Tip a 40oz..

Today was a bittersweet day for me.  It had been a long time coming but today I finally had to do something about the Blue Goose.  Since I picked her up the last day of June, 2008, I hadn't looked back.  Damn near 20,000 miles later I've come to realize we did a lot of great things together.  From day-to-day commuting to Lewiston to scantily-planned yet ultimately tremendous trips to Virginia and Tennessee there aren't a lot of spots in the northeast I saw without getting there behind the wheel of my 24 year old, four wheeled friend.  It was a good run, kid.  A great run, to be even more appropriate..

 

 Since I hopped into the driver's seat a few hours after I touched down in Portland the end was in sight but I put off this day as long as I could.  I had grandiose dreams of firing the Goose up just like before I had left, driving it for a few more days, lining a shady mechanic to get an inspection sticker on it then and then craigslisting the shit out of it for close to what I had paid for it.  But when I hopped in it that fateful evening the battery was dead, the emergency brake had rusted to the rear wheels, and the brakes, well, didn't really enjoy braking anymore.  I saw the writing on the wall: my baby was headed to a junkyard..

Semi-Sidenote: When I got home a couple Wednesdays ago I hopped into the same 1986, rusting, un-inspected, old bucket of bolts that intimidated most of its passengers.  These intimidated folks (most likely afflicted with conditions of wimpitis and/or sissy syndrome, though sandy vag could be another possibility..) looked at my baby as nothing more than blueberry dump while I looked at the Bird as a friend that was a little rough around the edges, yet could always be trusted.  I found the whole to truly be much greater than the some it its (mostly questionable..) parts.

Naysayers will mention that I never paid for a sticker for it and that me driving it without one for quite some time doesn't cover up the fact she had bald tires, bad brakes, rust holes straight through and bad shocks.  To these haters I respond: Walk.  Whether the temp was 101 or -1 or anything in between she fired up on the first go round and never looked back.  Outside of it's price tag, oil changes and gas its only additional costs were new front tires and a new clutch cable.  Two grand plus gas for 20,000 miles...I'll take that all the way to the bizzank every day of the week.  They just don't make cars like that any more..

Luckily I knew just the place to bring my baby and that was the place I took it to get serviced a couple of times over the last couple years: AC Auto in Leeds.  The proprietor, Al Wheeler, specializes in older Volvo repair and has himself quite a collection.  It's a veritable Volvo graveyard out there behind his shop.  Basically it's the perfect place for my baby Goose.  I look at it as her heading out to pasture; she now resides at the no-kill shelter, rather than a glue factory.  That will help me sleep easy tonight.  Now time for some baby photos of today's trip..

 And some memories of me and the Goose from the last couple years...we've seen some shit together..

It was weird being home and driving my folks cars around - they both have new Nissans these days.  New just isn't me.  When I'd drive around and goof off to the music or stare at pretty girls I just wouldn't feel cool...I'd feel like a dork.  The Goose didn't make me feel self-conscious like these new-fangled automobiles.  We went together like peas and carrots..

Just like my previous gem, the Red Dragon, the Blue Goose was all me.  It epitomized my steeze.  Well, actually, in the nature of full disclosure: it didn't have a crank sun roof.  Next time around when I get a 240 wagon, I suppose..

In lieu of a proper eulogy feel free to share your favorite memories below.  She was a good egg.  Cheers.