Today, fittingly enough as I turned into the drive coming home, my old girl turned 250,000 miles.
And, like anyone who has de-stressed in, cursed in, shivered in, sweated in, ate in, drank in, seat-danced and sang in their vehicle...and, on more than one occasion, prayed *over* same...I am so ever the happy owner. Even if I do take rentals now instead for my out-of-state trips (the newer cars make better gas mileage), I still would not trade my girl in for anything. Sitting by the row of mailboxes that flank our entrance, I actually turned off the engine and petted Her steering wheel with deep affection, whispering sweet words of praise into the really-needs-to-be-vacuumed upholstery. I even got out and took pictures, I was so proud (honestly, you parents of rising first graders have nothing on me).
To the unwitting passerby, I'm sure I appeared as either somebody documenting some sort of accident (at best), or (at worst) someone saying my last heartfelt goodbye to a very dusty Nissan truck. But to those of you fellow owners of older vehicles who have been everywhere in them practically (and in my case, also served as my abode for a brief period of time), you'd recognize me instantly: I no longer see any flaws, but instead the character of every hard-earned dent, scrape, and ding the way. My mighty girl is missing a chunk of Her grill, has rust advancing steadily around Her seams, and makes an abnormally loud clatter when sitting idle with the A/C in use. But to me, though...the me that has known and drove Her since mile 18...right now, she's the prettiest girl on the road.
For that distinction alone, and also in recognition of this milestone, we have a goal in the next few days: a bumper to bumper detailing, complete with wash and wax. And I will not complain once about the cost nor the time needed for service.