C A L R E L Y C S L S A I C S

These rides are anything but average

Some might joke these neighbors have oil instead of blood and a mechanical pump where their hearts ought to be. But really, it’s about a love for an era. These neighbors share a passion for a bygone time when vehicles were made by hand and form often trumped function. They don’t mind the extra effort these cars entail because they’re keeping a little piece of history alive with every nut and bolt they save. It’s worth the time and expense, they say, because it allows them to live another life every time they climb behind the wheel.

The Prodigy

Ricky Estrada is quick to point out he’ll be 17 by the time this article publishes, but he speaks with a passion and maturity well beyond his young years.

“I feel like, with newer cars, there’s no humanity in them. They’re all designed by machines,” he says. “Older cars, they were drawn up in someone’s head. It’s someone’s vision.”

Estrada has always been drawn to vintage things, from clocks to vinyl re- cords. Aside from a few modern conveniences like a cell charger, his room is reminiscent of what you’d find in a 1970s teenager’s bedroom. So when it came to cars, no one was surprised when the modern mechanisms failed to draw his attention. It was vintage Volkswagons that first caught his fancy.

“It started with the Beetle. Every time I saw one of those spunky little cars, I fell in love,” he gushes. “It was the unique shape. That’s always been my personality. It was more these cars are different, and I wanted to be different.”

He was definitely different. He says other students at his Richardson High School weren’t clamoring for the ultimate compact car. But his love of Beetles led to an overall fascination with VWs, from buses (the 1960s split window, not the bay window-style of the 1970s) to the sporty Karmann Ghia. Estrada was 15 when he started scouring the internet for the right Volkswagon for him, something that would stand out. While there were many cars on the market, most were “farm fresh,” as the gearheads say, and needed extensive mechanical work after being left to rot in the elements for decades.

“You have to be patient with these things,” Estrada advises.

Finally, a family friend found the unexpected, but perfect, vehicle right here in our neighborhood. The cherry red 1971 VW Type 3 was just sitting at the corner of Mockingbird and Abrams with a “for sale” sign.

“I thought it was the coolest thing ever,” Estrada says. “Out of all the unusual Volkswagons, this is the most unusual.”

First manufactured in 1961, the Type 3 wasn’t introduced to the United States until 1966. Despite being the first mass-produced car with an electric fuel injector, the vehicle failed to capture an American audience, and production ceased in 1973.

After finding such a rare make in good working order, Estrada was eager to bring Rosie, as he would name the Type 3, home to his parents’ White Rock Lake-area house. That’s when the teen learned the joys and pitfalls of classic car ownership.

“I knew nothing [about repairs],” he says. “There was a lot of YouTube videos and a lot of trial and error.”

Working with his dad and relying heavily on vintage car message boards online, Estrada taught himself to work on the suitcase-style engine of his Type 3. When something broke, he figured out what it was and how to fix it.

“That’s the best thing about vintage cars, they’re never perfect, there’s always something they need. It’s almost like they have a personality,” he says. “It’s almost like someone you take care of.”

He became obsessed with restoring the car to its original glory, and remains noticeably bothered by modern additions others have made, specifically the inaccurate tailpipe. Although his car was originally a dull brown, Kansas Beige to be specific, he’s much happier with its current color, even if it isn’t factory authentic.

“I like the red a lot more — it pops,” he says.

Estrada wasn’t just in love with his car, he fell for the whole culture around it. He noticed tons of vintage cars as he cruised around White Rock Lake, and got an idea.

“I thought, ‘What if we got all these people together?’ I want to hear what they have to say,” he remembers.

A simple post on a neighborhood social media page asking other vintage car owners if they wanted to get together was all it took. White Rock Car Club was born. Estrada partnered with area businesses such as Neighbor’s Casual Kitchen and Rooster Hardware to host car shows that include live music, raffles and other activities designed to draw a wide crowd.

The club has allowed him to get to know others who share his passion, although he admits he’s usually the youngest car owner by at least a decade. But that never seems to matter when they’re talking shop.

“Like every car guy, I have a list of cars I’d love to own,” he admits, listing European models like the Tatra T87, Citroën DS and, of course, a Karmann Ghia. He can’t afford those quite yet, so right now, he only has eyes for Rosie.

“I’ve only seen one other Type 3,” he says. “A guy with a Beetle offered to trade me, but that car is too special to me.”

Street Art

Everything that surrounds Jaime Sendra is impressive. Colorful blooms and foliage line his long gravel driveway, the pinnacle at which presents a picturesque view of White Rock Lake. A playground worthy of a public park and the remnants (a bouquet of Mylar balloons) of a grandchild’s recent birthday party occupy a sprawling yard.

Warm greetings flow as the 72-yearold briskly makes his way to the gate. He shakes hands and asks a few questions; he responds generously to the ones posed to him. Within a few minutes it is understood that his parents were Mexican, by way of Barcelona, Spain, and that his father founded Bimbo Bakery, now a multinational billion-dollar company. And that Sendra didn’t really want to be in the bakery business. He was an artist, a graphic artist, with a pioneering mindset. He came to America in 1968 to study, met his wife, Peggy (“There were bells in the hills the first time I saw her,” he says, his Spanish accent adding a lyrical lilt), and moved back to Mexico for a few years before returning to start his own graphics company, which, with ingenuity and hard work and his brother’s partnership, made him financially successful in his own right. His parents’ story would be enough for a movie, he says, but that’s not why we are here.

The tour begins behind the first garage door, with a burgundy 1957 Mini Cooper. It resembles a shiny, big-ticket toy, a movie-set prop. Sendra — a man of above-average stature — looks borderline cartoonish sliding into the driver’s seat. Then he starts the engine, revs it several times, cranks open the sunroof and hol-