THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 29, 1996 TAG: 9609260154
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 32 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: RONALD L. SPEER
LENGTH: 70 lines
For all you folks out there who have poked fun at my car, let me set you straight: They don't get any better than Tan Pants, who has become one of my all-time favorites.
My big, buxom beige beauty has served me well since I bought her about 20 months ago for $2,200.
Not once has she failed me - even though I'm not the most thoughtful owner when it comes to changing her oil or polishing her voluptuous body.
And now Tan Pants is headed into her second turn on the odometer, maturing but still frisky.
The 1986 Ford LTD Crown Victoria station wagon rolled past 100,000 miles sometime last week.
And she did it, alas, without any encouragement.
I never even noticed when the odometer read 00000.0.
I feel awful.
That's sort of like telling your wife that you're playing poker with the boys Thursday night and not remembering until Saturday that your 10th wedding anniversary was Thursday.
My last car, an '83 Buick, hit the magic mark when we roared across the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway at Coinjock, and I counted down the tenths of miles until the mileage milestone popped up.
That was a proud moment. I vowed then - back in the summer of '94 - that I'd keep track of the miles on my next car for a rerun of fun.
When I bought Tan Pants in January of '95 with 76,000 miles, I repeated my promise to salute her on the big day.
But she ran so reliably that I took her for granted, and paid no attention as she calmly clicked off the miles.
Last Monday as I was driving to work, I glanced idly at the odometer.
It read 00300.3.
I was devasted. What could I have been thinking of when 99999.9 faded into all zeroes? What about those promises I'd made to reward her when the big day arrived?
Where were we when Tan Pants headed into her second century?
When I got to work I patted her on a rear fender in apology and looked back at the fun times she's provided, without once leaving me stranded.
She's taken me to Ocracoke and Hatteras and Corolla and along the dirt backroads of the mainland swamps. She's gotten me quickly out of Hampton Roads on the occasions I needed to venture back to the big city.
Scores of times she's taken me to my boat. And a mainsail that blew out in April is still stuffed in the back seat, waiting for a visit to a seamstress.
She's toted long planks and hedge-trimmers and big plants that wouldn't fit in a more petite traveling companion.
She's taken me into harm's way in hurricane threats and gotten me safely out. She's rolled across the causeway so I could get an up-close look at Lake Mattamuskeet, and helped me explore Little Washington and Belhaven and Columbia and Edenton.
Tan Pants has sent her powerful vibes through starter cables to revive newer but less-dependable autos. Uncomplainingly, she's let belligerent crabs roam on the floorboards after they climbed out of the box. She's hauled big bags of dirt and cement and fertilizer without whining that they'll spoil her outfit.
And on fancy occasions, when we take my wife's younger and cuter car, Tan Pants has waited patiently in the driveway, knowing my flirtation will be shortlived and I'll soon be back enjoying her dependability and comfort.
By now you'll probably understand why I feel so badly about failing to acknowledge Tan Pants' achievement - the biggest moment in the life of most cars.
But maybe I'll get another chance to pay proper tribute a few years down the road.
With a little more attention, she seems capable of another 100,000 miles.
Now that would be a day to remember. by CNB