It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Well, sorry to cheapen your words, Charles Dickens, but this is the plight of used car owners if I do say so. He might also add, it was the most hilarious of times...because let's face it, car trouble is kind of funny. I bid farewell to my trusty steed this week, christened Icabod my freshman year of college by my roommate Megan. I once stumbled across the name in a book, the footnote of which read, No glory. Fitting enough.
My mom bought shiny little Icabod brand new when I was nine...and got hit by a naughty red-light-runner on the way home! This was the start of great things.
He served as a trusty family vehicle for many years until my spunky 17-year-old self totaled my own first car on the freeway...after which poor Icabod became my charge. (Trust the older car to the human with the underdeveloped frontal lobe - good move, mom.) And what a time we had, driving to LA and all over the mountains above San Bernadino the summer before college. I assumed he could take me anywhere, and put him to the test a fair amount. I always loved driving, and Icabod actually served me really well.
Oh, he had his quirks. The volume knob, for instance, did whatever it wanted. Oh you wanted to turn the music down? Whoops, now it's blasting. For twenty minutes. All the while you embarrassedly try to make it stop. Hehe. The butthead.
I remember the first time the passenger sun visor fell on someone's head - that was pretty funny. Then I remember when the driver side did the same thing and made me jump a foot out of my seat in alarm. After that it hardly caused a reaction: it falls out, shove it back in, keep driving.
Then there was the time when I drove it into a telephone pole when I was 18. And by drove, I don't mean daintily tapped. (Oh, that was the gas pedal?!) My friends, who had just gotten out of the car to go deliver something while I parked, turned around and comically trudged back to the car - I don't think we ever completed that delivery. While I was still working to get it fixed, I got pulled over for no other offense than having a sketchy-looking car. Well it's true, Icabod was butt-ugly without a bumper.
There was the era when the brakes hardly worked, and made a sound like Lost's island beast every time you needed to stop. I kid you not - these brakes turned heads. All of them. I think I counted 9 trips to the shop in one year before finally getting it fully fixed....oh cars. :)
There was the time the timing chain skipped and we somehow still decided to fix it. And we (read, my friend) pushed it up a hill to a parking spot till I could have it towed. There were flat tires and missing hubcaps, quirky trips to the Autoparts store (where one in five men will hit on you and try to sound impressive about cars). There were honest and dishonest mechanics. There was the evolution as a driver from "It's making a sound in the the thingamabob," to "It sounds like a fuel injector issue..." There were oops-I-curbed-it-again moments. Oh yeah, and a couple tickets...(several years ago, I promise).
There were also the friends I carted around in it, making them listen to my terrible music (Pandora has helped me greatly, friends). There were the places we went, from California and all over Arizona: longer road trips and short getaway day trips. There were the goofy memories, the silly memories, and the frustrating memories (Did you have to die right now??). There were night drives just to see the city lights and think life over. There were pothole-dodging routes (Tucson...). It was my college car, my questionably trusty steed who gave me his best. Poor Icabod put up with a younger version of myself who was a much more cocky headstrong driver (re: frontal lobe development). And in turn, he allowed me the independence I craved - and probably needed. He was a great car until the end...or until approximately 5 months before the end. ;)
We'll see what the next adventure holds!
|On to bigger and better things, but you didn't hear it from me - Goodbye Icabod!|