I recently saw a post on a Vintage Mustang forum where someone had posted a photo of his 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback and mentioned how driving it helped him with his PTSD. He didn’t go into detail as to why he was suffering from PTSD and it didn’t really matter, but I nevertheless thought about this when I took my own 1965 Mustang coupe out for a quick spin on this dreary late October morning here in the Northeast.

I imagined that this guy, like me, grew up around these cars. Maybe he worked on them with his father and uncles in a garage with no heat in the dead of winter. Maybe his father had also passed away a long time ago and the car conjures up images of him and living in a simpler time.

I always tell people that my Mustang isn’t really a car at all, it’s actually a time machine. Not like some contraption from a post-apocalyptic H.G. Wells novel or something Marty McFly would need to get it up to 88 miles per hour. Those aren’t real. This time machine, however, does everything those fictional ones do but keeps you, physically, at least, grounded in the present.

Mentally is a whole different story.

When you sit down inside of a Mustang the first thing you obviously smell is “old car.” It’s kind of hard to explain exactly what that is. Perhaps the best way to describe it is a combination of 50+ year old metal, wiring and vinyl mixed with the aroma of an old attic. I know to most people that sounds horrible, but studies have shown that combinations of smells we’ve experienced in our past trigger something in our mind. We often look at photographs to remember the events of the past, but odors are actually better at helping us remember things. Brain scans have shown that odors bring on stronger memories because of the brain regions that process them.

Here in the northeast we’re in the midst of autumn; and the reds, oranges and yellows on the trees are at their peak of color. The gray, overcast sky this morning was certainly the perfect contrast to their profound brilliance. As I pulled out of my driveway and started down the road, a strange thing happened. I found myself going backwards in time.

I drove past sidewalks that were riddled with fallen leaves and could picture myself as a young boy on his way to the school bus stop. I could actually see the red jacket I was wearing, hear the whisper of the chilly late October air tickling my cheek, and feel the weight of my green Trapper Keeper filled with half finished homework assignments.

I then found myself thinking about my father working on old Mustangs in my uncle’s garage up the street. The rainy day drives our family took to the camp ground in summer. Spending late afternoons surrounded by family, playing rounds of Uno, smelling the smoke from the burning kindling and roasted marshmallows, and then looking up at a night sky filled with an endless amount of stars. Dozens of other specific images and events began to appear, like picnics at my Aunt’s house and playing tackle football with the neighborhood kids on Sunday evenings before dinner. The world seemed so pure and so simple. I thought how all of this felt like it was yesterday and yet it had been more that forty five years.

During the whole time I was lost in the moment the car idled and shifted quietly beneath my feet. Physically and peripherally I was in 2023, but mentally I was back in 1978. It wasn’t until I had made the final turn for home that I found myself returning to the present day.

As I pulled the car into the garage, engaged the manual parking brake and turned off the engine I could smell the unique gas and oil aroma an old car emits, bringing back one final salute and memory of turning a wrench with my father. As I disconnected the battery and re-connected the battery tender to keep it slow charging until the next drive, I couldn’t help but smile.

Some people look at photographs to remember the good times. I’m fortunate to be one one of the lucky ones who has a Time Machine.