Based on the title you’re expecting interpersonal drama. Nope! It’s about a rusty old car.
Before society took a dump (aka Covididiocy), I bought a Yamaha TW200 dirt bike. When I say “before” I mean literally days before the crash. I knew there was something odd brewing in China. I knew people might react stupidly. But wow! Humanity ignored my already low expectations and dove beneath the bar! Planetary mass hysteria? Really!?
I’m very lucky I got the motorcycle in time. I used it to stay sane. HOA Karens cowered behind crochet knit masks. Governors made rules about hair salons. Fauchi scampered about like the creepy little gremlin he is. I avoided much of the bullshit simply by enjoying the forest.
Does proper mental care mean a dirtbike and a fishing pole? I dunno’. What’s the batting average for therapists?
Me and that little bike explored forest roads like carefree children. I had a cheap bike and endless trails, heaven is where you find it.
Eventually society came up for air. I had a meeting in South Dakota. The Black Hills has great trails! Diesel was expensive so I opted to take Mrs. Curmudgeon’s fuel efficient daily driver, a Honda CRV. (Remember when expensive fuel was an inexplicable mystery? It seems like pricey gas is no big deal when one party is in power and a sinister plot when the other is in power. Unless you’ve got the memory of a goldfish you should remember the ebb and flow.)
I checked all the specs from Honda. I bought a small trailer to haul my small bike. It’s well within the car’s GVWR. Despite whining about the cost of the ball hitch install I was impressed. It was scaled perfectly!
But it sucked. Regardless of what the technical specs said, the little CRV just didn’t have the grunt. It got me there, but it wasn’t happy about it. The car was already old. Maybe it’s got half the horsepower it started with?
The next time I trailered the tiny bike with my behemoth truck. It looked stupid and out of scale, but the truck didn’t break a sweat. There’s no replacement for displacement.
Mrs. Curmudgeon’s car, which was never intended to be a bike hauler anyway, got older and more worn. There were breakdowns. Tow trucks were summoned. Expensive parts were replaced. One time, it spent six weeks in a stealership’s repair lot. (Someone stole random shit from the back seat. Covid isn’t the only sign of a suffering society.) It has rust. It has rattles. Sometimes the drivetrain shimmies. It burns oil; more than you can ignore. Sometimes the check engine light is on, sometimes it’s off.
Don’t spam me with comments about what I ought to fix. The car is shot. Expensive rescue efforts would be unwise. It’s at the end of its lifespan. Also we got a quarter million miles out of it. No regrets, it was a good car. I’ve been predicting its imminent death for a while now.
I humbly think new cars are overregulated shit. But Mrs. Curmudgeon needed something reliable. She chose from among the shit that’s for sale. It’s a pretty nice ride. I doubt it’ll run 250,000+ miles like it’s predecessor but I could be wrong. (Wouldn’t that be awesome!)
I never “trade in” my cars. If it’s a good car I’ll sell it for cash. If it’s a rustbucket nobody would buy, I keep it as a “backup”. I’ll run it until it collapses. Why not? Anything that gets you down the road is worth keeping.
Repeat the survivalist mantra “two is one and one is none”. The old car is now a “spare”.
Mrs. Curmudgeon and I talked it over. “The old car is still valuable.” I said. “Drive it when it’s icy so you won’t risk damaging the expensive new car.” Mrs. Curmudgeon agreed. “We should run it once a week, just to keep the battery charged and so forth.”
Mrs. Curmudgeon was in complete agreement. “It’s been a good car and I still love it.”
Nope! As soon as a new car was in the driveway, Mrs. Curmudgeon forgot the old one existed.
I can’t really blame her. New cars are fun!
Joking about complete rejection I named the old car “Jilted Girlfriend” and took it upon myself to keep her alive. I drive it once a week. I have to admit, it’s pretty shot. It’s low on power and sounds like it’s going to implode. It sucks having to check the oil every time I start it. I avoid taking it further than the grocery store.
Recently, I planned to trailer my dirtbike for an autumn camping trip. My truck would be the tow vehicle. My last good adventure was in Wyoming, before I got sick; just shy of 2 years ago. This was my one shot in 2026. It’ll be winter soon.
I “serviced” the bike. Mostly washing off Wyoming mud, doing an oil change, and tensioning the stretched chain. It’s an obsolete machine (which I love). It has a lot less shit to break. I’ll never have to flash firmware on the carbureted dinosaur. The motorcycle trailer, unused since I returned from Wyoming, had lost one marker light. That’s not too bad given I hadn’t used it in two years.
A week before I meant to head out, the truck’s brakes flaked. They’re fixable but sketchy. I elected to cancel the trip. Bummer.
Then something else happened. Mrs. Curmudgeon got a horrible toothache. This worried me very much. It sucked. It was dramatic and stressful and sad. Nobody wants their wife suffering! Alas, I cannot fix teeth. I did what I could with soup and tea and trying to be nice but it pales in comparison to tooth pain. (It would’ve been a good time to have a fluffy cat around. The cat’s dead. That didn’t help things.)
It’s possible to care deeply and also think it’s a good idea to bug out. The trip was back on!
Since the truck can’t stop properly… I chose Jilted Girlfriend. She would save me!
Mrs. Curmudgeon, who is a peach, encouraged me to go. She handed me the 5 quart jug of oil that goes with Jilted Girlfriend and practically pushed me out the door. She was on a steady diet of painkillers and misery. There would be no joy that weekend. I might as well be somewhere else. She promised me she wouldn’t be mad and indeed, she wasn’t. My wife is awesome!
I drove Jilted Girlfriend gently, like a grenade with the pin pulled. I drove well below the speed limit to keep whatever was making the drivetrain shimmy to a minimum. I avoided hills. I stayed on flat boring paved secondary roads with no traffic. I checked the oil a lot. One time it wouldn’t turn over but on the second try it fired up. (Probably just a loose battery cable.)
Here’s the funny part, I had an entire motorcycle with me. Talk about a good backup plan!
I’m returning to my roots. I started life limping around in completely shot vehicles. Now I’m limping around in a completely shot vehicle.
Life goes in circles, but it also gets better. Years ago a breakdown was a fiscal death sentence. Now it’s a “spare car”. If it dies I’ll have it towed to a junkyard and that’s all. Back then I’d have to hike out of the woods if a car died. Now I have a motorcycle.
A.C.
P.S. I returned from camping and I drove Mrs. Curmudgeon to her long anticipated dentist appointment. We drove in the new car, with heated seats and everything. The dentist did whatever voodoo they do and it worked. Mrs. Curmudgeon is once again her regular cheerful self. I’m glad she’s back!