joeshaw
New Member
- Joined
- July 26, 2006
- Messages
- 6
- Reaction score
- 0
- City, State
- Blacksburg, VA
- Year, Model & Trim Level
- '98 XLT
Yesterday, I traded in my trustly black 1998 4.0L SOHC V6 4x4 XLT for a new 2006 V6 XLT. Today, I'm starting to wish I hadn't.
I bought my '98 new in August 1998. Built in July '98 in Louisville, it was the one of the last and best of the 1998 model year. The odometer had 10 miles on it when I test drove it, but I didn't want to buy that Saturday. Trying hard to make the sale, the dealer offered to let me test drive it for the rest of the weekend. It worked. That weekend, during the 200+ miles we traveled together, we fell in love, and on Monday I hung my own license plates on you and they proclaimed us 'driver and vehicle'.
For eight years, my Ex faithfully took me everywhere and anywhere I pointed it, and more importantly, safely brought me back home again. From snow covered highways from Virginia to New York, to bolder strewn dirt paths in remote corners of West Virginia and Kentucky, to a recently flooded farmers field I backed into before I remembered how high the water had been just days earlier (okay, that was a close one - but your 4 wheel drive low saved the day), to ice-covered back roads, not once in the 216646 miles we shared together did my Ex let me down and leave me stranded anywhere.
Your took me on short trips to work, to the store, to dinner, and always back again. Together we travelled all day, and sometimes all night, to visit family in New York.
My hobby is 'railfanning' (watching/photgraphing railroad trains), and my black '98 Explorer was my trusty thoroughbred mount as I chased modern iron horses almost every weekend, vacation, holiday and snow day. And yes, even the occassional 'sick day (cough, cough)' when the circus train made one of its rare passes through my area. We roamed hundred of miles together each weekend, roaming though nine eastern states in search of trains and adventure.
Your rear hatch kept the snow and rain off on my camera lens on several occassions, My Ex. gladly wore the antennas I placed on her, and scanners and speakers I placed on the dash, and the cables draped haphazardly back and forth between them. On you, they were like jewelry.
Here is a photo of my Ex at the Montgomery Tunnels in 2002, showing off some American pride on the first anniversary of 9/11:
Those were good times.
But it wasn't perfect, nothing ever is.
I didn't always change your oil right on schedule. I didn't wash the dirt off you very often. I made you use the same spark plugs for 110,000 miles once. I backed you into a guard rail once, bent your brush guard going over a dip too fast, and backed you into a ditch. And then there was that time I didn't renew your registeration on time when the DMV reverted their database to an three-year old address for some unknown reason, and my friend laughed at me from the passenger seat while the officer gave me a ticket.
But I renewed your registeration the next day, and escaped with just a warning. I changed your flat tires, and patched you up when a seagull's beak dented you.
There were some recalls. You used up tires, shocks and brakes like I wear out sneakers. Your ball joints needed replacing after 150k miles, your muffler at 200k, the serpentine belt tensioner gave up at 165k. I won't even mention the rate you drank up gasoline like a drunken french ***** drinks wine. (Oops, I guess I just did. Sorry.)
Your rear window wiper was next to useless, when it actually operated it hardly touched the glass. And that stupid Mach radio, first with its overheating problems when the defroster was running, then with the constant CD Eject Errors, and finally with the blank LCD display.
They say love is blind.
It must be true, because all those little quirks didn't bother me very much.
I loved my Ex. in spite of them, because it never really let me down in any big way. When love is true, one overlooks the little superficial flaws and sees the true inner beauty.
Forgive me, my Ex., for I made a big mistake when I traded you in.
The new 2006 means nothing to me, I swear.
You have been showing your age lately, and in a moment of weakness, I guess I just wanted a younger version of you. But the 2006 doesn't meet my needs in the same the way you did. Sure, it rides and handles well. But it doesn't have a wide enough flat surface on the roof for mounting my big ATCS and CB antennas. It lacks the nooks and cranies for storing notepads, pens, and papers withi quicjk and easy reach. The dash angles down, so I can't wedge my camera in against the windshield where it won't fall in my lap when we start moving, but where I can quickly grab it when the train sneaks up on us. The scanner and speaker doesn't fit well on the dash. An annoying bright amber light shows up in the middle of the dash when I set the laptop on the passenger seat. Even with the seat as low at it can go, oncoming headlights, taillights and reflectors are districtingly reflected on the hood.
The 2006 is a pretty new vehicle, but this time all the little things bug me.
I didn't fully appreciate what I had until it was gone.
