Blanca and the 2 silvers

Alot of us remember first cars, or the cars that we remember first riding in.

For me there was my Uncle Frank’s old green Plymouth with the big tail fins, which he constantly washed and waxed, that smelled like cigars on the inside.

There was the string of jalopies my mom was able to get her hands on, for toting us to school or buying groceries. All this was made possible by her asking the attendant for “$2 regular.”

Hah!

As I got older and had cars of my own there were various attachments and stories to go with them. But none of those relationships has been as interesting – to me at least – as the last three autos to have my name affixed to them. In a short order of time events have made them interrelated and for reasons to become apparent all worthy of mention here.

We begin with Blanca, the ’93 Jeep Cherokee with the 6-cylinder motor, purchased in Key West for a scooter and $200. Yes, you read it right. While living off that island on a boat about a half-mile from shore, the scooter was the best way to get around for work and socialization. But when I learned a return to the Bayou Country was imminent I knew the scooter wouldn’t do me much good. Especially since I had to haul a 20-foot boat back with me.

The deal for the Jeep was cobbled together on her hood, and after getting a hitch custom-made – I still can’t believe Blanca didn’t have her own hitch – she and I along with the boat and meager possessions were Louisiana-bound. There weren’t a whole lot of hills but there were some straining points. But Blanca and her six cylinders performed with magnificence. Once back home, she was my regular ride, although I knew that eventually something more was needed.

It came, the something more, in a way I would never have preferred. A dear friend from my teen years, Jerry Edelmann, whom I stayed in touch with right along, had died in Arizona of natural causes, rather unexpectedly. Among the things he left behind was a 2001 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, whose color was white but whose name was Silver, and his next of kin offered the car to me. I accepted, just about a year ago, and flew to Arizona. Silver and I bonded well on the way back, and he was a car I was proud to drive. He was named thus because of Silver, the Lone Ranger’s horse, and Jerry was known to say the words “Hi-ho Silver, away!”

Silver had an awesome moon-roof and a smooth ride, and was the kind of car you would be proud to pull up to an opening night with, even though he was, as of this year, 14 years old, which is old for a car. Jerry took great care of the car, and had in the trunk a copy of every receipt, letter, guarantee and random document associated with it.

So Silver was the day-to-day and Blanca sat in the yard, waiting for when there was need to haul the boat or some furniture, and she was being used by a good friend the evening I tried to start Silver up and trouble ensued, and there were soon inexplicable flames and the great white Monte Carlo was no more. There are more details to this but why ruin a great love story with mechanics. Blanca was wonderful but I needed something a little more, umh, dependable. And that is where the third car comes in.

Silver II is his name, and he was on the lot at Trapp Chevrolet, where a more than reasonable deal was struck. Silver I, how I hated to see him go, but it was the only option. The purchase of Silver II, a 2003 Mustang, required the re-homing of Blanca.

So now Silver II and I are in the “getting to know you” phase, and I am keeping my fingers crossed. I plan to take him up one bayou and down the other, he will bring me to places where fishermen work or where judges judge. And I don’t talk about how he doesn’t have a sunroof, or how his interior space is not as plush as the first Silver’s, because I don’t want him to have a complex.

Oh, and I forgot the best thing about him. Silver II – unlike Silver I – actually IS silver.

So, Hi-ho Silver … and wish us both luck.