A Car Story

God works in mysterious ways. This was proven to me again this week. After sixteen years of driving my '85 Honda CRX, I decided one morning while shivering on the way to work that I didn't want to face another Idaho winter with a broken car heater and no rear window defroster. Scraping ice off both the outside AND the inside of my windshield at zero degrees, while peeking through a tiny thawed section of window, was not my idea of a good time and what's more, my seat was only attached to the frame by one bolt, meaning that if I were to get into a wreck, I would be hurled ejection-seat style out either the back or front window, depending on the direction of impact. Enough already. It was time to let go of my baby, my little blue friend who had carried me near and far and still could, for that matter, as it ran like brand new.

Not being a wealthy person, I visited my favorite used-car dealer, whose children I taught back in the early nineties. He runs a small used-car lot called 'Kelly's Screaming Deals' here in Ammon, and he's a good guy who's sold me three excellent cars in the past. There are several models of cars that have always caught my fancy. One is the CRX. The other is the Chevrolet Impala--a 1964 Chevy Impala to be exact. Well, Kelly didn't have a '64, not that I could have afforded on anyway, but he did have three Chevy Impalas on the lot. He's just bought them from the Weber County (Utah) Police Department. These cop cars have a 3.8 L V-6 that has tons of power but still gets fairly good gas mileage (20 in town, 30 on the highway). One of the three was pretty rough in some ways, cosmetically, so it was pretty cheap. It ran strong. It had cloth front seats and a plastic bench seat for drunken or bleeding arrestees. It had holes where the light rack and other cop stuff had been mounted, all patched with some kind of black resin. I bought it.

Now came the next question. What was I going to do with my little CRX? Granted, it was worth all of $400 to $500 and got 40 miles per gallon, so it would sell instantly if I listed it. But there was an inner voice in me telling me not to sell it. I couldn't quite figure out what I was supposed to do with it. My wife would kill me if I left it out front. Our driveway has almost as many cars in it as Kelly's Screaming Deal, what with my wife's car, my son's car, my daughter's car, and my daughter's fiancee's car. So, what to do?

I work at a high school for kids who have not succeeded in regular schools. For many of them, it's because life has been none too kind. I decided to give my car to the most deserving student at school. On Tuesday, I told my classes that I had a car that looked rough but ran great. It needed a new home. The requirement to get it was that the recipient had to have a demonstrated need and had to be a mechanic who could fix the problems, like the heater and the seat. One of my students approached me. He had a friend who had just gotten his license, but had no car. His father had lost his job because he was very ill and they were living on public assistance. The father, though blind, had until recently been a Certified Master Mechanic, and he was able to work on a car even without his sight. The young man, only 16, was taking on the responsibilities for the family.

It was a perfect fit. Here was somebody who needed the car, and who had the skills to fix it up.

Yesterday afternoon, I watched my little friend the CRX drive away for the last time.

This was a good example of how God uses different people to achieve an end. He directed me to give the car away. The student from school, also a Christian, instantly thought of his friend and interceded for him. The end result, a family that needed a car now has one.

And everybody is happy.

Long Overdue Tribute to My Writing Assistant

My trusty research assistant, nearly 23 years old, 211,000 miles, and still going strong.

Many WWII airmen say their B-17s, B-24s, P-51s or P-47s became like their children or their friends. Rarely did airmen fly their entire tour in only one aircraft, but often they flew most with one ship. They painted a naked lady or other suitable nose art on her, taped up snapshots of girlfriends, and named their guns. Pilots got to know the individual subtleties of their particular aircraft--slightly different trimming perhaps, or tighter controls.

Ground crews got even more attached. Each ground crew was in the war for the duration. They became attached to the aircraft and the crews. Many a crew chief would beam with pride as his aircraft roared into the sky. It was also a great point of pride among ground crews that their particular planes rarely had to abort a mission due to mechanical problems When a plane was shot down, the ground crews were devastated. When a crew finished its tour and went home, the ground crew stayed behind and broke in a new crew.

Throughout my writing career, I have been lucky to have a similar relationship with my car. I'm not one of these people that names his car or buys it birthday presents, but I do have a real sense of respect and dare I say 'love' for this vehicle. I consider it my number one research assistant over the years. It has taken me to interviews in Washington State, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, and Idaho. It has driven me to the airport and waited patiently in the parking lot at Jackson, Wyoming while I winged off to further interviews. And it has taken me back and forth to my teaching job for 15 years without fail. If I needed to today, I could drive it across the country and know I'd get there with no problems.

Side view

My car, a dark blue Honda CRX two-seater, was born in Japan back in the early months of 1985. It must have been a good day at the factory. When I bought it in 1992, it already had over 100,000 miles on it. Today, it has 211,000. It routinely gets 45 miles to the gallon on the highway (which is more than it is supposed to get), and 30-35 in town.

The CRX came out in 1984. I remember going to the lot and looking at the new ones, thinking how much I'd like to own one. At the time, I had a 1959 VW Bug that topped out at about fifty miles an hour and no gas gauge but a stick I'd dip into the tank. Little did I know that one day I'd own one. The CRX was a very popular make for about ten years, then was discontinued by Honda. I see fewer of them all the time, though they are making a bit of a comeback with younger hot rodders, who trick them out and make them look sporty.

A brand-new 1985 Honda CRX. Mine used to look like this, before time and an over-sized farm vehicle took their toll.

It has no dome light, no radio or CD player, no air conditioning, no rear window defogger, no windshield squirters, and no rubber on any of the pedals. The driver's side door lock only works with the key. In the winter, the heat kicks in roughly the same time I get to work, not a good thing at zero degrees. It also has cracks running all over the windshield, none of which is in my line of vision. In most states in the United States that have annual inspections, this little car would fail miserably.

Two years ago, I almost lost it. I was parked at the District Track Meet to watch my son compete in the shot put (he was district champion that year and went on to be fourth in the state, incidentally). My car is so small that a girl on the track team backed her 3/4 ton farm pickup into the front end of my car, pushing in the radiator, sending pieces of blue plastic flying through the air, and shattering the headlights. I was certain it was totalled. The insurance company looked at it, said it was worth less than the repairs needed to fix it, and totalled it out, paying me the book value.

I hammered the hood flat, put new lights on, and have been driving it ever since. It is becoming quite an ugly car, and my friends think it's time to give it up. But I can't. I will drive this car until it can't go another mile.

I owe it at least that much.