My "new" car (guess I've got to stop calling it that one of these days) just rolled over 100,000 miles on the way home from work! I'm not sure why I expected fireworks. It did bring back great memories of being in my old car, Pete the Jetta, when it hit 100K -- my college roommate Ruth and I were on a road trip to southern Utah in 1999, and we were at the entrance to Arches National Park when it hit 99,999... so we drove around the park entry sign for five minutes until it turned. Yeah, we were dorks. This time, I was just driving home from work. How boring. But in general this car (my civic) has just been a trusty, sturdy, dependable ride, no complaints, but lacking the adventurous character of Pete the Jetta, who used to die every time I'd slow down and turn at the same time, whose tailpipe fell off somewhere in Indiana (don't worry, I bought him a new one)... and who, by the end, I had to park facing down a hill every night so I could push start him in the morning. Funny how long I put up with him (six years?) and still had a hard time letting him go, even after he'd gotten to the point where I could no longer count on getting from A to B with any consistency. I can't even name this car... For awhile I thought he might be a Stanley, but even that didn't really stick. And this one, I haven't really let him take me anywhere. No random road trips, no cross-country moves loaded down with everything I own, nearly dragging along the highway, thinkin' there's nothing that could go wrong a little duct tape couldn't keep workin' for a few more miles.
Sigh...
