it was inevitable. miles, a life of hard work, and road salt had taken their toll. for the last couple months my 95 astro has been off the road and used as a shed. i aired up the flat tire, hooked up the jumpers, shot some starting fluid into the throttle body, and it popped and caught on fire, trying to tell me "please do not take me there to die, i'll probably be turned into a new honda." put out the fire, sprayed more fluid, another pop and another fire. i think it started crying at that point, or maybe that was melting snow from the fire. one last blast of starting fluid, and it started up for me. it smoked for a while but settled down to its normal rough idle. i pulled it over to the garage and cleaned out the stuff being stored and all my loose change and tools, cut off the converter, and went inside to get the title. nowhere to be found. i think the van hid it while i was sleeping so i could not take it in. an hour later i arrived home with replacement title, $16 lighter in the wallet. i called my mom to follow me to the recycler and while i waited for her i pulled off the new heater fan and wiper motor. it barely had enough gas to make the 15 mile ride, and tipped the scale at 4,280 lbs with the scrap i tossed in the back. i drove off the scale and parked it next to a dumpster, went in and got my check, all the while feeling dirty for selling off my companion for the last 3 years to be attacked by madmen with torches and giant machines with claws. but there comes a time when every good van gets sore, tired, and needs to rest. as i walked out the gate i looked back to see my trusted partner being carried away by a large forklift, my pocket $513 heavier, my heart exponentially emptier.
stay thirsty, my friend.
