Old Girl

Before we begin, I want to give a major shout out to Holly Starley as her endearing essays about her adventures with Ruby Van Jangles inspired this piece.

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We were so young when we met. I was just a bright-eyed twenty-one-year-old. And you, my God did you shine back then. I still remember laying eyes on you from across the lot. Your golden shell sparkling in the midday sun. Our first roll together was a little clunky, wasn’t it? What can I say? I was still a young driver, and your clutch was rather sensitive. But it didn’t take us long to find our groove. And once we did, boy did we have some fun. Covering more than 175,000 kilometres, over more than thirteen years, our journey’s spanned far more than just distance. Molding yourself to the different phases of my life, you were a bastion of versatility. With the room of a wagon, the interior of a Rolls, and the get-up and go of a rally car – you could do it all. And together, we were unstoppable. Tell me, Old Girl, now that we’re looking back, what was your favourite part?

I agree, our time working as tradies probably was the toughest. That’s when you showed me exactly what you were made of. Those early days still make me chuckle. Back when I thought I could keep you clean. Remember when that first bag of plaster split open in your boot? I tried so hard to vacuum it all up. That still bothers me. I mean, it just wasn’t right. You were too pristine to be subjected to that kind of dirty work for all those years. But there was no stopping it. That damn plaster crept in and caked itself to every part of you – yes, and to me. And so it was, that you assumed your first role as my mobile toolshed, on-site office, and the not-so-secret spot I’d disappear to every lunchtime for a cheeky bong. We even tried passing you off as a Ute that one time. Strapping those plasterboard sheets to your quasi roof-racks. It got pretty hectic when the wind picked up. I was steering you with one hand, while trying to hold down those sheets with the other. But we pulled it off.

That’s true, I guess we didn’t always make it out of things unscathed. Alright Jeez! How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? It wasn’t all my fault, though. That pole came out of nowhere. Sure, it left your front a bit scuffed, but the pole got the worst of it. Alright fine, you were more than, “a bit scuffed”. But my mate and I pieced you backed together. Okay, you got me again, my mate pieced you back together while I watched. After that you took on your true form. Instead of being all gold, you now had a white bumper, a silver fender, and a crumbled registration plate. No, don’t be silly! It didn’t make you look ramshackle. It gave you character. Style. Pizazz. And besides, your face-lift suited that ‘air-intake’ scoop you had on your hood. That purely cosmetic thing your first owner stuck there because he wanted to pass you off as a Subaru. Between that, your funky front, and the skate stickers I plastered all over your rear, you were the most unique looking car on the road. Which I loved. As it made us more alike – a couple of maverick weirdos doing things our way.

Ohh, I could never forget that! You were always the number one skate homie. From the first day to the last, not only did you carry everything a serious skater could ever need, but at times you even got involved. Like when you towed-in one of the boys so he could get enough speed to skate that spot. Or when you’d insist, I stand on your roof to get the best angle for the shot. Or all those times your headlights lit up the spot so we could film into the night. I know! I can’t believe I never skated you, either. Especially since the side of your hood was bloody begging for one of my patented 180-reverse-nosegrinds. That would’ve been sick. Poetic too. The two of us coming together to nail a trick. But, I guess, somethings just aren’t meant to be.

Of course, I shouldn’t’ve done it. But you remember what sparked it, right? That Seinfeld episode. You know the one. Kramer goes to the dealership to test-drive a car for Jerry, and he convinces the car salesmen to let him see how far he can go with the petrol light on. You’ve got to admit you could go for quite a long time. We used to get more than 70 kilometres out of you with that light beaming. Ohh c’mon! It’s not like the one time we actually ran out of petrol was that bad. We were only a few hundred metres from the petrol station. Besides, those two cute girls stopped to help us. One steered, while the other helped me push. I know you enjoyed that just as much as I did. We were lonely then, and the attention was nice.

Your right, your right… I’ve been beating around the bush. There’s no question those four months brought us closer than anything else. Once we dropped your back seats there was no turning back. And just as I’d always suspected that single mattress slid into you ohh-so perfectly. Like it was meant to be. The rainbow-coloured curtains we put up were a nice touch too. Ha! I guess they did suit that phase of my life. What did you used to call it? That’s right, my unemployed-beach-bum-stoner-hippie-mature-aged-philosophy-student phase. I rocked that role pretty well, if I say so myself. As did you. I mean, suddenly, your funky front matched your tie-dye interior.

Are you kidding? That was one of the best things about living together. Waking up to see how the morning light had mingled with your groovy curtains. As if the sun’s rays had been cast through a prism, the spectral hue that bathed us created an ambience like no other. And then to amble out your door and find we’d parked at the foot of some pristine stretch of coastline, or just metres back from a crag that overlooked the river, or at the edge of Australia’s interminable bushland. What a way to wake up! And with such a good friend by my side. Yes, one who was always ready to whip up a fresh pot of coffee and a hearty breakfast. Damn it, Old Girl, remind me again why we ever stopped living that way?

Coffee by Perth’s Swan River one morning after waking up in the Old Girl.

The breakfast of unemployed-beach-bum-stoner-hippie-mature-aged-philosophy-students.

