Farewell to the shaggy old dog
After seven years, my car had become like a shaggy old dog, lovable in every way except that it can’t really do things anymore. My Subaru Forester had seen me through more than 110,000 miles of sunny open highway and a few snowstorms.
When my daughter decided that a high schooler just cannot ride the bus with the little kids, that Subie drove her up the hill to school every morning and then fetched her again in the afternoon from the sidewalk out front, where she’d be standing, armed folded across her chest, irritated that I was a few minutes late.
The memories were everywhere in that white SUV, scattered around the floors and in the cup holder like crumbs from the granola bars I’d wolf down between film assignments. Nine months of the year, a bike rack protruded from the hitch at the back. Last fall, the rack began to sway when my bike was aboard, a noise that seemed to rattle Smoothie the sheltie when he was riding in the back seat.
Thrice I drove it to Connecticut to visit friends, including the return drive last summer when the AC croaked and I traveled the turnpike with four windows down. Around the same time, a strange clanking developed on the passenger side, a worrisome noise I could hear only when I drove past a solid structure. Two mechanics took it for a spin and said they couldn’t hear anything.
The sound came home to roost a month later, when the “check engine” lights went a’flashing – something with the transmission for which I wrote a check – $2,900.
The car was becoming an unsightly old dog, too. The right front fender had a dent and a scratch from where I pulled too close to the building at work. The left front bumper looked fine, though, having been repaired after a texting driver ran a red light and peeled it off.
It was a good car, sturdy and stout and good in the snow. But it was time.
Nobody except maybe the very wealthy enjoy the process of buying a car. It’s fraught with the emotions of money and the uncertainty of committing to something you’ll live with as snugly as your own elbows for lots of years. But I dove in.
For me, a car is basic transportation. I would never order a car with special colors or features. I’m a show-me-what-you-have kind of buyer. They gave me the keys to test drive a 2023 Outback. It hugged the road nicely and had that new car smell.
Two hours and a few signatures later, I drove it home. I’m not crazy about the black paint – it will always look dusty. And all the new driver-assist technology will take some learning. So far, I don’t like how the car bosses me around, telling me I’m too close to one side or the other.
I had to figure out a new bike rack, and settled on an inexpensive one that hangs from the rear hatch. My bike and I will be riding the new wheels all over when the weather breaks. Until then if it’s cold out, I’ll push a button to warm up the seat. And I’ve vowed not to eat in this car. We’ll see how long that lasts.
Right about now, my old Subie is probably in a garage somewhere, getting spiffed up to sell. I’m picturing the worker scraping the crumbs out of the cup holder, maybe vacuuming the sheltie fur off the back seat. He might be wondering who on earth would want to buy this shaggy dog of a car.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.