My car, nicknamed Beach Bum, turned 18 years old last month (we both look young for our age). She and I share good, bad and ugly memories together (cheesy, I know). We traveled near and far — most notably to Minneapolis…
I’m not a mathematician, but my rough calculation shows that 18 car-years are equal to 50,000 years for an average moth. Not to mention that the car engine wasn’t even invented back then.
Bill Clinton was a president when I bought this car. And the U.S. was still a democracy.
I was slightly younger in 1999, about 12 I think (I lost the equation that puts me permanently @28, so I’m winging it).
It’s silly to be attached to a car, all metal, plastic, glass and oil. But I am. She’s like a daughter: stubborn, mischievous and wickedly smart. Or like a spouse: all of the above but at a higher RPM ❤
So, this espresso’s for you, Beach Bum: May the next 18 years will be as memorable!
UPDATE: Sadly, after 19 years and 3 months, my beloved 1999 Toyota RAV4 is no more. I drove it to Newgate School and donated it. The engine runs like a deer, but the frame, especially under the engine, is so corroded that it deemed unsafe by the dealer’s inspection. #sad