chessandlena.com

As you may or may not know, we name our cars. Silly, artifically sentimental, and yet we ain't the only ones. Okay, maybe I take it a bit more seriously than most. But that said, my friends, the time has come, to bid a fond farewell and pay loving tribute to our friend, Yanki Stan.

This is Yanki Stan, a mystical green 1999 saturn named for a misheard lyric in a famous Russian song. We got him either in 2001 or 2002 (the debate over that continues). He got very good gas mileage, somewhere in the mid-thirties, and he could hold more baggage than would physically fit inside him (this is a special feature on saturns that year, they haven't included it since). He traveled several times to Canada, the Home Country, the Northern Redoubt, and the western frontier as well. It was in him that we packed our cat, Maya, into and drove her to the Home Country for one Christmas, and about 20 minutes into the drive, let her loose; she proceeded onto the back window ledge and watched all the cars passing by... I still remember how many people laughing at the cat in the saturn, a great trip. Yanki Stan was our longest-owned car, either 7 or 8 years. He's been steadily declining over the past year and a half, however, having fuel pump, transmission, brake cylinder, oil leak, and other problems. Only one speaker is currently working in his factory stereo system, and it takes over 5 seconds for him to start, if he decides to start. He's conked out on both Lena and I in the last 4 months, and we just couldn't justify putting any more money into him. Goodbye, Yanki Stan, you've been a rock amid the chaos and turmoil of our lives.

And now introducing our new Toyota Yaris. He's supposed to get great mileage, upper thirties at least. I knew I was sold on the car when we were test driving it, and I had to turn at the circular end of a cul-de-sac; though I allowed plenty of room, I did not crack the halfway point of the circle during the turn... I cracked a grin and said, "I already love the turning radius." This is the first brand-new car I've ever bought; same for Lena. But to be honest, it was such a bizarre time for used cars (post-cash-for-clunkers, used cars in our target set were almost as much as new), we decided it was time. I started thinking of names before we had even finalized the sale... Franco Yaris? Yaris Bueller? Yaris K Telemacher? Yaris N. Ford? Lena wasn't buying any of those, however, and immediately countered with something a little less immediately groanworthy: Chaika, Russian for seagull. It's probably the leading candidate so far.

Anyway, sorry to take up so much of your time. The car is dead... long live the car!

My sister called me and said they have a name for our new Nissan Sentra, in the same vein as the Caravan being called Vandemort, that is, following a Harry Potter theme: Sectum Sentra. A note to those who haven't read the books, sectumsempra is a spell of dark magic that causes deep gashes and nearly unstoppable bleeding to its victim.

It's a nice pun, but I think we'll probably stay away from Harry Potter themes for this mobile. Nia is still the frontrunner, and we haven't come up with anything better yet.

Anytime we have a vehicle pass on, give up the ghost, or otherwise exit our lives, I can't help but get nostalgic about all the cars I've had over the years. Granted, I've never had anything cool, like some of the guys I work with now: Robert, a guy who sits across from me, has had a number of alfa romeos in his day (not to mention that he knows about every car fact there is to know); Arcade Game Sensei, also sitting across from me, owns a classic corvette; there are a number of other corvette, mustang, et al, owners where I work. Yes, they drive way cooler cars than I ever have, or probably ever will. But my cars have personality.

????

2006 silver-grey Nissan Sentra. No name yet, but as I earned a speeding ticket in her when I had owned her for barely 6 hours, I feel that some speed-related name is in the works. Lena is already floating names that sound silvery-moonish-mysterious, like "Nia," or "Nura," which means "light" in Arabic... but it's too soon to settle on a name just like that.

Vandemort

2001 burgundy Dodge Caravan. First called "Nameless," the van became "he that must not be named," and quickly migrating to "Vandemort." Fall 2004 - Fall 2008. His chief defect is an electrical problem that causes wipers, radio, a/c fan, and rear defrost switch to not work. Estimated repair to cost twice as much as van does. After the speeding ticket I got on the first day of ownership with my new car, I believe there must be a Police Invisibility field surrounding Vandemort. I will miss that.

