My Favorite Ride: 'Why aren't you driving the old Hudson?'

So, it happened again this past week. I was driving in downtown Bloomington, it was early afternoon Thursday, when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a pretty spectacular car. The prettiest shade of blue, a shiny white hardtop.

I cut through an alley, pulled onto northbound Walnut Street and followed the car, which appeared to be a mid-1950s Chevrolet, possible a Bel Air. About three miles into the pursuit, headed toward the ramp from Business Ind. 37 onto I-69, I decided I would stay with the car as far as Martinsville, but not beyond.

Then the driver turned left into the TIS parking lot. So did I. He parked. I did too. Ready to approach and explain myself, I recognized the driver. It was Tim Lloyd, often written about in this column, mostly regarding one of his many old Hudsons.

And that two-tone jewel he was driving? Close up, I recognized it as well; the car was a My Favorite Ride focus 10 years ago, back in February 2011. This is the car Clarence Adkins gave Lloyd back in 1976, when the 86-year-old man gave up driving. It’s the car Lloyd and his bride drove away in on their wedding day.

It’s the car he drove to work at TIS, where he’s worked since 1974, after he got his driver’s license.

“Why aren’t you driving the old Hudson?” I asked on Thursday, referring his beat-up teal 1954 Hornet, the 57-year-old sedan that serves as his daily driver. “I followed you from the bank, but didn’t realize it was you. I’m not used to seeing this car out on a week day.”

“Oh, I drive it,” he said.

Turns out Thursday was Lloyd’s last day at TIS, after 47 years, and he had driven to the company headquarters for his going-away party. We talked awhile, I took some pictures, then a lady came outside. “We’re ready for you,” she said.

His farewell party was set to begin; longtime coworkers were waiting.

“The first day I had my driver’s license, I drove this car to work,” he told me. “And now, I’m driving it on my last day.”

A wistful moment later, he headed inside to conclude a 47-year career. Left standing there by that gleaming Bel Air in the parking lot, I was struck by the how a story can evolve about a life and a car, and how I fall into them, sometimes unexpectedly.

Amid this reflecting, I remembered I had forgotten to tell Lloyd the Chevy’s driver’s side brake light bulb needs replacing.

I went back and read that 2011 column, in which he described how Clarence Adkins’ Bel Air had become part of his life, how it “still brings back cherished memories, each time I climb behind the wheel for a drive.”