One More for the Road

Sigh. It's the end of an era, folks.

I'm saying goodbye to my dear, sweet, faithful Jetta.

I still remember when we first got her...Christmas holidays 2001. The cutest little April Fool's Day baby had arrived earlier that year, and after one summer of carting her around in a two-door Honda Civic sans air conditioning (oh poor baby - windows open at 110 km/h racing down Hwy 59), we knew we needed to upgrade to something more in the family way.

The Husband had his heart set on a diesel engine for some strange reason and spied himself a barely-used navy 2000 VW Jetta over at Eastern Nissan.

We should have known when they gave us 1 1/2 keys (one was broken..."but you can still use the automatic lock button on it....") that we were in for it.

Three weeks after we got the car, I was on the side of the road. Minus 30. Just me and my mother-in-law.

We've replaced pretty much every part on that car already. And by "we," I mean The Husband, whose three-inch-thick red manual of "how to fix everything on a Jetta" is well-thumbed and worn. He's done timing belts. Relays. Glove compartments. Swapped out the suspension.

He bought me new injectors for our anniversary one year. So I could go faster.

New cup holders after I broke the old ones. Rebuilt alternators (plural - we can't seem to keep 'em). Emergency brake cables. Rotors. Brakes (a few times). Bushings.

But this is not to say that our local dealerships haven't gotten some shop rate lovin'. I seem to be an accident magnet. There was that time I hit the bus bench. And the time I got hit-and-ran in the West Acres parking lot. The time I tore the belly-pan to shreds en route to a Rudy Wiebe reading at the Mennonite Museum.

The time I lost the mudflap (no idea when that was...it's just not there anymore).

The time I got rear-ended yet again. Oh wait - that was three weeks ago.

(Apparently I'm the only person who decides that her car needs to be sold so she gets herself a free car wash by being in an accident and getting it as part of the insurance claim. Now THAT'S some hardcore frugal right there.)

But now, despite my protests that she's still PERFECTLY fine and that she's got YEARS and MILES left on her and that I want to teach my kids to drive in that car, The Husband has decided that it is time to go. We're both upgrading - he to the fancy-schmancy new car.

Me to the next Jetta in line - the Jetta 2004.

(Which I've already worn in. I broke the side mirror on it last winter. So we're already on good terms.)

As much as my "new" car is probably a bit better in the burning-oil, leaking-coolant, burned-out-dash-lights, visible-rust department, I'm definitely going to miss the old girl.

We're bestest buds. We both creak. We both prefer slow and steady. We both think that shifting gears should be loose and easy. Plus she's got the rockingest cup holders.

(The Husband knows of my love for the cup holders. So he installed the good kind in my "new" car. Which means that I can now have FOUR drinks within reach at all time.)

And so tonight, as we drive up to Canada for Easter, we'll be our own little caravan. A funeral procession, if you will. I'll go on ahead while The Husband follows with the honour guard.

I'll settle back in my well-worn seat and set the cruise control and reach for my coffee and we'll ride into the sunset for one last drive. I'll say my goodbyes and we'll relive all our many adventures. I'll get misty-eyed as I picture her with a "For Sale" sign in the window and I'll promise to find her a good home.