In article <47bb84p7n6geigr3lgeanluonjr6kitvht@4ax.com>, Richard
Sherratt says...

Looking at Wiki, I'm thinking it must have been a 1967, not a 65 (I know
it was either one year older or younger than me!); Dad's was the largest
engined one they offered in a 4-door ... according to Wiki, that was
(for the 1967 models), the 400 cu. in. lump, but I definitely recall a
3-speed turbo-hydramatic transmission, rather than a 2-speed, so that
makes it a 1967 by default I reckon.

It was a lovely old beast; he'd had it resprayed as the original paint
had suffered a bit under the Californian sun, and the painter was a
great guy - did a smashing job of freshening the gleaming white
paintwork and even refurbished some of the larger chrome items. I
recall it being one of those cars that just "wafts" along; a low
revving, lazy V8 that could really shift when required - I recall some
hilarious moments as more modern Mustangs, Vettes and the like tried it
on at the lights, and when overtaking on route 299 and similar mountain
roads you were past almost before you'd thought about it - the kickdown
pinned you gently into the seats.

It was dad's pride and joy, and I remember my step-sister Bonnie (then
in her early 30s) being allowed to take it out (after much arguing) when
visiting, with my cousin and me along for the ride ... Bonnie looked
like a barbie-doll, but drove like an Indycar veteran. Dad took her
carefully through the warming up regime which, to be fair, she followed
to the letter. We drove slowly and carefully down the farm's drive/lane
(about a mile long), all the while keeping the speed down to about 15
mph, as dad used to note how much dust was being kicked up, and woe
betide anyone making a dust trail, as this meant too high a speed for
his taste on an unmade road.

Reaching the end of the drive, and moving through the gate, she
maintained that driving style for the half mile required to get the car
out of the view of my dad, stood on the porch with a pair of binoculars.
Finally, she slowed to a halt, said "Right! Let's see what this thing's
made of!" and planted her ballet pump firmly into the carpet.

It left 2 dark lines about 30 yards long, and took off like a scalded
cat :)

It also handled significantly better than a lot of US cars of the time,
though according to dad this was more down to luck than planning on
Olds' part; he'd replaced the shocks with more modern, sportier items,
and although not a sports car by any stretch, it wafted through the
mountain roads in a gentle and controlled fashion. Dad had no respect
for speed limits, and used to cruise at around 80, and on one journey
down from Bieber (where we lived) to Sacramento, and then on to San
Diego, I recall being hugely impressed at how relaxed a vehicle it was
to cover distance in. Plus, at a steady 80, with plenty of overtaking,
it still managed 19-20 mpg, which I thought was amazing for such a
large-engined beast - my step-brother's Mustang used to do 10-12 mpg at
the same speed (this was back when people were paying something like 90
cents for a gallon of premium, IIRC). Like many of those old-time, iron
V8s, it never overheated or missed a beat, even in the baking sun, and
the tuck-and-roll upholstery was really comfy, as well as having a back
seat big enough for a 15 year-old me to stretch out on and sleep. Great
car.

Happy times :)