Today we mourn the loss of my 2001 Isuzu, affectionately known as The Black Rodeo. A moment of silence, please...
The Black Rodeo was supposed to be the last car I'd ever own. I bought the car with 15,000 miles on it, and I was certain that it would run for 400,000 more. I loved that car, and to say I was shocked when it up and quit on me is an understatement. Sure, I've had other cars bail on me - my Honda CRX blew up in Carthage, Missouri. My white-trash-worthy Honda Accord caught fire in the school parking lot. I had a stock NIssan Sentra without power-steering that developed delusions of grandeur and went off to LA to become an actress. There was even a two-week torrid love affair with my friend's Subaru Impreza WRX that I will always remember fondly, as dangerous as it was. But none of those losses seem as devastating as the loss of The Black Rodeo. It was easy for me to see myself driving The Black Rodeo forever. It was body beautiful and it fit me perfectly. I was certain that it was "the one."
When I first bought The Black Rodeo, it was my baby. I'd spend a full Sunday cleaning, detailing and pampering the car inside and out. And when I wasn't rubbing it gently with a soft cloth, we were out on the town, having fun and seeing what kind of trouble we could get into. The Black Rodeo and I used to love going out to get frozen custard and then cruise up and down the riverside. We'd take pictures, grab some lunch and then head out to see a movie or something. Our lives were anything but sedentary, and we loved it that way. I made mix tapes especially for our time together, and I bought it all kinds of accessories, including a bug deflector, a bike rack, and a navigation system. I treated The Black Rodeo better than I'd treated any other car I'd owned, because I finally saw the value and importance in having a vehicle that would last me the rest of my life.
Five years and 100,000 miles later, my life changed. I took on a new job that required me to drive all over the state. I was overworked and stressed out, and I was leaning on The Black Rodeo harder than ever. All we ever did was work. There was never any time for fun, and when there was, we were both out of gas. 250 miles one day, 600 the next. There wasn't time for a quick wash and wax, much less a long, leisurely road trip where the two of us could just focus on each other. Even when we were together, I was taking phone calls or jotting down notes instead of appreciating the hum of the engine or the subtle curves of the bucket seats.
A vicious Catch 22 - I relied on The Black Rodeo more than I ever have, but I had less time to give the car the attention that it not only deserved, but actually required. This pains me to admit, and upon hearing this, Real Men out there will wince and shake their heads and say "Dude, what the fuck were you THINKING!?," but I got so wrapped up in working all the time, and distracted by stress and deadlines and travel and being a grown-up in the real world that I actually let The Black Rodeo... run. out. of. oil.
Shit, see, I KNOW! Who DOESN'T know that oil is the lifeblood of a car? Just as even the finest, most beautiful woman thrives on compliments, every car on the road NEEDS FUCKING OIL. And Jesus, if something is as mission critical as a car that you depend on to go 200+ miles per day, you should be taking EXTRA SPECIAL care of it. I did the opposite. I took for granted that The Black Rodeo would run forever, taking routine maintenance whenever MY schedule would allow. And that, it seems, is why The Black Rodeo quit on me.
Now, three different mechanics have told me that there's really nothing I could do to prevent The Black Rodeo from breaking down. It seems there's an inherent condition in the engine that causes one of the valves to get all gunked up, which causes the engine to burn more oil than most other engines. According to my mechanic, I could have continued to pour oil into the engine, but until the engine was fixed from the inside, I'd only be draining my time and energy, delaying the inevitable. So I guess I'm lucky that The Black Rodeo decided to quit on me when I had the wherewithal to suffer such a devastating loss.
So then I was faced with an opportunity to upgrade from The Black Rodeo into something that might fit me even better! Something with a sunroof, or maybe a stick shift. Something that got better gas mileage or had more cargo space. But the more I looked at other cars, the more I missed The Black Rodeo. I knew all of the Rodeo's quirks, and I could handle them. I knew that it had to be put into Park a certain way in order to get the key out of the ignition. I knew that the passenger side seat belt was a little more gung-ho about it's job than other seat belts. I knew that if you pulled the seat too far forward, you'd knock out the satellite radio. Even so, I was committed to that car. Even though the engine needed work, the rest of the car still was still everything I ever wanted.
So I went out and bought another Rodeo. This one is white and two years newer than the old one. Even with all the bells and whistles available on a new, or even different car, I know that this particular make and model fits me incredibly well. Only this time, I know to keep an eye on the engine and make sure that it's running without gunk in the valves. And I've learned to be way more pro-active in the maintenance of something I depend on so dearly.
People have told me to let The Black Rodeo go, to take what good I can from it and let go of the bad, and to not let my experience with The Black Rodeo cloud my judgement with my next car. And I've been stranded by many a car before The Black Rodeo. But when you were planning on spending the rest of your life with a car, that's easier said than done. (I am getting a house with a garage at the end of the summer, so I guess you could say we were planning on moving in together.)
I would have been perfectly happy driving The Black Rodeo around forever. But if the engine can't be fixed, I've got to accept that and move on. Part of me wants to believe that if I could have kept the gunk out of the engine, then maybe The Black Rodeo would still be with me.
...But another part of me knows that I just need to get past all that and hit the open road.
