A Eulogy for Oscar

Forgive me if I anthropomorphize my car, but for 12 years Oscar has been a constant companion.

We have history, you see. Like the time we nearly got stranded in a May snowstorm outside of Golden, Colorado. Or the other time, also involving snow, when we decided, against our better judgement, to drive around a barrier blocking access to a scenic highway in West Virginia’s Potomac Highlands, one that warned there was no road clearing from November until April. Indeed there wasn’t. I lost 10 pounds that day in stress-induced sweat.

There were other, less dramatic episodes as well. Countless fishing trips. Weekend hikes. Kayak trips. And then the car camping, often undertaken, when I’d stack my gear on the roof and cover it with a tarp and sleep in the cab; with the back seats down and my gear outside, I managed to fit.

I bought him with 196 miles on the odometer. We passed 180,000 on Monday. The transmission linkage, the latest in a series of minor but expensive problems, snapped today. The CV joints were shot, too, and the air conditioning hadn’t worked for the past two years. Rust spots grew in an amber chain along the wheel hubs. I had to use a stick to prop open the back hatch, the hydr

aulic lifts having failed. Duct tape held the glove compartment door closed. The internal wiring was bad somewhere, rendering my key fob useless and, as an added bonus, would cause the car to lock and unlock itself randomly.

And so on.

So I said goodbye today. I told myself the repair would cost more than it’s worth -financially, at least. It was just a matter of time until something else happened. I found someone willing to buy Oscar for parts and, as a bonus, come haul it away. Am I foolish for being a bit wistful, watching the wrecker pull away and fade into the distance?

Maybe.

Farewell, Oscar.