While moving to the new place was a fun and exciting experience it is not without its tragedy. Leaving the Astoria apartment we caravanned up route 91, with Neil, Allie and S-Dub driving the truck, followed by Julie and myself cruising in my beloved Honda Accord wagon, and Crunch Barries bringing up the rear in his ruby red Jeep Grand Cherokee. In the week leading up to the big move I had been reunited with my long lost mom-car. She ran well, sputtering a few times but overall standing tall, teal, and proud. I was assured by my family's mechanic that she would be perfectly fine to make the long journey North. I was excited to have her up there. She got great gas mileage and never complained too much. I pictured loading up her big trunk with bikes and finding all the great trails that were in the vicinity.
On the day of the move everything was going smoothly. We packed up the entire apartment over the course of 2 1/2 hours. I put all my electronics in the Honda to keep them close to me, and before too long we were on our way. Getting out of the city was not without traffic, but it was all fairly seamless. Once the traffic broke it looked as though the rest of the day would be smooth sailing.
Julie thought the Honda should be named Shaniqwa for it's big back side and love of DMX, and even though the radio no longer worked, Julie was determined to have a music filled trip as she regaled me (somewhat reluctantly) with acapella versions of many of the songs that unfortunately make up today's pop music.
Just after exiting New York with about three hours left in our journey the Honda began coughing. The gas pedal sounded like it reacted to my touch yet the car was slowing down. Panicked I hit the blinker and pulled the car over two lanes just as the shoulder began to disappear. Crunch Barries, who had done a great job following the whole way, was able to pull over right behind us.
We sat there for a moment planning our next course of action. Fortunately it wasn't long before the highway police came to our aid. They called a tow truck for us then left to attend to a wreck somewhere down the road. Thankfully we were able to fit all that I had packed in the Honda into the Grand Cherokee and waited for the tow truck far off to the side of the road. An hour and a half, and 11 inspired semi tractor-trailer horn blows later the tow truck finally arrived. We followed the truck as it brought my beloved wagon to the shop. I handed over the keys and asked that they determine if it would be ok.
A few days passed and I received word that the timing belt had snapped and whipped nearby parts bending precious valves. Her injuries were too severe, and there was nothing more they could do for her. Upset as I was there was no use in pointing fingers. Perhaps this problem could have been foreseen, maybe Julie shouldn't have offended the car by singing Pokerface so many times, or perhaps I shouldn't have ghost ridden her so much, or taken her off so many jumps in High School, or used her to reenact my favorite scenes from the Bourne Identity. The silver lining to all this is that she did have many many good years, I just knew she could have had a few more.
Where da hood at?... RIP
Sob! Shanikwa was the best!
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