the last hurrah

It is with deepest sadness that I report that the great and loyal Alexia Mercedes Benz, better known as simply Alex, has been retired from service. Built in 1992, Alex has been my car since 1999, ferrying me through thick and thin, inclement weather, fog, heat and snow. She has never left me stranded on the side of the road, though together we have blown tires (2, plus a bent rim), lost mufflers (1), blown fuses (3), and gone through innumerable quarts of oil. She has accompanied me to three different universities, has driven through at least seven states (and the District of Columbia) , and has survived mulitple girlfriends. Many times, and without complaint (except the last), Alex has stalwartly driven the two-hour commute to DC from my parents' house, the four-hour drive to my grandparents for Thanksgiving and, most impressively, the nine-hour drive from Western NY to Virginia (and back). She was a dream to drive: smooth and fast and powerful and sleek. And she always won when I drag raced her down Route 29.

The past six years I have watched fireworks through her sun roof, been dazzled by her James Bond-esque built-in phone system, and driven her proudly through great snow storms when others were too nervous to drive. I've backed her into a tree, a house, and a brand new Saab, and despite the fact that I ran her into a telephone guide wire in a snowstorm and ripped half her bumper off (which then was held on by duck tape for the next two months), she's always been the most dignified car I've ever seen. Even in the past year, as she steadily began to leak more and more oil, I felt inexplicably pleased with all the things she has taught me: where and how to add oil, how to add coolant and transmission fluid, how to drive in snow or heavy rain, what a broken muffler sounds likes, how to change a tire. More than anything, I have been continually impressed by Alex's incredible integrity--even as she progressively began to falter she never stopped running, and I truly believe that she never would. There could be nothing left but an engine, a driver's seat and a steering wheel, and Alex would still be merrily churning along without fail.

Unfortunately, she has been suffering from an increasingly drastic series of ailments (as well as some that are more minor): over the winter her four-wheel drive broke due to a leak in her hydralic fluid (this alone would be a $5000 repair) and she leaks oil heavily to the point that on the drive to Virginia this last time her engine temperature was reaching dangerous levels. Also, the CD player stopped working, her radio antenna is jammed, and unlocking her from the driver's side door causes the car alarm to go off. And, this weekend, during an impressive thunder shower on the drive home from DC, Alex's muffler began to sound like the engine of a prop plane. I tried to laugh it off by making brrrmmming sounds with my lips in imitation, but after some thought we realized that for everyone involved the best decision would be to leave her at my parents' house and rent a car with which to return to New York.

This is not such a shock. I've been planning to get a new car for a few months now, but I think I wasn't properly prepared. I'd like to think, however, that Alex's suddenly manic muffler was her way of telling me that it was time to let go--of her, of the past--and just enjoy the memories. And while I'm excited about the prospect of a new car, I can't help but be just a litte heartbroken over the loss of Alex, who sits behind my parents' house awaiting an uncertain future.