SYMPTOM OF THE UNIVERSE

existential dread, subjective media and news reviews and opinionated but not necessarily well-informed commentary.

Wednesday, November 04, 2020

I Remember Jeep (I'm not apologizing to George Harrison)

We named her "The Prowler" in a nod to the police cruiser in the film Fargo, and it the first vehicle I ever purchased over $700. A 2001 Jeep Cherokee Sport; straight 6, 4.0 liter, black. Jeep had ceased production sometime in 2000 when I bought mine and would release a line of shitty jeeps from then on, all of them falling short of this blue collar Toledo workhorse.

The windows don't go down any longer; or up, or go up and wont stop and I've replaced the motors, window console (on my 3rd) thinking it might be the bushings in the switch (it's not) the A/C wont hold a charge but there is no leak, it disconnects from the computer logic board randomly (how fast am I going? let me lick my finger and stick it out the window, oh wait, the window doesn't go down!) Three speakers are blown, even AM radio sounds like shit, and the tailgate has tried to guillotine me on many, many occasions. Somewhere in the darkest depths of Facebook one can unearth image of repairs that I didn't know were possible; welding the drivers seat back into the frame after it snapped out which was a commute I'll never forget, a transfer case that leaked so slowly it took 12 years to fail, from an accident in 25A  in Kings Park, NY in 2001, to Jake Alexander Blvd in Salisbury NC in 2012. 

She saved my wife's and my own lives that night in Kings Park. We had bought the Jeep three weeks before, Val had a Toyota MR-2, two seater, rear engine. Mr.2 stayed home that night. Had it not I would not be here writing this, listening to George Harrison's All Things Must Pass, glancing at a lone blue hydrangea that looks right at home with the leaves and branches of fall outside my window. 

We were heading home from a Super Bowl party at the Sterns when the drunk in the a weaving in front of me cut into the oncoming lane and instigated a head on collision. Airbags deployed and the interior filled with the smell of cordite and white mist like Heaven when seen from TV. Val asked me if we were dead but my Dave picked us up stayed with us at the hospital for several hours to make sure we were okay, he drove us home at sunrise after Val was finally checked for injuries. Dave was a great friend before, and still one of a handful of best to friends to this day.

She's carried us safely around several states, back and forth on the Long Island Expressway and the country backroads of Rowan Co. NC. She's four wheel drive and she'll climb a hill like an espresso fueled sherpa. The body is falling apart around the engine which seems to be a common ailment in vehicles creeping up on a quarter century. I've gone from knowing nothing about repairing cars to knowing enough to get me in trouble, I can change a header gasket despite more grease on my hands than there is in the jeep when I'm done.

Twenty one years later I no longer travel on Super-bowl Sunday, but I would not dream of parting with her. I'd likely get nothing for a trade in and there is no way she's getting hauled off on my watch, but this week I decided to retire. She'll be hauling split logs to the fireplace and cast iron heater up and down the hill, and like the day we bought her, still part of the family.


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