The Chevy Cav is gone.
It was time. For me to feel comfortable driving it this winter, I would’ve had to spend at least $750 on it, and I know it’s worth less than that. I was finally at the point where I was unwilling to put any more money into it.
So I’d been casually looking online for awhile and yesterday, I bought a new(er) car. I looked at cars.com on Wednesday, using my extremely limited search parameters (under 50,000 miles and $11,000 and sold by a dealer less than 20 miles from my house), scrolled through hundreds of listings that featured the same models (PT Cruisers, Aveos, Kia Rios) before I found my dream vehicle (a 2002 orange Saturn Vue with 44,000 miles for $7,991), and printed out the description and excitedly called Jason to tell him I found my car.
Then I sat back and began daydreaming about all the new adventures my Vue and I would have, like sitting in traffic during my commute, or it waiting for me in the parking lot while I attended Twins games, or me lovingly handwashing it every week, etc., etc. (There was sure to be a music montage in the background during these sequences.)
Then I pulled up the online description yesterday so I could once more gaze upon my dream vehicle, only to see a screen that said, “This listing has been removed.”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
I called the dealership, who informed me that yeah, that car was gone, but they had another one with 70,000 more miles for two thousand more dollars, was I interested? No, dudes. I wasn’t.
So, my Plan B was a kiwi green Ford Focus, which I was only mildly enthused about because while the Focus was one of the Cars I Was Willing To Drive, it wasn’t an orange Vue and would never be the orange Vue, and damn you person who bought the orange Vue!
I called to verify the Focus was still available and it was, and the sales guy also said he had a maroon one for $1,000 more but with 16,000 fewer miles and I could look at them both if I wanted. So I made the appointment for a test drive.
And the green one was nice. But the maroon one was nicer. It felt nicer, it rode nicer, and it already had license plates, so I wouldn’t have to spend the money on those like I would’ve for the green one. It had new tires, a new battery, new brake pads, and a new alternator. Plus, I was amazed at every little thing: the visors stayed up! The glovebox shut properly! All the windows went up and down! The A/C worked on every level instead of just on high! Random pieces of plastic weren’t floating around on the floor, their origin a mystery! It was so quiet in there! I could let go of the steering wheel without my car heaving itself to the left! This must be how rich people live!
And then after test driving the maroon one, the sales guy pressed a button on the key fob – and the car started from across the parking lot. It had an automatic starter.
I was already leaning toward the maroon car anyway, but as a person who hates winter in Minnesota, that pretty much sealed the deal.
After that it was a flurry of paperwork, and while waiting for the financing guy, I saw my Cavalier sitting outside. And I started to feel nostalgic for it. I bought that car in 1997 when I was fresh out of college. It was a former rental car and had 33,000 miles on it. I remember thinking at the time that the car payment ($225) seemed ridiculous.
Sure, now the car was creaky and slowly falling apart, and the window motors burned out with alarming regularity, and the leaky rear struts made my commute feel like I was riding in a haywagon over pointy boulders, but overall it had been good to me. Didn’t it deserve to achieve its dream of making it to 200,000 miles? (Never mind the fact that it took two tries for the engine to turn over when we left the house to come to the dealership.)
And right then, the dealer came back with my trade-in offer: “I’ll give you $100 for it.”
Apparently not.
As I emptied out the Cav and cleaned out the glovebox (after having to wrench it open and watching the door latch fling itself somewhere under the passenger seat), I took one last look at my car, the car that was with me through so much, the car that had served me so well that the dealer was absolutely flabbergasted it had made it to 192,000 miles.
“Thanks, Cav,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
And then I drove home in this:
It’ll have some big brake pads to fill.
