My car's final trip

Last week my car took its final trip. Stranded and broken, it has sat on my parent's property since Dec. 11, when it finally blew a gasket. It is a 1984 Honda Accord with 209,993 miles on it.

It was towed away March 3 at 2:30 p.m.

While I owned the car, I couldn't afford to keep it in the matter it rightly deserved. I feel guilty about this. That's probably where the true love of a car is needed, though it was still in great shape. Except for the engine being dead, of course.

However, I still found it very hard to say goodbye. I let it sit for two months, just thinking about wanting to get it fixed, though at the same time realizing the cost of doing so would exceed the value of the car.

And though on many levels I realize it's just a hunk of metal, glass, plastic and upholstery, it has been where I've been. It's traveled to places I've traveled to. Indeed, it is the only reason I ever got anyplace.

A reporter needs a car. You can't ride a bike or a bus to an accident scene. A bike is too slow. A bus will never go to all the paces you need to go as a reporter. I needed my car, perhaps more than many other people who think they need their car or SUV for work.

On top of that, driving is a deep pleasure for me. I did a lot of driving over the Cascade Mountains. I go for quick jaunts around the area just to clear my head.

But my car has seen all my moods. It has seen me lost, confused, and excited (after a one-in-a-1,000 interview or after grabbing a picture of a spectacular 1-in-a-million scene). It has seen me furious, frustrated and feeding myself hurriedly as I drive and try not to crash. It has even seen me and another make love.

Article Author: Temple Stark

A graphic designing wordsmith, with a decade-plus career in community journalism behind me. Take a mean photo, have a new camera, and have been riding the wave of Twitter for more than a year.

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