Trooper-less

“There could be only one…” – Mark Stanley, upon seeing the Trooper downtown

 Quotation could also have been “here for a good time, not a long time…”. This week’s culture topic is:

 

CARLESSNESS

 

No, I didn’t spell that wrong, nor did you read it wrong. I am without vehicle. I am, therefore, car-less. I mean, you could probably carelessly read the word wrong, but if you did, you would miss the point of what I am trying to get across. Well, there really isn’t a real point yet, but it’s the idea.

 

Beginnings:

My story with the Trooper dates back almost 3 years. The history before my ownership is somewhat hazy. All readings were in imperial units and for the first while I needed a cheat sheet for conversions. The alignment is slightly off and only while driving in the left lane of a highway was the steering wheel straight. It had oversized tires and the speedo read low. Before me, it was likely an off-roader because the owner who had it before I did had to do major repairs on the rear differential. My troubles with the vehicle were minimal. I bought it for only one thousand dollars.

 

Driving:

It probably needed new seals all around.. After an early overheat and thermostat replacement (which never actually fixed the problem), my car was somehow deemed highway worthy by most of my friends, my family and, finally, me. We took some pretty good drives out the mountains – shifting down into fourth gear when necessary – some easy drives up to Edmonton – which proves undoubtedly that they are at different elevations (study driven by fuel economy), and of course, had some pretty good times in the city. All I ever put into it was oil and a starter, oh and a non-rusty front bumper.

 

I believed in the vehicle. Sure it was unsafe by many people’s standards, but it got me around. By the end of its life, the end section of the exhaust was all but gone. I drove for the most part on PnP gas and the engine knew it. It was never the smoothest 2.6L engine but it was a failing clutch that eventually got the best of the machien. One time I backed into lamppost and needless to say, the lamppost won that battle. Big dent, cracked plastic. No biggie.

 

Math about it:

Let me let you know something. I will not be getting a brand new car anytime soon. Sure, it’s less attractive picking a girl up for a date in an old rust bucket, but I paid $1000 for three years of driving. Add in the repairs I had done and that’s $1500 and subtract the measly $250 I managed to sell it for the open market…1250 for 3 years of vehicle. Dang that’s good value. Plus, now it will be in a better place and will get that clutch and exhaust it’s been rumbling and screeching about for the last 6 months.

 

Personality:

You see, many people have made fun of my vehicles over the years…station wagons and SUVs (and I also owned a Honda Accord for one day, but then sold it back because it wouldn’t start when I went to pick it up). It has easily been the coolest (unfortunately) and best looking vehicle which I have ever owned (unfortunately). I would even say it looked kind of rugged (with rear tire on back) and had good tire to wheel well ratios. But your car kind of becomes a part of your personality, so I have learned over the years never to insult a person’s car, because that’s like insulting the person directly. After all, having an ugly car is sure a hell of a lot better than not having one at all.

 

I will finish this post off with a musical tribute to my late Isuzu Trooper. Feel free to play along if you know how…

 

The Trooper Song

   G     D         Em7

A long, nine-teen years ago,  

Am               C                Em                   D

I can still remember how that loud exhaust used to make me smile

     G      D    Em7

And I know if I had my chance,

      Am                 C                Em              C           D

That I could drive those people around and maybe they'd be happy for a while            

    Em          Am                   Em          Am

But April road made me shiver, with every gear change I'd deliver

 C          G        Am          C                      D

Bad news for the AMA, that one last mile I couldn’t make

   G          D           Em           Am7            D

I can't remember if I cried when I realized I had a broken ride

 G         D          Em

Something touched me deep inside

     C       D7    G   C   G

The day the TROOPER died…

CHORUS

    G    C         G        D

So bye, bye big old practical ride

     G            C            G        D

No you’re not a chevy - that’s no reason to hide

          G        C                  G           D

And the good old toy was drinkin' coolant and oil

         Em                          A7   Em                          D7

Singin' this will be the day that it dies, this will be the day that I dies

 (instrumental)

G C G D

G C G D

G C G D

   C                D7             G   C   G

…this will be the day the trooper died.

 

Big Bacon Classic

Holy crap Wendy’s Baconator sandwich is delicious. What the hell kind of anecdote is me eating a delicious and huge fastfood sandwich? Read and find out. This week’s cultural topic is:

ROOMMATES

As you may or may not know, I have been living at my friend James Bacon’s house for the last year. The catch? HE hasn’t been.

While finishing his degree in Edmonton, though not so much finishing as it is doing one entire one, the magical castle of Baconland had been left vacant for the greater part of the last 4 years (save for some months James did a work term in Calgary) and then, of course, until I began to call it once again my (borrowed) domain.

Pre-blog (and pre-me-even-knowing-what-blogs-were-and-perhaps-even-pre-the-existence-of-blogs) I lived here for a year in 2003/2004 during my studies at the University in Calgary. I moved in when my Dad and Step-mom moved to Holland (and moved back once they came back for second semester of fourth year). Rewind to just over 5 years ago: James was an aspiring med-student/doctor. Bacon-parents lived in Houston and visited fairly frequently. We managed to successfully be caught on every single party (two – because it only took two failed attempts for us to realise we wouldn’t get away with a third) to have parties at the Casa de Bacon. We didn’t have really great jobs but big things were on the horizon for both of us. We went out from time to time and had many friends at school, but somehow managed to NOT attract women. We both drove older vehicles that are now no longer with us in car form, and the house was littered with Bacon-mother’s creepy (yet somehow endearing) doll collection which scared us at night.

However, on one fateful day in March 2008, after what seemed to have been an attempted break-in to the Bacon Palace, Bacon-boy and Bacon parents decided to give me the honour of protecting their fruits…or loins…or whatever. I moved in second week of April.

My relationship with the Bacon house has had it’s ups and downs and (mainly due to mismanagement of things I simply didn’t know about) we had some troubles…pilot light on the furnace one day when it was -20C, hot tub heater crapped out because the filters were plugged, a pipe burst in the garage when it wasn’t turned off for winter…but that was pretty much it. The big TV and great stereo system were an excellent addition to my Playstation and it’s Rockband setup and the beautiful back yard made for great BBQing in what was an unnecessarily cool 2008 summer. But alas, it’s a huge house. Too big for one guy and lucky for me, that changed last week.

When James moved back, things went pretty smoothly. Moving truck was unloaded without any major hitches, garage was cleaned out and looks great now, and we have a great arrangement for food. I buy food and cook it deliciously, James buys beer. This is a temporary arrangement, but it works for far. James has had a few roommates over the years, Joel, those two guys in that dumpy place, Steve, Ashley, the crazy old lady in Cold Lake, but things sometimes seem to come around full circle. This time, the circle is James and Kai being roommates (of course, not the roommate by definition or dorm rooms or English roommate standards – housemates). I am unemployed salesman and James is fully qualified to soon be an engineer. Pretty sweet. But even 5 years later, many things seem eerily similar. Bacon-parents live in the Middle East. We still both don’t have jobs (though not for lack of effort - I HAD one and have prospects and James HAS one, but doesn’t start until summer). We still tend to repel women, even though we’ve had our successes and SHOULD have the system figured out by now. Neither of us have properly running vehicles (with the Trooper drivable but on the fritz and the Dakota completely dismantled but on the repair). And of course the (big Bacon) classic clincher? The dolls still creep the living shit out of me

Maybe the Baconator can come over and take care of everything.