Ode to a Volvo

This summer my beloved Volvo and I began to approach the 200,000 mile mark together. I bought the car in 1999 when it was a baby, five years old, 30,000 miles. The near 170,000 miles we've put on since then only tell part of the rest of the journey.

-We've learned, together, that dear Volvo does much better in the Tennesee mountains when the air conditioning is not on while accelerating. (And in the process, we've learned that heavy cars dream to be more than 4 cylinders.)
-We've learned that spontaneous road trips to Myrtle Beach are fabulous, and that soft upholstered seats are very calming on severely sunburned skin.
-We've learned that not everyone appreciates the European color palette frequently chosen for the interior of cars (it's ok, Volvo, I like mustard yellow and caramel...)
-We've learned that the "ski panel" in the back of the trunk that allows the driver to transport any long item by simply pushing it through the trunk into the back seat never needed to carry skies, but did an awesome job with posters, window shades, two by fours and rugs. And provided a neat "peekaboo" spot when youngsters sat in the back seat.
-We've driven to St. Louis to see Eric countless times and discovered the very best gas stations to stop at along the way, even if it was because the driver, not the car, needed a fill up.
- We've discovered that it takes a really, really, really long time to fill a 20 gallon tank. But then you don't need to do it very often. (And I won't tell you how much it used to cost.)
-We've been in the ditch together three times (once, dramatically, after three 360's on an icy road in Missouri). And we were both fine.
-Together we headed the caravan moving most of my belongings (or at least what I didn't leave at my parents' house) to Missouri to follow some guy. (Good move, that.)
-We've parked in four different school parking lots, and together we've carried my classroom supplies, in ever increasing numbers, to new and different adventures and states.
-If it had a memory and voice (which I'm sure at this stage it probably does), Volvo would tell you what it's like to learn how to surf on a newly graded gravel road.
-It would remind you that the horrible knocking noise you hear was only that same darn gravel stuck in the wheel, that of course, caused no damage.
-It taught me how to artfully fishtail into rainy intersections because of it's challenging rear wheel drive that, likely, made me a better driver. (This is not the time to remind me of my earlier "we were in a ditch three times" comment.)
-It might even be able to tell you about a time when it's fabulous sound system cranked out more tunes than talk radio. Or Sesame Street.
-It would definitely tell you that no matter how far it moved from "home," Chicago's WGN 720 was always preset station #2 on the am dial.
-It could tell you how it made Eric jealous, if only because it's radio could reach St. Louis' KMOX, and hence, the Cardinals' games.
-It remembers when I listened to Cubs games (and it'll never tell that I still do...see 720 reference).
-It remembers what it's backseat looked like BEFORE it became cluttered with baby seats, booster seats, diaper bags and colorful sticky lumps I can only hope were once fruit snacks.
-It could talk about the things I've adorned it with -- the alumni sticker from my college gracing it's back window, blending so artfully with it's brake light. The stickers book ending my license plate, one bearing an image of a witch and the word "Salem," a souvenir from our honeymoon (and perhaps an indicator of the personality of the driver...), the other an "IRL" from our Ireland trip a few months before Kile was born.
- We've driven together in almost all of my adult life's descriptors: single gal, teacher, newlywed, pregnant gal (at which point Volvo tried it's very best to not hit me in the tummy with it's doors), mom, cancer patient, and survivor.
-It probably would skip over the part of our history in which it lived in the garage this winter, because another vehicle, this one with front wheel drive, was available. (Though I think it took it personally since it refused to start without a battery charge when I tried again this spring.)
-It couldn't tell you about all of the times it's been in the shop, because it wasn't.
-And the two times it died on me? Well, it kept me safe, and frankly, it had over 190,000 miles on it already, I can cut it some slack.

I don't know if we'll make it to 200,000 together or not, my Volvo and I. It's fuel pump seems to have other ideas, and I have another, newer car in the garage, but if it's at all possible, I'd like to think I owe it that much. No matter what happens, ultimately, I know my dear car knows that it's not about the destination... it's all about the journey.

Carpe diem. -- Trela