My Toyota Rav 4

I’ve had a lot of cars in my life. Most of the car brands were average Joe cars – although I once owned an Audi A4 Quatro when I first passed the bar and started working at CG&R.

When I arrived out in NoCo, my lease was up on my SUV and Lisa’s Mini spit an oil plug and the engine seized up. So I got a practical Toyota Rav 4 and Lisa got an Acura.

My Toyota turned into my favorite car. Indeed, it deserved to appear as Jimmy Moran’s NoCo car in The Claire Saga. It could easily carry numerous dead bodies should the need arise.

It was part American Quarter Horse in that it always got me through the worst weather NoCo could throw at me, took to mountain roads like a Billy Goat, and hauled the heaviest things I could squeeze into it without blowing the springs, shocks or tranny, including a full sized fridge, like a Percheron.

In short, it has been as hardy, strong and surefooted as a mule. Like Claire.

And they say a car is only as good as its driver –

https://thewisenovelist.com/life-is-like-driving-a-car/

My Toyota has gotten me though a couple of accidents (none my fault) including being driver side impacted by a flying, spinning Volkwagon Beetle, where I’m surprised to have walked away.

Yes, it all happened in slow motion, like a movie.

I take good care of my Toyota on the mechanical level. It has been regularly serviced since I bought it. My mechanic Larry, is the best.

And due to the accidents (again, not my fault), a lot of its engine has been repaired/replaced.

But since I don’t have a particular penchant for personal aesthetics (I proudly look like a Pikey), I rarely take this magical mobile in for a decent washing. It’s utilitarian, like my home office on wheels, so it carries with it the historical dust that marks my time here on earth. Almost archeological.

I have run its exterior through a car wash on occassion, but the idea of vacuuming up all the detritus in all of the nooks and crannies and washing down the entire interior – including seats, consoles and windows – is an anathema. Second only to me cleaning the basement.

You have to be a contortionist. And not in a good way. Bumping your head on the car interior isn’t as much fun as it once was.

However, yesterday was different. Cleaning my car inside and out was on the post retirement short list. I knew that if I didn’t take it in on the first sunny day, it would never happen.

So, I drove into Hover Street in Longmont, stopped at Walgreens to grab some Windex and Paper Towels and, after purchasing the “Silver” level of exterior wash, enjoyed the adult Disney ride through the cascading suds, spinning brushes that always move your mirrors, powerful water jets and the giant hairdryer as the finale. I almost went again it was so much fun.

Anyway, then I pulled into the large, adjacent parking area with wonderful and powerful vaccums on either side of the parking spots and went to work. First I wiped down the droplets off the exterior. Then I windexed all of those greasy spots that the soap never cleans. Then windexed the exterior of each of the windows and the exterior lights.

But finally, I had to turn to the inevitable. I had to first remove the rubber mats, being careful not to let the dirt and bramble that littered that rubber fall onto the rugs. Then I had to vacuum every inch of the interior. As powerful as those vacuums are, the shit that gets into the rug fiber and under the seats does not surrender without lots of elbow grease and multiple passes. Same with the seats, which also then show all of the coffee and candy and soda that has been spilled over the years and which did not come off the leather without a fight. I had to come up with new curse words to pass the time.

Then the front, center and side consoles, screens, coffee holders, etc.

And finally all of the interior windows. They must end up streak free or they will be back like spectors on the first cool and foggy day.

All the while your body is extended across the entire width of the car – again, not in a fun way – as you twist and turn to reach every unreachable spot. Ditto.

Last but not least, you have to figure out how to shove the rubber mats into the thinnest slots of the mat washing machine. Like shoving ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag.

But there was a silver lining to all of this. Every other car in the lot was driven by a woman. I was the only male unicorn free at midday to wash the car. Horn ablazing.

So I got to exchange (completely innocent) responding winks and smiles with the hard working ladies around me, and got a few nervous laughs when I stage whispered about how I didn’t know how serial killers were able to get their cars so clean on a regular basis. I actually struck up conversations with two of them, who then purchased TWA – one was actually originally from Queens and was attending her local book club tomorrow – where she would recommend TWA.

Anyway, two hours – yes, I am not bullshitting you, two hours later – I shoved the last of the rubber mats back into place in my sparkling clean Toyota Rav 4 and drove it home.

It may never look this good again. Maybe I should take Lisa for a nocturnal ride.

But I’m not going to lie. This effort was as exhausting as shovelling shit or humping hay. I was knackered by the time I dragged this sorry ass back to my recliner. And the continuous contortions were actually Aleve worthy. I ached.

But it is done and dusted. One more check off the post retirement short list.

Well, today is Wednesday. You fine, five readers get that coffee in you and get to work.

Don’t worry, this too shall pass, in a blink, and soon you will be winking at all of the other poor sods that are not retired.

And, no matter what else we all get up to, let us make today a great one.