Ode to my Jeep

January 2, 2009

This morning, it was -40 C here and remained that cold through the rest of the day. Walking out to the parking lot, the trees were frozen white. The air was thick and foggy, visibility was there but only if you had a pair of good eyes. Cars struggled to move around, and I’m sure many people had problems with starting their vehicles.

I climbed into my Jeep thinking it will be a miracle if I can get it going – the block heater wasn’t plugged in over night, nor the previous night. Two nights sitting in the cold. There was no way it would start. But it did. Slowly, it rumbled to life with my ass frozen to the seat. As I sat there trying to stay warm, my mind started wandering and thought of my poor Jeep. My Jeep has had a rough year, but it’s had a rougher life in my hands, yet it keeps on chugging.

It has gone through:

  • at least three winters in Regina, three in Whitehorse, one in central New York – all miserable places to be in the winter.
  • treks up the Alaska Highway, Klondike Highway , one trip to Skagway, Alaska in snow and ice, US Interstates to New York, and the side roads of the prairies. Hardly a scratch through all those trips.
  • one missing turn signal reflector from the front, suffered by going over train tracks on the way to Weyburn – damn Saskatchewan highways.
  • one long crack in the windshield, suffered on a drive to Dawson City – but I wasn’t driving. Was loaned out to someone else. Should’ve known.
  • You’ve been lipsticked, egged, damaged, had the rear turn signal light busted out, and windshield wipers broken off.
  • You’ve been stolen twice, joy-rided once, and both times made it back to me in one piece.
  • You’ve only had one leaky tire through the years, no flats.
  • The first time you locked me out was within an hour of being in Syracuse when I went inside to the bank – like I hadn’t suffered enough by that point.
  • Bumper has been rear-ended, but that is something we try to forget.
  • You’ve been borrowed by a girl; and quickly “prettified” with flowers, pink dice, car seats, kids’ toys, wrappers, loose change, French fries, and had to listen to country music. I’m truly sorry for all of this, but at least you had a pretty ass in the front other than my own.
  • You’ve only been into the shop three times – new tires, a blown out radiator, and water in the gas tank. Again, trying to forget one of those three trips.
  • You’ve carried lighting equipment, sound equipment, hungover ravers, cases of water bottles, hungover hitchhikers from Dawson City Music Fest, me sleeping in the front seat at Dawson City Music Fest, kids, screaming kids, sleeping kids, cranky kids, but no sick kids (yet).

There’s a lot more adventures to be had, I’m sure, and I’ll always be grateful that you’ve remained with me through it all.

PS: You’re definitely a guy truck.

One Response to “Ode to my Jeep”

  1. Megs Says:

    What exactly makes a truck a guys truck?love it None the less


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