R.I.P., The Colorado (12.18.04 - 07.21.06)
On December 18, 2004, a jet-black pickup entered my life, and in turn, the life of my readers. For this wasn't just any pickup truck, it was a Chevrolet Colorado Z71 4X4. Not just any Chevy Colorado. The Colorado.
My brother and I always name our cars. My first car, the Buick Skyhawk, was "Captain" Skyhawk like the Nintendo game. The hunter green Skylark I drove next was The Green Monster. Not to be confused with The Green Hornet, the green minivan with only one working door my brother drove. My Grand Am GT was known as The White Shadow (both because the car was white, and because the show of the same name is really really badass).
Well, when I brought home the truck, it oozed so much awesomeness, it was clear it wasn't just another vehicle, nor just another Chevy Colorado. It was the definitive version of the truck. The piece de resistance of Detroit. The Colorado.
Through trips to Kansas City, Minneapolis twice, Des Moines numerous times, and Lincoln many many more times, it treated me very well. And I loved it back, washing it once a week and always polishing the chrome, treating the leather seats, and keeping it in tip-top condition. I installed after-market accessories to make it even more awesome. It was the most well-cared for pickup truck in the world, befitting its stature as The Colorado.
The Colorado, in happier times.
Befitting a King, The Colorado was thirsty and demanding of its beverage of choice, E89 Gasoline. And for a while, gas was cheap and its binge-drinking habit was annoying but tolerable.
Then...George Bush and his cronies brought a screeching halt to the fun. In a world of $3 gas, driving The Colorado was no longer as awesome. It would beg and plead for the sweet nectar of E89, guzzling that liquid gold like it was going out of style. Once a week, I would go to the gas station to feed its habit, enabling its bad habit, and my punishment for being an enabler was $50 gas bills once a week. Some weeks, The Colorado would be even more thirsty and I would enable its habit twice. Over time, those weeks came more frequently, and it put serious strains on our relationship.
Last Thursday night, I was at Hy-Vee Gas on 132nd and West Dodge enabling its habit, and as the receipt for yet another $52 fill printed, I looked at The Colorado and it looked back. Our relationship had been strained for some time, and we could both sense the tension as our glances bounced off each other. I asked it, "Hey, The Colorado. What we had...it was real, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, it was real. You bet it was."
Relieved it also spoke in the past tense of what we had, I decided to let it down easy. I told it, "Its not you, its me. I've...I've found someone else. I'm sorry."
And a single tear came trickling out of its right headlamp. The trees rustled. The wind howled ever so slightly. And as I got behind the wheel for what we both knew was the farewell voyage home, sadness enveloped the vehicle. XM Big Tracks was up to moment, providing the Rolling Stones "Miss You" as the soundtrack to the scene.
Friday, June 21, The Colorado and I parted ways when I went home with another vehicle. It was really a sad moment, seeing The Colorado drive away in the rear view mirror. The salesman had told me it would probably be unsellable on their lot because pickup trucks were just not selling like they used to in this world of $3 gas. It would likely go to auction, where some heartless Used Car Scorpion would purchase it and throw it on a scummy lot. The Colorado would slave away working the corner for his $99-a-month-payment brothel. Sure, its striking beauty would bring people in, but those people would probably end up with another vehicle, one with more miles making it cheaper and a little easier to drive. But the fact that something I once loved would now lead that empty existance, working for that pimp and drawing customers in to Chevy Malibus and Pontiac G6s, made me sad.
And a single tear came trickling out of my right eye. The trees rustled. The wind howled ever so slightly. And as I got behind the wheel for what I knew was the maiden voyage home in my new ride, what should have been a joyous moment was instead bittersweet; sadness enveloped the vehicle. XM Big Tracks was up to moment, providing Foreigner's "Feels Like The First Time" as the soundtrack to the scene.
As The Colorado got smaller and smaller in the distance, eventually disapperaring into the horizon, I put my new vehicle in gear and picked up the phone. I called my brother and said, "Brother, The Colorado is no more."
He responded, "Godspeed, The Colorado. Godspeed."
Godspeed. Poignant words. We had 18 months, The Colorado, and it was a helluva ride, wasn't it? You bet it was.
Listed below are links to blogs that reference this entry: R.I.P., The Colorado (12.18.04 - 07.21.06).
TrackBack URL for this entry: