This evening, while making plans to write and record our album, Christine and I made a pact: Within a year, we will make tracks for a writing location (maybe Montana--never been there) where we will hole up for a week, and write the companion album to my book. To make it official, I halted our conversation to announce the date. March 27th. Saying it out loud reminded me that today's auspicious date is exactly 7 years since I bought my first new car, Peppy Le Bleu.
Peppy is a 2002 4-door standard Toyota Echo in a stunning shade of Indigo (that's dark blue, y'all). I had driven Crusher Muddoggie, my faithful '87 convertible VW Cabriolet for a decade, and his time was drawing near. As a new elementary teacher, fresh out of the abject poverty of music studenthood, I just didn't know what to do with my huge paychecks. I used one for rent and food, then saved the next, used one, saved, and so on. I had quite the down payment brewing. It was finally time. I made the drive to Albuquerque, and at mile marker 110, smoke started billowing from under Crusher's hood. I stopped, turned the car off, and remembered an article in Seventeen telling me that just because there's a funny sound or some smoke, I shouldn't be afraid to drive a wounded car a few more miles to a safe place. I started the car again, smoke again, then a loud bang, and that was all she wrote. A friendly passer-by will a cellular phone device let me call a tow truck and my mom. We rendez-vous'd at a Denny's in Socorro, and mom looked at me sternly. Then she immediately cracked up laughing. Of course my trade in would totally die on me 100 miles from my finish line. Of course. That was the Del Campo Way. On his way home to buy a new car, Christopher was found in Van Horn trying to force oil into the smoking Millenium Falcon. Sorry for outing you, brother. Anyway, we towed my useless hunk of steel to Albuquerque, and found a guy who was over the moon that he could have his dream car for 500 bucks. He wore a lot of tie dye, and was totally geeked out to rebuild the Cabriolet engine, a task that was completely necessary.
Then we found Peppy.
Then I had my first accident about a month later. The front bumper fell clean off. No one was hurt. But I had to get to a gig, and none of my bandmates were answering their cellular phone devices that I tried to reach from a telephone booth. This is one reason why I didn't get a cell phone, for, like, forever. I mean, what was the point? Anyway, finally, one of my mateys called back and gave me a ride to the gig. We passed the hat and my band let me keep all the money to get my car fixed. I miss those mateys.
Peppy took myself and Christine on the road from The Land of Enchantment to Chicago. Peppy held everything I needed for my first year in the Windy. On the way, we almost passed through Clarksville to pay homage to the Monkees, but we were too anxious to get to our destination to make a detour. In 2003, gas was super cheap, and Peppy got awesome mileage to boot.
Through rain, wind, sleet, snow, wind, ice, wind, and potholes, Peppy has gotten me everywhere I need to be. I sometimes feel badly for the ding on the driver's side door (when I got a little too close to the gas pump in Las Cruces), the missing panel on the passenger side (which popped off upon meeting with an errant Cook County street divider), and the fact that Peppy has twice been the victim of radio theft (simply the fault of my wicked tuneage). However, we are a team. I love my car every day, and look forward to another happy seven years.
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