The previous part of this story can be found here, but if you’re just joining us the beginning is all the way back here if you’d like to catch up.
For the eight or so years that I owned my Jeep, I can only remember one or two times when it was ever broke enough to not be driveable. “Broke enough to not be driveable” is the kind of vocabulary you develop when you’re a) young, broke, and mechanically inept, b) driving a 25-year old Jeep, or c) the owner of only one car. I was of course d) all of the above.
Then the day comes when the third “broke enough” strike came. I remember it sounding like a huge pop, and then could feel something was not right in the accelerator. The engine was working fine, but it felt like it wasn’t connected to the wheels anymore, being able to rev to its heart’s content…it’s geriatric, 1,500 rpm redline kinda heart’s content.
I pulled over, shut it off, and did a quick once around for any signs of distress. No smoke, sparks, fluids, or shrapnel to be seen underneath. Huh? That was weird. Got back in, turned the XJ back on, shifted into D, and off we went like nothing ever happened.
But by the time we got home and I could crawl back underneath I began to see signs that all was not well. Best as I could figure the chain in the transfer case must have jumped a tooth or something, putting a crack in the case where gear oil was slowly leaking out. Not the end of the world, but at the time that was about as bad as saying to the know-nothing-mechanical-me that a piston had escaped the engine block.
And you know, I haven’t even gotten to the tragic part yet.
Even though I had no idea how I was going to fix this, it was never a question of whether or not I would. Of course I would fix it…eventually. That’s what we always did with this thing, and that’s what had kept it on the road for north of 300k miles and almost 3 decades of hard service.
I think that one of the best things I learned from my dad, not just about cars, but about most things in life, was that you didn’t just abandon broken things. When you bought something in my family you didn’t just come to own it, you became responsible for it. My family was not raised in the throw-away culture of today. New stuff worth buying is expensive, thus you keep things working as long as you can. Hopefully, when it is time to buy something new, you know what’s worth spending money on because you know what kind of relationship you’re getting yourself into.
I can’t claim to be a purist when it comes to this ethic, but I wish I was. I like the idea of keeping something alive, not because of any kind of collector’s mentality, eye towards investment, or #BIFL influence, but simply because it says what kind of guy I’d like to be. The kind you can count on. Seems more often than not that kind of thought pays you back in kind. If you’re able to count on something, it should be able to expect the same from you.
I didn’t know how, but I knew that eventually I’d fix this issue. But something I did know now, was that I needed a running car. We just so happened to have a large savings fund at the time set aside for a big move we were planning in the coming months. Looks like God had other plans for the money.
May 2009 | 114,000 miles
That silver '84 AMC Cherokee may have been the first car I ever owned, but the silver '01 Jeep Cherokee we purchased at that time was the first car I ever bought. Cash.
I’ll get to the tragic part of the story next…