This morning we lost a beloved member of our family.
Sally; our 1990 Nissan Sentra [Sea Foam Green] passed away at the age of 16, just 53 miles short of 183,000.
A routine oil change revealed chronic and severe deterioration of a valve [or two], which we tried to repair but to no avail. Her demise was sudden, painless, yet not unexpected. In spite of receiving a new radiator in April, her fevers over this past hot, dry NJ summer must have stressed her heart far too much to make it to winter.
As much as we are saddened by our loss, we are all happier to have known her at all.
She was our friend, our companion, our guide, our confidant, our muse, our hideaway, our run-about. She was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Indian Larry, in a convenient portable package.
It will be hard to begin my next morning run and not see her sitting faithfully in front of the house; to return and not pat her on the hood, swiping a handful of morning dew to wipe the sweat from my face. I have cancelled my last race of the season [Ben Franklin Bridge 10K], having the respect not to show up in a new ride, after so many seasons warming up to Sally's little heater.
My daughter asked me once, "Daddy, when we get a new car, will Sally go away?"
"Yes, sweetie, she probably will."
"Will you miss her?"
"Of course I will. I may even cry."
We always thought the new car [truck more likely, living in Baja NY, after all] would come before Sally went.
Sally, in sportier days.
So much for having the first Nissan Sentra with "Historical" plates.
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