I suppose it wasn’t all sunrise tinted vistas. The night all those mosquitoes got in certainly wasn’t fun. Nor was it cool when that campus security guard kept knocking on the window at 2am. Your darn right our curtained cocoon helped us wait him out. We just hushed up and hunkered down. I was so relieved when he finally left. Getting the boot from the Ranger every time we parked along the river in Perth’s swankier suburbs sucked as well. It did feel like we were being treated like second class citizens, didn’t it? Swankier, more like wankier, I reckon.

I think our solo road trips stand out the most. Just the two of us roaming free. No plans, cares, or direction – just tracking the bitumen wherever it led. Remember the fox we met that night while camping somewhere off that never-ending highway? He was a friendly little guy, so inquisitive and graceful. Or how about when we took that detour through The Pinnacles on the way to God knows where? Being in the presence of those ancient stones certainly evoked a vibe entirely its own. Hangover Bay was nice too, remember? Sure, you do, that was the spot we had all to ourselves. Where all that separated the beach from the bush was those huge sand dunes. I sat up on those dunes for hours. Watching the waves roll in on my left, and the kangaroos bound by on my right. I could’ve stared into that infinite nowhere forever. I don’t know what I was looking for out there. But whatever it was, you helped with that search.

The Old Girl at The Pinnacles.

Your decline was rough. Slow too. I think your immobiliser went first. Which set-off a cascade of auto-electric issues. That ceaseless ‘tic, tic, tic’ sound you’d make because some faulty wire was tripping your auto-lock mechanism was definitely the worse. I couldn’t even drown it out because your radio had died by then. That burnt oil smell wasn’t the best, either. Nor was the fact that we’d worn your rubber steering wheel all the way down to the metal underneath. Your windscreen wipers only working when they felt like it also proved quite the challenge. Yes, especially in winter! And summer was just as bad given that your aircon didn’t work anymore. What made that worse was when your driver’s side window shit itself. The damn thing just wouldn’t go down. Even on those scorching forty-degree days. That made going through drive-thru’s rather annoying as well. I’d have to go past the service window and open the damn door just to grab some fries. I know, I know, that was your way of helping me cut back on junk food. You were always helping me out like that. Pushing me to look on the bright side.

You always had me thinking outside the box too. Remember when I figured out how to get you started even when you seemed hellbent on conking out? I’d fire the ignition, and you’d conk out. Not about to skip the foreplay, we’d do that a couple of times. Not that it ever worked. And so, I’d be forced to fire the ignition, smash you straight into gear before you had a chance to conk out, and then, sit there revving you until you agreed to play ball. All the while cooing to you softly, “C’mon Old Girl, please fuckin start.” We played that game for years. And boy, did it leave our passengers alarmed whenever you’d conk out at a set of traffic lights, or an intersection, or in bumper-to-bumper traffic. “Don’t worry,” I’d say, “she’ll start.” And you always did. Although, there were times, you really made me sweat. . .

Exactly! Like that night you conked out in front of the cops. We were on that damn hill at the traffic lights. The one across the road from the pizza shop. You conked out just as the lights went green. The cars behind us honked, as I pleaded with you to start. But you didn’t. The lights went green again, and still, you didn’t budge. Cars skirted around us. People poured out of the pizza shop to see what was going on. The traffic lights continued to change colours, as drivers cursed us, and the crowd of onlookers grew. Forced to change course, we rolled backwards down the hill and onto the footpath. While we were trying to regroup, two of our on-lookers moseyed over to offer their two-cents. Only then, did we realise they were cops. They thought I was drunk, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t me who was playing up, I explained, it was you. “Do you think you should be driving round in such an unroadworthy vehicle, mate?” One asked, while the other looked you up and down. Instantly, I knew you’d registered his insult. Hell, I could practically hear you screaming; Who you calling unroadworthy, ya bastard? “Do you think you can get it started?” Asked the other one, clearly playing the good cop. “Yeah, she’ll start.” I said, turning the ignition in a show of faith. And just like that, you roared to life as if you had something to prove. Tearing off into the night, we left the cops to their pizza.

The end made me sad too. But we both knew it was coming. I’d pushed you to the limit. And then, in my foolishness, and because I’m terribly cheap, I pushed you even further. It was a miracle you made it as far as you did. By far your greatest feat, though, was how you managed to make it home on that final day with a burnt-out clutch. Sure, I had to rev you upwards of 6000rpms just to get you moving. And sure, we had to coast down every hill in neutral as you spluttered, smoked, and ceased. But as beat up as you were, you still got all the way home in one piece. And that’s where you sat, until they towed you away.

Damnit, Old Girl, you’re gonna make me tear up. I mean, fuck, we rolled together for more than thirteen years. And in that time, you became my friend. I knew you. I talked to you. God help me, I even bargained with you. I don’t know what it was exactly, but at some point, just the sight of you made me happy. Your ramshackle look. Your unique quirks. And the way you defied everyone’s well-meaning suggestions about trading you in. We both knew that was never gonna happen! You were my ride or die homie. My golden girl with the funky front. Driving you until the wheels fell off was the only way our journey could end. And I’m so glad we got to have such a long and crazy journey together. I love you Old Girl. You carried the load of my life when I needed it most. And no matter how ramshackle you looked, your golden shell was symbolic of what you meant to me. Farewell old friend, you will be sorely missed.

The day the Old Girl was towed away.

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