I suppose it’s to be expected. Approaching sixty. Hair thinning. Waistline expanding. You run out and buy a sporty new 2019 red converti…wait, that’s not what’s happening here.
For the past five and a half years I’ve been partners with a 2008 Toyota Tacoma. With all apologies to Detroit, it’s the pickup I always dreamed of driving. When she and I got together she was already six years old. She had more than a few miles on her. But we made an agreement never to discuss our former owners.
Nearly six years later we’re still together. She’s got about 220,000 on her odometer, and truth be told, I’m not far behind that.
But I’ve made a decision. In December, when the last payment is made, we’re sticking together. Whether I purchase another Prius or even a scooter to get around the neighborhood in, Miss TT will be be sticking around. Okay, you can stop fake gagging, I just made that nickname up.
I know what you’re thinking…a three way? Me and two other vehicles? Perhaps. I’m still exploring. Even growing a mustache.
Look, she’s been there with me through difficult times. And for the most part, she’s held up her end of the deal. Does her “check engine” light flash a little more than I’d like? Sure. Does she have a few more dents and dings than she used to? We both do. But every morning I step inside, turn the key, and she purrs…well, maybe not like a kitten, but at least like our cat Sophie…when I’ve accidentally stepped on her tail.
No, she doesn’t have built in GPS. Or Sirius. Or heated seats. Or even a hands free system. She’s a hands on type of gal. And, at time, you need two fir hands on her just to keep her in lane…or, line. And her fuel gauge has been out of commission for some time so I travel with a container of gas in the back seat, just in case. Just like me travelling with a defib case…you never know, right?
Earlier this year on a claim assignment in upstate Pennsylvania, she got stuck in a ditch and had to be pulled out. It was close quarters and the tow guy had to use a chain on her rear bumper which bent upwards, out of joint, facing the sky. I remember getting home and then having to use a pry bar to bend the bumper back into reasonable shape (she never liked going to the body shop). It was like popping back into place the dislocated shoulder of a person. I could feel her pain.
We made it through that crisis, and several others. She continues to proudly display any radical bumper stickers I place upon her, without any feedback. I know she’s a loyal Democrat, but never realized she was pro-firearms.
I realized that getting something newer, shinier, faster…that wouldn’t make me feel one day younger. Growing older together seems just right.
And I’m not unrealistic. I know there will come a day when I’ll have to put her down. But I am making provisions…in the event she outlives me. Mrs. Duffy won’t be happy about that, but I believe her bed will make a nice planter in the front garden, don’t you?
We’ve had over 100,000 of memories together. We lugged furniture, mulch, trees, stone and dirt. I’ve even loaned her out on more than a few occasions to allow others to use her (yes, I felt quite dirty and cheap about that). But I never charged so I’m far from being a pimp.
It seems we’re destined to be joined at the bumper for a while longer. And even though both of our doors creak when we first get started, when we get our second wind and we’re headed down the highway, we’ve still got it. And we’ve both got a spare tire, so we’re ready for anything (I’m not sure but mine may finally be bigger than hers).
I will admit, from time to time my head does get turned. That ad for the new VW Bus, coming out in two years. That had me drooling a bit. But I think of me, inside that shiny, fuel efficient vehicle, and it seems like we just wouldn’t fit together.
Trapped in a Happy Life 