While I sit here in the lobby of a dealership purchasing a new truck, memories of my former vehicles came to my mind. So here’s something from the vault, titled “A Tribute” to one of my former cars, the GTi.
Twelve years ago, I had the distinct pleasure of being introduced to one of my strongest allies and confidants. Parked right beside my first set of wheels, which affectionately became called the “Blue Bomber,” you came into my life with a fresh coat of wax, a new film of tint, and a shade of red that personified the passion for adventure that we shared. Having been given the custom license plate of “MONDO” from your inception, you never ceased to amaze me, as would be expected with black leather seats in the heat of the summer. And, featuring a tape deck in addition to a to-be-installed-later factory CD player, you rolled through the neighborhoods of Fountain Hills windows down, sunroof open, blasting nothing but Fugazi’s hit Waiting Room announcing to the world your presence. That was, after having to learn how to drive your five speeds in the Roman Catholic Church parking lot. I think my father had thought I could use the extra help.
But more than just announcing your presence, you took every opportunity to floss all 115 horses through all five gears, throwing dust on anyone who dared to challenge you, even crazy Texans who ‘Ain’t Skeered’ of anything. Sure, you were new to the world, but you didn’t care about the rules. All you cared about is fun, fast, and Fugazi (I assumed you were attached to Fugazi because that tape was stuck in there for most of our time together). You didn’t even mind me teaching a few others about the art of stick shift, or taking off on adventures where a flip of a coin chose left or right at every intersection. But your adventurous spirit cried for more, and more adventures we had. From heading out to the California coast with the FH crew, to cruising the Scottsdale Guess Jeans District blasting all the Alice Deejay one could handle, to the many cross-countries we logged, you yearned for more.
And the miles kept coming. 85,000 miles after you left the lot to join our family, we headed out to Wisconsin to ease into the real life by spending a summer with some of the greatest people in Oshkosh, WI. But even with all that excitement, we had a few boxes we had to check, and a few people we had to say hello to. The thousand mile detour to say “hi” to a few friends you never once complained about, even when battling hurricane-force winds and rains outside of Indianapolis. Hydroplaning in some cars was a time to worry, but you enjoyed being loosed from the bonds of friction, and even at 85 miles per hour, had a smile on your face the whole time (and myself a new set of drawers at the next rest stop).
One thing you never did was be critical of my terrible renditions of songs. Surely, my many years of being a Weird Al fan have laid down a foundation of lyric-changing talents, my mediocre ability to falsetto combined with my limited pitch range scared many of the ladyfolk away. But you didn’t care. Heck, you enjoyed it. And when I started adding dancing moves to the mix, you smiled, all while Stefani laughed at me. Rock, rap, dance, blues, that Ace of Base CD you can’t seem to get rid of, Mix at Rick’s (vol 5), DJ Narthex / Lozo / Alkaline SAGB mix, the Suicide Machines, among many other fine pieces of musical history were fed into your cerebral cortex, and you didn’t mind. Even those on-and-off emo phases of the Appleseed Cast didn’t phase you. You kept me comfortable in your plush leather seats and offered an ear, and for that I’ll be forever grateful.
Then the real world hit again, and off to Atlanta we went. The humidity, traffic, and above-average crime rates became a trifecta of terror that unfortunately caught the eye of somebody thinking that they really wanted that aforementioned Ace of Base CD and your window was victimized in the middle of the night. The Red Roof Inn was only a temporary home for us, and we knew that the southern parts of Atlanta were merely to be endured for a few months until we could head on north to the higher rent districts. Sadly, this became one of our first rough patches in our relationship, as your adventurous spirit had to be put on hold while you sat in the south employee parking lot of the Atlanta Hartsfield Jackson Coca-Cola Atlanta Braves Stone Mountain Georgia Peaches did we mention the first Chick-fil-a was founded here International Airport. A long distance relationship and jumpseat access unfortunately took priority.
Having felt your emptiness, a job opportunity across the country helped mend our hearts as we set forth on the open road again. Making the quickest route possible to visit some awesome people in Omaha, we took the previous record of thirteen hours of non-stop driving and added an hour and a half to it, with style. And those awful CDs? We pushed those aside, and took your seek button for a test drive, sampling the local radio of all the wonderful places we graced with our presence, including Paducah, KY, which we agreed was home to the greatest indie rock station. It was here in Omaha you opened your adventurous side to my fiancé, now wife, Stefani, as we enjoyed the various roadside attractions along the way. There was something about whirlygigs that made you happy.
