free ride
Thursday, January 19 
This Camry isn't mine, but I feel an unspoken bond with this car's owner — like we would probably give each other a special, knowing wave passing each other on the road...
My parents gave me my first car about five years ago, when I turned 37. I wanted one when I was 16, but apparently they take the job of teaching their offspring to delay gratification very seriously.
Still, I appreciated their generosity after my previous car unexpectedly died, and Shawn and I drove down to Salt Lake City to pick up my new (used) Toyota Camry.
We were so excited we practically flew home in that car, until a cop pulled us over for speeding. He looked inside the car window, his eyes resting on the exposed wires of the steering column.
“Oh, you’re probably wondering what that’s about,” I said. Then I explained that this was a “family” car, and that my youngest brother had been driving it for some months when he lost the keys. Lucky for him, he knew how to hotwire cars, and was able to get the car fired up. (Whew!) Unfortunately, he either forgot where he put the steering column casing, or was too lazy to reinstall it.
The policeman listened politely, wrote us a ticket, then proceeded to make a whole bunch of phone calls that took 45 minutes until he was satisfied that we really did own the nearly 15-year-old car.
Since then, I’ve added my own character marks to the car. A spilled cup of coffee, dog hair and funk sealed inside the crevices, the ashtray jammed shut with pistachio shells. It’s not that I’m a messy person so much as keeping the car tidy seemed a bit beside the point. Like spiffying up a college freshman boy’s basement apartment. Then came the physical evidence of the car growing tired:
A spidery, cracked windshield became a map-like homage to a road trip.
The backseat passenger window fossilized into place, no longer willing to go up or down.
Hubcaps peeled off the running car like Frisbees at a parade, or perhaps a bra-burning event to liberate the load and allow one to see the goods beneath.
Passengers felt so relaxed by my car’s ambiance that feet routinely rested on the dusty dash, rather than the cluttered floor. (That’s how the heater vents were accidentally kicked in like rotting teeth.)
There were some problems with the brakes, then a CV joint had to be replaced.
We tried to make a copy of the lone car key, but it was so worn that no shop could replicate it. Instead, Shawn became expert at breaking into the car whenever I inadvertently locked the key inside.
The front passenger door grew rebellious, refusing to open for strangers from the outside, only responding to my sheepish shove from the inside.
It all seemed fine, until Oldest Son reluctantly accepted a ride to school from me last fall, filling me in on what a disgrace the vehicle was: “Do you realize your car is older than anything in the high school parking lot?”
Seriously? I thought. What a bunch of spoiled brats those kids are! What ever happened to driving an eyesore as a rite of passage? How do these kids build character driving new Audis?
I was proud of my 20-year-old car with its 234,000 miles on it. I didn’t NEED a sweet ride to boost my self-confidence or win friends. Plus, every month I drove my f-r-e-e set of parent-sponsored wheels was like money in my pocket for the car payment I WASN’T paying.
Am I right, admirers?
Then last November I slid on icy roads into the hitch of a pickup truck in front of me because my studded snow tires were worn to nubs.
There, I thought, surveying the plucked-out eye of a headlight and buckled front hood. We’re done with this car. (But not by my choice, By God!)
But then Shawn took the car up to his dad’s shop, pounded out the hood, and drove her back home. “Almost good as new,” he said proudly. “The high-beams still actually work, so I’d just use those at night. The lights are so dirty no one will notice.”
The next morning was frigid, and I walked out to my car, glum. Seems I was losing the love. But what to do — take out a loan and buy a new (used) car? Buy some stranger’s set of nasty problems?
I reached down to open the driver’s side door, and the handle snapped off in my hand like brittle bones. I stared down at it, betrayed.
What more, I thought?
Did I deserve this? Had I not been a terrific sport during my years with this car, gratefully standing up for it even during the worst insults?
I was done.
Then the phone rang.
“Do you want our 2001 Nissan Maxima?” my parents asked. “We just bought a new car.”
Reader Comments (11)
So your parents... Is there any kind of used-car lotto or sign up sheet or something I can get my name on?
They're delightful people by the way. Quite enjoyed chatting with them at the party.