I loved you, my Ex. I still do.
I miss you. I'm sorry I sold you.
Please come back to me.
Joe Shaw
Blacksburg, VA
http://www.krunk.org/
I bought my '98 new in August 1998. Built in July '98 in Louisville, it was the one of the last and best of the 1998 model year. The odometer had 10 miles on it when I test drove it, but I didn't want to buy that Saturday. Trying hard to make the sale, the dealer offered to let me test drive it for the rest of the weekend. It worked. That weekend, during the 200+ miles we traveled together, we fell in love, and on Monday I hung my own license plates on you and they proclaimed us 'driver and vehicle'.
For eight years, my Ex faithfully took me everywhere and anywhere I pointed it, and more importantly, safely brought me back home again. From snow covered highways from Virginia to New York, to bolder strewn dirt paths in remote corners of West Virginia and Kentucky, to a recently flooded farmers field I backed into before I remembered how high the water had been just days earlier (okay, that was a close one - but your 4 wheel drive low saved the day), to ice-covered back roads, not once in the 216646 miles we shared together did my Ex let me down and leave me stranded anywhere.
Your took me on short trips to work, to the store, to dinner, and always back again. Together we travelled all day, and sometimes all night, to visit family in New York.
My hobby is 'railfanning' (watching/photgraphing railroad trains), and my black '98 Explorer was my trusty thoroughbred mount as I chased modern iron horses almost every weekend, vacation, holiday and snow day. And yes, even the occassional 'sick day (cough, cough)' when the circus train made one of its rare passes through my area. We roamed hundred of miles together each weekend, roaming though nine eastern states in search of trains and adventure.
Your rear hatch kept the snow and rain off on my camera lens on several occassions, My Ex. gladly wore the antennas I placed on her, and scanners and speakers I placed on the dash, and the cables draped haphazardly back and forth between them. On you, they were like jewelry.
Here is a photo of my Ex at the Montgomery Tunnels in 2002, showing off some American pride on the first anniversary of 9/11:
Those were good times.
But it wasn't perfect, nothing ever is.
I didn't always change your oil right on schedule. I didn't wash the dirt off you very often. I made you use the same spark plugs for 110,000 miles once. I backed you into a guard rail once, bent your brush guard going over a dip too fast, and backed you into a ditch. And then there was that time I didn't renew your registeration on time when the DMV reverted their database to an three-year old address for some unknown reason, and my friend laughed at me from the passenger seat while the officer gave me a ticket.
But I renewed your registeration the next day, and escaped with just a warning. I changed your flat tires, and patched you up when a seagull's beak dented you.
There were some recalls. You used up tires, shocks and brakes like I wear out sneakers. Your ball joints needed replacing after 150k miles, your muffler at 200k, the serpentine belt tensioner gave up at 165k. I won't even mention the rate you drank up gasoline like a drunken french ***** drinks wine. (Oops, I guess I just did. Sorry.)
Your rear window wiper was next to useless, when it actually operated it hardly touched the glass. And that stupid Mach radio, first with its overheating problems when the defroster was running, then with the constant CD Eject Errors, and finally with the blank LCD display.
They say love is blind.
It must be true, because all those little quirks didn't bother me very much.
I loved my Ex. in spite of them, because it never really let me down in any big way. When love is true, one overlooks the little superficial flaws and sees the true inner beauty.
Forgive me, my Ex., for I made a big mistake when I traded you in.
The new 2006 means nothing to me, I swear.
You have been showing your age lately, and in a moment of weakness, I guess I just wanted a younger version of you. But the 2006 doesn't meet my needs in the same the way you did. Sure, it rides and handles well. But it doesn't have a wide enough flat surface on the roof for mounting my big ATCS and CB antennas. It lacks the nooks and cranies for storing notepads, pens, and papers withi quicjk and easy reach. The dash angles down, so I can't wedge my camera in against the windshield where it won't fall in my lap when we start moving, but where I can quickly grab it when the train sneaks up on us. The scanner and speaker doesn't fit well on the dash. An annoying bright amber light shows up in the middle of the dash when I set the laptop on the passenger seat. Even with the seat as low at it can go, oncoming headlights, taillights and reflectors are districtingly reflected on the hood.
The 2006 is a pretty new vehicle, but this time all the little things bug me.
I didn't fully appreciate what I had until it was gone.
I loved you, my Ex. I still do.
I miss you. I'm sorry I sold you.
Please come back to me.
Joe Shaw
Blacksburg, VA
http://www.krunk.org/