Yankistan

1999 dark green Saturn. Named by Lena for a misheard lyric in the Russian traditional song Stenka Razin. Yankistan has been our ol' dependable scooter since 2001 or so.

Hrududu

1994 white Geo Prizm. Named by me from Watership Down, a hrududu is a rabbit word for any machine that moves and makes noise. Spring 1998 - Fall 2004. Hrududu, a gift from my uncle, was noted for his fantastic gas mileage, and his weird air circulation problem that showed up in force in wintertime. Hrududu died in the hospital parking lot when I was dealing with a kidney stone... on the way there, suddenly the only gears I had were 3rd and reverse.

Camembert

1990 white Nissan Sentra. So named because he was white, cheesy, and runny (somewhat). Fall 1993 - Fall 1998. Camembert, whom I bought from another uncle, was my favorite car so far. He handled like a light, fantastic wet dream, and he was the car in whom Sam and I made the Great Blizzard Run to Morgantown in January 1994 (in less than 12 parsecs!). He was the car Lena and I fell in love in, taking trips together to anywhere and everywhere within a 1000-mile radius of Morgantown. He was the first car I had that didn't die on me-- we sold him to a student from Mali in need of a car at WVU.

the Spad

1984 cream Buick Skylark. Named by Sam for the sound (like a WWI Spad aeroplane) made by the car when driven without a muffler (which was the case for more than 2 years). There were many attempted namings before, but none stuck. January 1989 - Fall 1993. The Spad was my father's car for 5 years. In January 1989, my father gave it to my brother Ned to take to college, but then my car died and I ended up getting the Spad, while Ned ended up with a nicer Toyota Celica. During the course of my college career at UVA, I learned that the Spad could hold eleven people or twenty-two street signs of various sizes. He died slowly throughout summer of 1992, and finally was claimed that fall by the oil leak that had plagued him for years.

the Chariot

1981 pale metallic blue Mazda 626. Named for an obscure line in the movie Ice Pirates (the pimpbot tells two of the gang, "Let's go, bloods... this be my bad chariot." What can I say? I was sold.) July 1988 - January 1989. The chariot was the first car I bought with my own money-- I slaved as a bag-boy (ahem... "courtesy clerk") at Kroger for half my senior year and the following summer to earn the money. I got him about a month before I left for my first year at UVA; but first years weren't allowed cars until the spring semester. So my brother Ned (who had just inherited the Spad) and I were driving in tandem to Hagerstown, MD, where we would split, he to continue east to the Naval Academy, and I to veer south to Charlottesville. Half a mile before the split, the Chariot threw a rod, having developed a catastrophic oil leak on the drive. A panicked consult between Ned and I ended up with me dropping him off at Annapolis and then taking his car to UVA. There was nothing else to be done-- we didn't have resources to deal with the thing ourselves, and Ned had a curfew for arrival at the Academy. He was intensely pissed. Dad ponied up nicely though-- at spring break, Ned got a much nicer Celica.

Frank

1979 pale blue Ford Courier pickup truck. Of all cars in our family history, Frank is the legendary, the immortal. Every one of my siblings "owned" Frank except for my oldest sister. Frank went across the country from Connecticut to Seattle at least 3 times with my eldest brother. I learned to drive stick shift on him, via instruction from that same brother. Frank could get up to about 100 mph (downhill, if the wind was behind you) and would not give the slightest shimmy; he was solid as a rock.

Frank died, alas, as a side effect from a missing oil cap: I claim to have left notes on both the house and the car saying not to drive Frank; my brother claims to have seen no such note. He drove Frank up to his girlfriend's house, where Frank threw a rod from lack of oil... from lack of cap. The issue of Frank's demise remains unsettled to this day between my brother and me. Mostly, we just avoid the subject in the interest of getting along. Upon news of his demise, my father had special obituaries printed up and published. At least one he had mounted and lacquered, and hung in the back hall for years.

Anyway, there it is. Sorry to get all long-winded here, but in America today, the car is the machine, with the possible exception of the computer, or maybe the TV, that you spend most of your time operating. It becomes a pretty personal thing, especially when you have the tendency, as do I, to drive a car until it is close to (or beyond) death. And so it was with Vandemort, and so it will probably be with our new addition. The car is dead-- long live the car!