Sounds like you were describing our 1998 Oldsmobile but your car was in worse shape by far. It is nice to get a newer car even if it is used. We got rid of my 1998 ford when a hail storm totaled it. I love having a car I can trust and will not stop running while driving down the high way. All the windows and doors and seatbelts work as do the brakes. So glad for your new addition to the family so to speak.
Another perfect example of how patience, endurance and procrastination pays off! And tell Oldest Son, you were just being conscientious of the earth's plight by being frugal and reusing/recycling another person's car. It was always about the earth. Yeah. Good on ya!
Nice! Glad you are getting new wheels. 234,000 miles gets you some kind of bragging rights.
Wow! Two "new" cars in five years! Happy dance, totally.
Good thing you married into a family that has epic used car stories. I'm sure they're proud that you're adding to the lore.
Congrats on the new wheels--
I didn't know there was any other way to drive a car til the bitter end. If the parts aren't falling off then it still works. Plus, it's a good dose of humility for a high school child to be picked up in something that routinely back fires. :)
Bliss Chick, I think the epic used car stories belong to my husband's family. They drove out here for Christmas this year and decided to rent a car to avoid any issues and....yep, the rental car broke down and they had to get a new one.
Great end to a fabulous essay.
My 15 year old used bomb, which I loved and refused to get rid of, was officially "Totaled" when a tornado blew through our neighborhood 3 years ago. It finally went to its death las year when my 16 year old son flipped it over driving one of these windy Texas country roads. My son got a skull fracture. (He's fine now.) The car didn't make it.
When I think of the $$ we've marinated our old trucks in, I get a little shaky. I suspect we could have a shiny new model for what the other five trucks are costing every week. Is there anybody out there that would like our '79 Chevy pickup that died a few months ago? It has its third engine gently oxidizing under its buckled hood, but for a few grand, you'd have a great ride. (We'll GIVE it to you, but the grand goes to your trusty garage guys.) At least the other '79 Chev is still running. More or less. But when it won't start, we just migrate to the '89, then to the '94, and then to the bicycle or horse, depending upon the weather.
Is there a sign-up sheet with your folks? Remind your dad how often I refer to my crush on him... will it move me up the list?
And I LOVE your encounter with the cop! Well described!
Beast: Just sign up under "Brother From Another Mother." That should do the trick. I'll teach you the secret "Hey, we both drive a piece of shit!" wave that is expected when you drive such a car and encounter a kindred spirit on the road.
SDA: Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the hail damage. The car also had some fine hail dings, but our insurance didn't cover that :) I'm loving my new wheels.
Laurie: You're so right on! How Oldest Son could not see that the earth-friendly implications of driving such a car outweighed any possible embarrassment is beyond me. (Errr...yeah.)
Pooknelle: Yes, call it the pride of using it up before throwing it out. Or something like that. Seems like I should earn Dutchie points it, anyway.
Bliss Chick: Yes, and as you know those Regnerus' are handy at turning old vehicles into handy trailers as well!
Heather: Next step was to blow out some windows and apply some plastic and duct tape. Thanks goodness we didn't quite make it to that point.
Mary: Holy crap! I can't even imagine how freaked you must have been to receive that call about your son rolling the car. Thank goodness he was OK...
NLwD: Well, you're apparently in competition with Sexy Beast for parent-sponsored car hand-me-downs, but women probably hold some sway with my dad -- especially a fine looking red-head as yourself. Then again, my mom would say SHE's in charge, and Sexy Beast is, well, you know (note his blog name).
Mary, oh Mary, we could be, I mean, we might be related. I have at least four generations of Texas blood on both sides of the family, and my dad's trusty Forerunner suffered a branch through the back window during that same wind-storm (aka tornado). Okay sure the insurance company said it was totalled, but we all know Toyotas got way more than 200,000 miles in 'em. So he took the cash (what was it, like, $200) and replaced the window. Okay, so I think his car smells like a dead-dog caravan, but it DOES work, and that's the ethic we're working with here. Wanna here about my Volvo wagon I bought for $500 that carried me to 300,000 miles with only about $200 in repairs/service? Dang! And that car had a turning radius that'd make a cop shit beets. But when it Fred-Flintstoned out on me in the driveway (picture the body dropping down to the pavement) I applied my skills of compassion (with people) and figured it was more than time to let go (of the car). I'm quick that way.
Mary, I'm so glad to hear your son is okay.