R.I.P.

We lost a member of our family last week.

My trusty blue 1986 Ford Bronco II, my first car, the car of my adolescence, the car my brother drove me around in, the car we had countless adventures in, the car the accompanied us on (not a few) illegal endeavors, the car that Preston and I/Erin and I/Erica and I/Landon and I had long talks in, the car Jenna and I delivered cookies in, the car that took us to school dances, boy/girl parties, choir concerts, "random dates," Western Watts, and soccer games/tennis matches, the car that sat parked in front of my first apartment, the car I said goodbye to many friends in, the car that was ALWAYS cooler than the Trooper, the car that contains too many memories to count or name, has gone the way of all 23-year-old cars with 200,000+ miles on them.

When we moved to Utah, I couldn't bear to leave him, so we brought the Bronco with us. It turns out that the trip over Malad Pass was a little too much for him. The car started smoking and sputtering, and leaking transmission fluid faster than we could fill it up. We had to tow it, (courtesy of my father, brother, and generous uncle) all the way back to Salt Lake. Once he cooled down, the mechanic said he was just old, but fine, and we filled him back up with transmission fluid and went on our way. But he was never the same after that. He tried his hardest. He faithfully carted Landon to and from the Trax station almost daily for two years. He forgave us when we left him all alone at the parking lot a few times over night, in the cold. He let us tow him back and forth to the mechanic multiple times to cure his minor ailments. He tolerated  the newer (but not nearly as awesome) Cavalier.

Best of all, he hung onto life through the awful 4 months of my unemployment this summer. I don't know what we would have done without the Bronco during that time. And then, as if he knew we would now be ok, the Bronco died the week I found my new job and we decided to move to Provo, where having only one car is much more practical for us. It was a miracle. And I like to think the Bronco did it for us; a payback for all of the great memories we created together.

As much as it pains me to say it, we had to sell the Bronco to a junkyard. I fought it. We tried to sell it to someone who would use it, we tried to give it away to a loving family who would give it the tlc it needs, but there weren't any takers. Landon went with me to say goodbye, we cleaned out our belongings, and then...we let him go. And I confess I cried.

Goodbye, old friend. We will always remember you.

If you went to high school or college with me, and have any great memories of the Bronco, I invite you to post them as a comment.