The End of "Never Saw Blue"

My sweet little blue jeep, "Never Saw Blue," died last night. I was driving home from Salt Lake and there was a terrible sputtering and cloud of black smoke as all the dials on the dash suddenly dropped to zero. Based on the diagnostics today, basically the mechanic's words were "your engine is shot. You could replace it for only $3000, or sell it for scrap." I have known this day would come. Based on recent luck, I have been waiting for it, especially since she became "Paid in Full." This does not make it easier. I am devastated. I am heartbroken. I am completely unable to get to Target for cocaine cupcakes to see me through this trauma.

You see, I love my jeep. I have wanted a Wrangler for as long as I remember. Well, that is not quite true. For a long time I wanted a black Trans Am. But then I got out of elementary school, and my taste changed, just a bit. See, with a jeep you can go anywhere. You can drive around with nothing above you but the cloudless, starry sky; you can drive on rugged, muddy roads; you can risk your life 3 inches from a buffalo at Yellowstone with nothing but open air between you. Granted, the jeep I drove was basically a tin can on wheels-- nothing extra inside (especially since my stereo was stolen). But I loved the way it drove, I loved the jauntiness and the quirkiness-- I loved actually feeling the road under me-- none of this silent, gliding, Bose-surround-sound, watch Finding Nemo while you go to the store cushiness for me. Give me a vehicle in which I can haul 2 bales of hay (yesterday, in fact) and in which a broken windshield is a status symbol.

I bought my jeep after a rather rough breakup with a gorgeous '98 Nissan Altima, my first purchased car. That is a long, painful story which I may just tell you someday... But "NSB" was sent to me from heaven on a day I decided I would never drive the car I actually wanted. But there she was, with the right price tag and the right circumstance, and she was MINE. There were still a few weeks of topless weather left that first Indian Summer, and she was broken in quickly, with the newly burned "Squaw Peak Jeep Mix" playing loudly under the full moon. She got her name from a favorite Shawn Colvin tune, one night when I found myself on "the hill above the lake." She has travelled the back roads of my canyon hundreds of times. She has been a landmark for passing friends who always knew if I was at work and they should drop in. She has watched countless shooting stars on top of the Alpine Loop. She took me and Kiste to Yellowstone for a much-needed mental healing late last summer, then to St. George for an unforgettable drive through Zion. She has been tough and strong and brave. I mourn her loss. I may never see blue like that again.

Self Portrait of my Ear with Double Rainbow on I-15 This is why I love driving a jeep. Look at what is between me and the world... Nothing.