WINNING THE LOTTERY- Old School Style

People dream of winning the lottery everyday. Check out any lotto outlet on the eve of a big draw and you'll know what I'm talking about. Fortunately hitting the jackpot isn't confined to odds games. It happens in the classic car scene too. We've all heard stories of so and so purchasing an immaculately preserved ride from some old lady for spare change, or someone getting reunited with a long lost relative who just HAPPENED to have a set or two of ultra rare old school wheels forgotten in the garage, and was happy to let the person have them free just to make space. I, personally, have hit paydirt myself. It came in the form of a 1975 Mazda RX-3 coupe, a car I've dreamed of since I was 5 years old, and it could probably be the only one of its kind in the country. Here are some pics.. http://www.cardomain.com/ride/2965374. Finding the car was nothing short of miraculous, and it's ironic that my dad, the one who "discovered" the car, was the same person who told me I'd never find one in the first place. It all happened some 6 or so years ago. I was content with my 2 Corolla SR-5 Sport Wagons (one Levin and one Trueno, '76 JDM and '77 USDM, both of which were rare to begin with) and my '76 Corona GT 2000 when Daddy-O calls and informs me about this "find" of his near his hangar in Clark Eco Zone in Pampanga. Apparently he had missed a turn and was almost sideswiped by some mechanic on a bike. Dude sped off and my dad, pissed to high heavens, gave chase until they reached a garage filled with muscle cars. Still furious, my dad gets off his vehicle and is immediately distracted by "a car that looked like a '72 Camaro, only way too small". So instead of confronting the mechanic, who by now had gathered a "resbak" of fellow grease monkeys, his anger gives way to curiosity and he inquires about the car. The shop owner related that the car was his son's, it was not supposed to be for sale, but since he was getting married, the kid had no option but to put it up for offers. A few minutes later I'm on the phone with my dad describing "a Mazda like the one I used to point out in the magazine, shaped somewhat like a '73 Corolla Sprinter but with four headlights and a gaping, pointed grille". That was enough for me. Without knowing the condition the car was in, I called one of my friends who desperately wanted one of my SR-5's and gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. With money in my pocket I was on a bus to Angeles the next day. I got to the talyer before opening hours and had to wait a few tense moments to see the car, as the gates were too high for me to get a peek in. When they finally did open, it was waiting for me, and it took a while for the reality to sink in. A close inspection revealed that the car's original rotary engine was swapped out for a more conventional piston engine, but it didn't matter. It was legally registered, it ran very well, and it was complete inside and out. The owner arrived an hour later, and the negotiations took all of five minutes. After everything was signed I sped off in case the person decided to change his mind. I took my time driving home so people on the road could see me driving what could be the rarest car they'll ever see in their life. Now here I am, 6 or so years removed, and the reality still hasn't sunk in, both for me and for other people. People are lost when they see the RX; some have mistakenly called it a Datsun, others shake their heads in disbelief, a person in one forum told me I was a liar and that I wasn't in the Philippines, and a quite a few people have made ridiculous offers to try and buy it from me (and by "ridiculous" I meant both ends of the spectrum; one idiot offered to take it for lunch money and another quoted a cool half million after I refused his show quality '72 Sprinter AND his '03 Honda City). But the reality is that it IS in my garage, it has my name on the registration papers, and, if and when I write my last will and testament, I will make sure it is never sold. I had struck the lottery, and nothing will ever make it leave my hands. Now kindly excuse me while I go hunt for that old geezer with a set of Hayashi Sakuras in his garage that he needs to dispose of as junk...