Then there was Denver. Sure we’d hit Denver before on our travels, but now you called it home. And the cool, crisp mountain air made you rev a little more than before. Having been our first home with a garage, we put up a good fight and unfortunately the Toy Taco took the garage, and we enjoyed the sun. Thankfully, mostly sun. A little snow, some tiny hail, and by some stroke of magic the mad geese invasion of 2008 left you spotless. I think those geese saw your soul and knew not to dare mark the World’s Second Greatest Lover (everyone knows Eagle One is the World’s Greatest Lover). Here was your first taste of downtown traffic, the People’s Republic of Boulder, and when we became iPhone people (and your tape deck became fused with the tape-to-headphone plug adapter thingy that still is jammed inside).
Even with the birth of our Hammer, you still were a valuable member in our family. Granted, Hammer rarely rode inside you, he did get to know who you were, and to this day calls you “Daddy’s Red Car”, always asking if we can take you for a ride. But more moving, job opportunities, and returning to your original stomping grounds excited you. Unfortunately, this was the first move I couldn’t fit all my possessions inside you, so you rode shotgun in the Evans Family Moving Brigade, First Division. As a note, I should mention that never at one time did all my possessions fit in the GTI, as my dad’s garage and my attic can attest to. On that note, I want to make sure it doesn’t sound like I’m a hoarder. I mean, all I have is a nametag collection, some micro machines, and those Ace of Base CDs. But that’s all.
While you rode behind the biggest thing I’ve driven yet, I have this feeling you yearned to cruise the mountain roads and breathe the clean Colorado air yourself. Either way, fate would have at it and thanks to not bidding properly for Aspen, I had a month of reserve in Denver while living in Prescott. So, you got your wish, and we drove to Denver so you can experience all those things you wanted first-hand. Apparently, you were soo excited for the drive you decided to tempt me with a later-than-normal low fuel annunciator, and a panic-driven call to Stefani, access to Google Maps, and a few crossed fingers and miles without air conditioning paved the way to a gas station twenty miles the other way. Even through all that, you helped make me on time to Denver to sit reserve, where many great people opened their homes and their wifi to us.
And then we did it. 123,456 miles of pure unadulterated adventure. People thought when I posted this “Roy, that’s amazing! You got the 789 in there too!” Yeah, I can be kind of a nerd, but to be brutally honest with you, I saw 123,456 driving home one night and hurried to pull over to take a picture of it. It wasn’t until my friend Nicole commented on the 789 that I noticed it. I tend to believe you, precious GTI, wanted to make this moment even more memorable, so you made a few numbers move. Sadly, nowadays, those numbers fade in and out, making me think you spent all your strength getting me that 123456789 combo, which makes me smile even more thinking about it.
As we continued to grow our family, you became the ‘go-to-work’ car, getting shuffled between me and Stefani as the Pilot (which for all you people who say it’s a minivan it’s NOT A MINIVAN by the way) became the family car. I had thought you’d be the one to help teach these kids to drive stick, and do so with style. Sure, your clear coat had been coming off, and you had what has to be the longest continual burning check engine light, but you were strong, safe, and supportive. And, being a stick shift, you’d help teach the kids how to drive the cool cars. Sadly, their legs can’t yet reach the pedals, and their eyes can’t reach over the dashboard yet.
As you shared the garage with the Pilot for the last few years, I have this feeling that you two talked. You two shared your passions, your stories, and your friendship. Nowadays, having to share that spirit of adventure with a few more passengers, the Pilot takes on the role that you held near and dear to your heart for many years. I believe one night in the garage you gave that spirit to the Pilot, as our many adventures have come with such an overabundance of fun, excitement, and love, and I know where that came from. It came from you.
So while your spot in the garage has been bestowed upon to our new ‘go-to-work-car’, your soul lives on. Your strive for adventure continues. There’s a soft spot in my heart for you. Others may have said “You’re not a GTI…you have a two-point-slow!” But you were more than a GTI to me. You were, and are, my best friend with four wheels. As I drove you one last time, stretching that second gear to that special place that makes you purr, windows down, sunroof open, Waiting Room on full blast, I pray that (as silly as this sounds) you’ll be waiting for me in eternity, where your paint will be pristine, your wheels freshly armor all’d, your windows clean, without that tape-to-headphone adapter stuck in your tape deck, ’cause I’m bringing that Fugazi tape with me, and you know what we’re gonna do.
