My poor car

Ah, my beloved ’88 Tracer Wagon–which I bought new 21 years ago.  It has been a wonderful car, transporting me around the country.  Dozens of times I have slept diagonally in the back, for lack of better camping options.

Now, alas, my Tracer has been relegated to a role of “dump truck,” ferrying dozens of loads of construction debris to the nearby Ft. Totten Transfer Station.

All this hauling has been tough on my dear old friend.  The interior roof lining, for example, is shredded.  But the engine works great, and I still have many months of trips to Home Depot–so you can imagine why I was sad when it failed its biannual safety inspection (minor stuff, to be sure).

Since the car has had a good life, and I really couldn’t justify another $800+ for new shocks and stuff that I’ll never use, I was all prepared to donate my baby to charity.  Donating your trusty vehicle after two decades felt a little like putting your pet “to sleep.”  At least I tried to assuage my guilt by choosing an environmental charity; the Washington Area Bicyclists Association.  Fitting for a car, don’t you think? 

But I couldn’t easily find the title and the charity middleman wouldn’t take the car without one.  Weeks passed and, unexpectedly, the District changed its regulations in order to save $400,000:  safety inspections are no longer necessary for private vehicles (they still need to pass an emissions test, however).   So yesterday I bought a new gas cap (which was one area my car flunked) and aced the emissions test.  

Now I’m street legal again.  The Tracer lives on.  Bury me in it, ok?