now, I look at you kids, born into this world of seamless transit, and I wonder if you’ll ever know what it’s like to chase a sunset down a highway, no destination in mind. I hope you do, somehow. Maybe not in a car like mine, but in some way that’s yours. Freedom’s worth finding.
So, that’s my story. Wanna see a picture of her? My old car, I mean. Got a snap right here—look at that dented bumper. She was a beauty, wasn’t she?