Dolores, in Space

I’m not sure if I’ve told, you, but I’m a big fan of junkers – which I define as a car that costs less than $1000, has at least 125,000 miles that the previous owner admits to, and emits a combination of sounds that – altogether, are like the sound of a moose in heat.
I haven’t owned a new car for over twenty years and, honestly, I don’t know if I could. I don’t think I could bring myself to spending that kind of cash – even if I had bundles of it, after so many cheap rides.
My present transportation is a ’93 aquamarine Ford Escort wagon, with over 150K on the odometer, a permanent puddle of rust-colored water where the spare should be, and air vents that have some kind of lockjaw: the heat and AC actually work, but the air can’t make it through and when I try, it makes a sound not unlike my first saxophone lesson. Overall the sound of this car rolling down the highway is a combination of whistling, groaning, creaking, and muffler-about-to-go kind of croak that my wife can hear – and recognize, from so far away that she has time to cook my favorite meal before I get home. (She has time, I said, but that doesn’t mean she cooks it).
As junkers go, Dolores (I name all my junkers) is a ‘beaut’. I’ve had her for going on three years now and – though I haven’t put any serious new mileage on it – I did take it to the White Mountains a few years back without incident. I have replaced the alternator, purchased a few tires, and changed the oil twice. The grand total that I have spent on the maintenance of Dolores – after almost three years, is under $250, which although it represents a full quarter of her purchase price, is less than some people spend on gas in a month.
When I see a new car pass me by on the road – the word that first comes to mind is – ‘suckers’.
I see no reason at all for ever purchasing a new car.
I see very little reason for ever purchasing what they like to call a ‘previously owned vehicle’.
I would be hard pressed to buy a used car off a dealer’s lot.
I believe that junkers are the answer to my needs – both personal and scientific.
All of which is why I am especially concerned about Dolores’ final days.
I have to face it – she is already, by definition, driving on borrowed time. If a certified mechanic was to take a good, close look under her hood, they would be ethically bound to have me restrained while Dolores was humanely ‘put down’.
I expect the worse – but then again, that’s part of the real pleasure of driving a junker: anything and everything could and should go wrong – so why worry.
When you buy a new car, part of the justification for the ridiculous amount of money you spend, is that you are officially assured that nothing will go wrong – at least for a year or so. But you know, from experience, that something will – and even if it doesn’t happen right away, you have spent so much that even the lack of perfection is annoying.
You paid, on average, $30,000 for that new car, so what the heck is making that annoying noise?
I paid $1000 for mine, so I expect and even take comfort in Dolores’ annoying noises.
You are on the hook for monthly payments for five years, so why couldn’t they give you a real spare tire – instead of a donut?
Dolores actually has donuts on all four wheels, and does just fine with them.
Anyway, the point is that I want to do right by Dolores, in the end, so I am not going to abandon her by the side of the road in Maine, or add her to the automotive sculpture that I am erecting – by default, in my backyard.
Instead I am going to donate her to charity.
And there’s my dilemma: which charity do I choose? Which charity would be a fitting, if figurative tombstone for dear Dolores?
They’re all in the act now, you’ve probably noticed: you can donate your old car to Muscular Dystrophy, Public Radio, the American Cancer Society, and just about every non-profit you can think of.
I’ve tried them all – over the years, and though the guy who comes to pick them up to take them to the big smelter in Taunton, always looks the same, it feels a little different every time.
What I was really hoping is that I could donate Dolores to NASA. Clearly, they need the money but, more importantly, they seem to have the most respect for the concept of the junker. Most government agencies get their executives new vehicles every year – but NASA seems committed to keeping their old vehicles running year after year.
They’ve had their share of breakdowns, malfunctions, and outright disasters too – but that hasn’t stopped them from slapping on a coat of paint, replacing a tire or two, and getting those old shuttles back ‘on the road’, so to speak.
NASA’s not embarrassed by a few dings here and there, a missing tile, or an astronaut or two that don’t make it back. They know that – if they had to go to Congress for the cash for a new vehicle, they’d face some tough questions, so like me they’ve figured it’s easier just to keep the old fleet running.
I think Dolores would be happy there.
I think it would be a fitting end to her ‘time on Earth’.
I’d get a real kick out of lying back on my hammock, looking up at the stars, and imagining that little speck of light moving across the dark heavens is in fact – in some small way, part Dolores. And if I close my eyes and listen, I might even be able to hear the inimitable sound of a junker in orbit.