“You have 10 minutes until we’re calling a tow truck for you.” The police officer was understandably upset: my 1963 Dodge Dart was blocking an underpass near downtown Palo Alto, California. Its driveshaft had come loose from the rear end, whipped around like a python, and wedged itself above the axle. It was my fault, but I found my incorrectly installed universal joint on the pavement and insisted I could have it running and moved in five minutes. The two city police officers crossed their arms to watch me work. Just another day in the life of a classic car daily driver. I was beginning to regret relying on the 1963 Dart as my only car.

Fresh out of college, I landed my first real job and, for once, had a little cash in my pocket. Did I save it? No, I spent it on my dream car: a 1963 Dodge Dart convertible. The car’s owner had abandoned the classic at a shop when she saw the repair bill for a seized engine. But the shop had gotten the steadfast slant six running and sold me the entire thing for a song. While the slant six proved as bulletproof as its reputation, every other aspect of the car needed some love. I’m glad I drove it; I learned a ton. But looking back, there were three major downsides to daily driving a car more than 50 years old.

1- They don’t make ‘em like they used to. They make them better

When I bought my 1963 Dodge Dart in early July, I was living on Skyline Boulevard. It’s one of the best motorcycle roads in the world, winding through redwood trees and along the top of the mountains that form the backbone of the San Francisco Peninsula. I was used to spirited rides up and down the mountains on my Suzuki GS1000. I’ll admit I knew my Dart’s performance would be lackluster by comparison, but I was not ready for how much. Uphill, I barely managed 25 mph. Downhill, I thought I was taking it easy—until the brakes faded because the fluid was boiling.

I asked some 1960s car guys what was wrong. Their answer? ’Nothing. That’s just how cars were back then. People drove slower and pulled over to cool their brakes.

Driving on the highway, I always left extra stopping room in front of me, knowing I would need it. But in rush hour traffic, some bonehead always cut in front of me to snag the space I left for safety. My scariest moments in the old car occurred when distracted drivers in front of me decided to pump the brakes or change lanes without warning.

Here’s another example. Ever think about your car’s fan speeds? Probably not. The Dart had two: hurricane or weak sigh.

Driving an old car is a way of life. And an old convertible like the Dart really invites you to cruise slowly. When you enjoy the journey so much, who cares about the destination? So my classic Dodge Dart’s performance limitations were easy to forgive. But if you’re considering an old car, you should know what you’re getting into.

2- Old cars aren’t actually easier to work on

If you believe fans of 1950s, 60s, and 70s American cars, you might think classics are as easy to work on as a Lego kit. But this is just not true. Old cars are very different from new cars. In some ways, they’re easier. In other ways, they’re harder.

Old cars often offer more space under the hood. It’s just plain easier to reach almost every component. When you take a smaller engine like my 1963 Dodge Dart’s slant six and drop it in an engine bay that could fit a small-block V8, it gets even easier. So I rarely struggled to get a wrench onto a bolt.

Back then, engineers didn’t design cars with repairs in mind. Maybe they didn’t think about it. Maybe their bosses didn’t care. Whatever the reason, there were some insane solutions. For example, on old cars you might find bolts running into square frame rails with a free-spinning nut holding them in place. Fine for assembly in the factory, a nightmare for disassembly. Another major issue is the huge variety of nuts and bolts used. Many cars, such as the Dodge Dart, might run a single engine or transmission for two decades. When another part of the car got upgraded, it got much more modern hardware. You really need a full set of tools to work on an old car.

Finally, components of old cars, even California survivors, are just worn out. Vacuum lines all leak. Wires are often frayed and shorting out. Every suspension bushing creaks like a geriatric’s knees. And if a nut or bolt hasn’t been removed regularly, chances are it’s so rusted in place you’ll have to get out your torches to remove it.

What I will say is that old cars are straightforward in ways that enable you to learn as you fix the things that break. (And they’ll break.) In the case of my slant six Dart, they can also be more forgiving as you make mistakes and fix them again. So they’ll bring you to tears, but they are great teachers.

3- Constant comments get old

I love talking cars—when I’m in the mood. But running errands? I don’t need to hear your grandpa’s truck stories just because I drive an old Dart. And please, don’t start a sentence with “You know what you should do with this car…” Seriously, it’s amazing how entitled strangers feel to tell you how to modify a car. “You should lift this thing.” “You need to slam this car.” “What your car needs is some custom pinstriping.” “Flames.” “A V8.” “Straight pipes.” “An EV conversion.” “Shag carpeting.”

When I first bought a classic car, I enjoyed the instant-celebrity feeling you get driving around something unique and classic. And I always enjoyed driving it on occasion, whether going to a show or out on date night. But the constant comments got old within a week.

4- Reliability is a factor. Always

You can fix an old car as fast as it breaks—but something else is always waiting to fail. Even after a full restoration, reliability is a question mark. New parts don’t always play nice together. And many aspects of old cars were just not as reliable from the factory. You rarely end up with something as reliable as a brand-new car.

What does this mean? I think back to when my 1963 Dodge Dart was my only mode of transportation, and I realize there are trips I chose not to go on, adventures around California I just didn’t have, because I didn’t have a truly reliable vehicle.

Which brings me back to my downtown Palo Alto fiasco. I was able to free up my driveshaft, reattach it to my rear end—this time using the correct clips to secure the new universal joint—and limp the thing home. But many other test drives ended with me calling roadside assistance. It’s all just part of the adventure when you aren’t trying to get to work.

One of my first mechanical mentors, another slant six enthusiast I met in Vermont, had his old cars. He also had his newer Honda Civic. It was for commutes and long trips. And he took his old cars out when he truly wanted to. In my 20s, I listened to his advice on adjusting valves and setting timing. But I didn’t pick up this last piece of wisdom. And I regret it.