An ode to an old car: 93 Volvo 940

Recently, I had to retire my beloved old car, Svetlana or Svetty for short. She was a 1993 Volvo 940, so while not one of the sexier, i.e. turbo-charged, of the bunch she got me around for over 14 years. People love their Turbos, and for good reason- my gal was equipped with a 4-cylinder engine to carry her 4,000-ish pound body, which translated to an underwhelming acceleration up long inclines, but smooth and comfortable coasting on freeways, once she got up to speed.  I could get her going quite fast, considering- close to 100 MPH, and she easily handled the long stretches of 70-mph roads spanning much of the desert and rural areas. To be honest, I'm a bit of a cautious driver and have been for a long time, though the accident that caused me to lose Svetty has only increased that trepidation I've felt since. 

Given that the average age of the cars on American roads is about 11 years, and most people only keep their cars for an average of about 6 years, I'd gone well above and beyond that with my old gal. She kept driving, even past 200,000 miles, and she was comfortable. I drove her throughout college, and when I traveled to Japan my family kept the car running so that I could drive her upon returning- a nice familiarity after some reverse-culture shock and the challenges of readjusting to life in the US of A. She'd driven from Vegas to Seattle, then back up North, along with many other shorter road trips throughout the nearby regions.  I'd gotten a lot of work done on her to keep her going, too: replaced the transmission, had an after-market stereo system with Bluetooth and new speakers installed, replaced the fuel pump, her starter, multiple batteries, radiators, countless hoses, wires, lights, and more. These things happen, and general maintenance is always going to be required to keep an older vehicle moving, but she sure did, up until she didn't. 

And really, even after the accident, she would start and drive- but the battery had been cracked and was leaking battery acid all over, so I was worried about the potential for electrical fires or other issues arising. She probably could have been saved, had I the knowledge or skills needed to do the bodywork, or the money available to pay someone else for it. Alas, I lack the skills and the funds, and as much as I love the old girl (and still do), the accident was really traumatic for me and I wasn't sure I'd ever feel quite the same driving her, even if I did sink in the cost of the extensive repairs and had her thoroughly rebuilt. I opted to let her go, with much grief and extensive mourning. Not only was I losing a reliable companion of over a decade, but it had been just as long since I'd entered the intimidating and frustrating world of car-buying. Maybe it's less frustrating for people with excellent credit and cushy bank accounts, but in my initial search I spent over $500 on getting different cars inspected only to learn the mechanic would advise against committing to any of them. I found a 1981 Volvo 242 or so that was absolutely adorable, but it had its own cast of challenges given its age and condition. It took a couple of months of searching and looking into different financing options before we finally landed on my new ride, who is similar to Svetty in being of European make, blocky, and white, so the familiarity helps ease the transition pains. As much as I adored my Svetty, there are things to be said for the advancements of technology over the last 26 or so years, like additional airbags, inbuilt Bluetooth, anti-lock brakes, and other safety features. 

Even so, I'm going to miss the old gal. She got me where I needed to go, more often than not, for many, many years. Despite all the changes life throws at us in the course of 14 years, she remained a stalwart and steadfast friend. Even in her final moments, she kept me safe and shielded from the force of a Toyota Sienna trying to coexist in the same space as me, allowing me to walk away unharmed, and for that I will be forever grateful.

You're a good girl, Svetty. 

Thanks for everything. 

💖

XOXO,

NAU

Vegas: The family wheels

upon a time, when I was still just a wee young little version of the human I am today, I lived in my grandpa's house with a few other family members. It was the hub of the relatives, and every holiday season the extended branches would return to the root and have a massive feast together. It was a large family, so there were many different personalities that could lead to arguments over dinner, but for the most part, it was a jovial and merry time... but after my great old grandpa passed on after an extended battle with illness, the siblings devolved into in-fighting and drifted apart with the years. The family house was sold, grandpa's car driven off to another state, and life went on. Given that I spent many of my formative years living in his house, I was quite close to my grandfather and losing him hurt pretty badly. Sure, I was adopted into the family, and always kind of felt a bit like an outsider (I was the only one in the family with both brown hair and brown eyes, so I was the brunette sheep of the clan) but grandpa? He never let that be the case for long. When my parents would fight, he'd let me take shelter in his room and offer me a cream soda from his private stash, and ensure I got a gift at Christmas. He helped me purchase the car I still have to this day. When it came to my education, he was my biggest champion and encouraged me to get good grades and push to learn more. Life isn't perfect, and neither was he, but he left a strong impression on me as a kid and I credit him for inspiring me to achieve some of the more difficult things I've managed in my life. 

Somewhere down the road, quite literally, my grandpa's car found it's way back to me. Unfortunately, after being driven off by my Uncle (who had, at the time, decried me too irresponsible for the vehicle), things had taken a dire turn for the worse. We were given the car for free, which was exceptionally nice of my aunt to do after sinking her own money into trying to get the car operational again, but we quickly found that she was still inoperable. We made it less than a full block before plumes of steam were wafting out from under the hood, and the transmission completely failed to react. I've no clue what exactly happened to the poor old girl, but she had hardly any miles on her. The Volvo I had prior to my grandpa's passing, however, is nearing 200,000 miles on her original transmission and only recently had her first issues, so I'm pleased to know my uncle's appraisal of my vehicular responsibility was incorrect and the judgment misplaced. 

So these photos serve as a bit of a time capsule. My grandfather drove me to eat chicken fried steak for breakfast in this car when I was just an adolescent, and while it hurt to see it go, we couldn't afford to fix the extent of issues she'd developed. We sold her to a mechanic, so hopefully she's been rebuilt and is on the road again, but I'll always have these photos to preserve the memory. 

Thanks for everything, grandpa. 💖

💙

XOXO,

NAU