Took Shea up in the mountains in Virgina to teach him how to drive

Once in a person’s life they meet someone that literally changes their life. Occasionally that person is not a person, but a thing. In 2001 I went out shopping for a convertible car, and came home with a Jeep. The series of adventures that were kindled by that purchase will never leave me. Below is a short literary “Ode to Old Blue” that I wrote as a writing assignment, and my wife thought you guys might enjoy it. So here it is, and below are pictures of “Old Blue”.

Old Blue was the family mule; ugly and slow, but eminently useful. How that Jeep caught my eye I don’t remember, but from the moment I brought her home, a new chapter of my life’s story began. Her heart was an indestructible six-cylinder, four-liter engine, her boots, 31” all terrain tires. From clanking along an icy mountain trail in West Virginia in 4×4 low gear, to skimming the sand dunes of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina with 6 lb. of tire pressure, Old Blue was with us. In summer evenings we’d drive the tight, hilly roads of Northern Virginia, soaking in the humid honeysuckle air, sharing the sunset with herds of dog-sized deer and the occasional red fox. Old Blue saw us through 9/11, the DC Sniper, the Anthrax scare, and the 2008 Housing Crash. Through it all Old Blue kept ticking like a Swiss made watch, never complaining, and never costing us a dime over what we paid for her. I hope that wherever she is now Old Blue still thinks of us from time to time.

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