Ode to the Sprinter

Eleven years we’ve been partners, you and I.

You’ve carried daughters, cousins, friends, students, coworkers

Suitcases, exercise equipment, dogs, tools, wood, furniture, Goodwill bag after Goodwill bag

You bear the scars of sticky candy, spilled pop, smeared chocolate, sour milk, toilet training fails, dog scratches

You’ve witnessed the joys of excited travelers, new babies, good conversations, funny jokes

You’ve also witnessed ugly fights, kicking and screaming, and way too many “Why aren’t you buckled?”s

And oh the selfies.  The 100s of selfies...

You’ve traveled nearly every corner of North America, almost always faithfully—but sometimes too tired to go on.  Many with our family, but some as gifts to other families.  Colorado, Florida, Cape Cod, New York, Outer Banks, Kentucky Lake, Canada, Mexico.

And, El Guapo, you’ve even flirted—all those times you flashed your lights when The Beautiful passed you on the road.  The only one who truly understood you, herself also driving around a crazy family.

You have impressed and embarrassed and intimidated and surprised and scared and confused many.

“This is your PERSONAL vehicle?”

“Are they all deaf?”

“Will you give me a ride to the airport terminal, please?”

“Which retirement home do you drive for?”

“Are you Tulip Time transportation?”

Our time together has come to an end. 

It’s been quite a ride...

(Epilogue:  As I drove it away today, the muffler came loose and started dragging.  All of this sentimentality quickly turned into "Good Riddance!")