The story of me and my car

My car and I have a long history together which began way back in 1997. I’m not the kind of person to get attached to a vehicle or give it a name, but after all these years I do feel a bond with my car. She doesn’t have a name, she’s just kind of like the old girl who has become my companion during the many travels and adventures we’ve shared. She’s become more than just a piece of machinery to me, she has almost become part of the family. Back when I was married and living in Idaho we bought a Ford Explorer, which we loved and worked great for us since we had two young sons, but the poor gas mileage was costing us a fortune in gas so we decided to get rid of it. We traded it in for a new 1997 Toyota Camry. It wasn’t quite as spacious and fancy as the Explorer, but it worked well enough. I’ve always been a fan of Toyota because of their reliability and how many miles they typically get, and I liked the look of the newer Camry design. It was the perfect car for our young family.

Through the years we covered a lot of miles as we saw a good portion of the country in that car. It drove like a champ on snowy and icy roads in Idaho and I always felt comfortable driving through even the worst conditions. I could plow through deep snow and if we slid on ice I was always able to keep her on the road. We made many trips between Idaho and Oregon to visit my mom and step-dad and drove through some nasty winter storms but always made it through. We drove to California to the small town near Yosemite where I had vacationed when I was a kid, and it was pretty cool to be at the same lake with my young sons where I had so many wonderful times when I was their age. Then we moved to Missouri and there were many trips to St. Louis where we attended a Cardinals game or two every season and loved to spend time at the Soulard Farmers Market. Once after a game we went to the parking lot only to find our car had been broken into. Thankfully there was little damage and nothing of value was taken. Oddly enough the only things they took were the leftovers from the Italian restaurant we had eaten at prior to the game, which really irritated us because we were looking forward to snacking on that after the game.

The Camry has an average sized trunk, but you’d be amazed at what we were able to fit into it. At various times we’ve hauled bricks, landscaping rock, sod, lumber, soil, bags of manure, various pieces of furniture, numerous school projects, band gear, and copious amounts of sports gear, including a pitching machine! And firewood. Lots of firewood, not only in the trunk but also in the back seats. And I’m not talking about split pieces of firewood, I’m talking rounds of wood which I cut from downed trees with my chainsaw. Since we burned a lot of firewood during the winters my youngest son and I kept an eye out for when trees were cut down, and when we had the opportunity we’d go cut as much as we could fit into the car. Most of it we used for firewood but some of the nicer wood I milled into lumber for woodworking. We also hauled numerous pets to and from the vet or out for a walk, including three large pit bulls! I spent more time than I care to remember inside that car cleaning up dog hair, dirt and debris from firewood, sand, vomit from kids and dogs, spilled milk and soda, various types of food and assorted candy that had melted onto the carpet or upholstery.

I have a lifetime of memories associated with that car. I taught both my sons to drive in that car, and amazingly the car is still running! My oldest son was more of a challenge and there were times when I feared for the safety of both me and the car, but thankfully teaching my youngest son to drive was much less harrowing. The many years of loading up the kids and baseball gear for Little League games and the trips back home either celebrating good games or consoling them after a bad game. There is still a faded Little League sticker on the back window from all those years ago. All the years of dropping off and picking up the kids at school. Driving throughout Missouri to attend my son’s marching band competitions. Driving my sons to deliver newspapers when the weather was too bad for them to ride their bikes. Trips to the courthouse for my divorce, my name change, and a bail hearing for one of my sons. Driving near Salt Lake City and watching as the van in front of us swerved off the road into the median and rolled over several times, and then helping to get the family out the wreckage and seeing how badly the mother was hurt. And the little boy asking if his mom was okay. Numerous close calls avoiding deer, dogs, turtles, squirrels and oblivious people not paying attention. And memories of the little things; driving to the store or wherever, just moments in time with my sons which stand out for one reason or another. And I drove in that car as I began venturing out for the first time as Rebecca; driving to stores and sitting in the parking lot because I was too scared to get out, but eventually I gained confidence and found my way out of the car.

When we bought the car when my sons were young and I must have buckled them into their car seats and booster seats thousands of times. So it was very special for me the one time I got to strap my grandson’s car-seat into my car and buckle him in the very same car I had buckled his dad into so many times when he was little all those years ago, and to get the chance to drive with my son and grandson. So many memories. I had forgotten how much more cautious I drive with a baby in the car; the most precious cargo I’ve ever carried in that car.

About three years ago I loaded up my belongings, or at least all that I could cram into my car, and drove from Missouri to Oregon, which was a miserably long drive, but it was also exciting because it was the start of a new chapter in my life; a new beginning. And over the past year I drove from Portland to Los Angeles, back to Portland, once again to Los Angeles and finally back to Portland. I have learned how to utilize every square inch of space inside my car and have packed the car so many times I have it down to a science. These past few trips driving non-stop between Portland and Los Angeles concerned me given how old the car is and how many miles it has. Sometimes I occasionally talk to her, such as giving her encouragement or promising no more long trips. Thankfully she has never answered me back!

She’s had her share of mechanical issues but thankfully nothing too serious. I keep up with regular oil changes and do what I can to keep her running. At over 204,000 miles she’s still going strong. I sometimes wonder who will give out first, me or the car. She looks kind of beat up, which makes me sad. The paint is badly faded and starting to oxidize in a few places. If you look close you can see all the tiny dents from numerous hail storms in Missouri. And there’s a big dent in the rear door on the driver’s side where an old lady backed her car into mine but didn’t feel the need to take responsibility for what she did and leave me a note.

There were times when I thought about trading her in for a newer car, but always decided against it. The car has been paid off for a long, long time and runs well so I never saw the point of getting rid of her. And besides, I’ve kind of grown attached to her through the years. I know the feel of the car and how it handles in all conditions; there’s a nice comfort level, sort of like a pair of well-worn gloves that fit just right. I was thinking if I ever won the lottery I wouldn’t buy a new car, I’d just take my Camry to a good mechanic, get a new paint job, and I’d be happy as clam knowing she’s running good and looking good again.

So that’s the story of me and my car. We’ve had a good run together and now we both just need to make it to the end of the journey, wherever that may lead us.