End of a Corolla Era
Written: Thu, 10 Aug 2000 20:47:45 -0400
This past Friday, I sold the red 1993 Toyota Corolla DX.
In late 1993, Josh and I bought the car with 69 miles on the odometer. On August 4, 2000, I sold it with 155,431 miles. In the intervening seven years, it saw all the states between Virginia and Massachusetts, and between Maryland and Ohio and Kentucky. It made a trip up to Toronto, where it no doubt felt at home in its birth country.
This car put four-wheel drive vehicles to shame during blizzard-impeded trips to Boston and during the worst weather of the Washington, DC Area. It towed other vehicles when they needed help. It handled beautifully in the rain, over ice, and on dry land -- paved or not. It carried more computer and other equipment than one would think could possibly fit. It carried entire office suites of furniture. It carried five people from College Park to Lexington and back.
This car took me to and from college, more raves than I could ever count, science fiction conventions, and friends’ houses. It took me 30 miles to and 30 miles from work every day for six years. It hid expensive items from view in its inauspicious-looking trunk overnight in the worst areas of DC. It had enough power to get me out of almost every driving situation I found myself in. It faithfully brought me back to every place I’ve called home since my college dorm.
This car did battle with a Hyundai, and came out triumphant. It had skirmishes with a telephone pole, two deer, a large airborne truck-tossed rock, and one window-smashing knife thief, and took only superficial damage. It did battle with a dump truck, and drove away unabashed, even if shorter.
During my entire acquaintance with the car, only one part ever failed outside of being smashed by impact with another object: the alternator. Just one part.
This car got 35 miles to the gallon, and 425 miles or so on a tank.
I tried to comfort the car by rubbing my hand on its dash whenever I shifted badly or had to break extra hard. It performed so well, I felt like it must have liked me and been trying to please me.
This car was a little tank. A zippy one that could corner and stop suddenly, too. It was smooth. It was quiet. It was a joy to drive.
But in the end, it was the dump truck trunk-crunching that did it. It was no longer feasible for me to put enough money into the car to fix it, and still have a vehicle with sufficient resale value to cover that investment. And the need to bail out the trunk in rainy weather to avoid a flooded passenger cabin became tiring after seven months.
So, with a broken front-left corner marker light and headlight mount, a cracked windshield, a bent-cornered hood, and a half-foot-too-short trunk, the car drove out of my sight. Its new owner, Eduardo, of Peruvian Motors, took it straight to their body shop. He gave me $800.
I hope its next owner appreciates it as much as I did.
I’ll miss that car.
- Geoff