The End of the Jeep

This is another in the Sunday Story series.  No politics here, just some sadness and good memories.  It’s the end of an era.

The Jeep in Better Times

Jeep Guy

Jeep’s don’t usually die of rolling over, or getting stuck in the mud.  Jeeps are tough.  They’re a lot like old men – they last until finally some creeping, quiet disease finally eats them away.  It’s rust that gets Jeeps.  And rust finally got mine last week.

I was a “Jeep guy” long before little ducks or “peace signs” out the window were in style.  I bought my first Jeep (and my last new car) in 1994, a “TJ”, with the square lights.  It was so basic, the backseat and the rearview mirror were “extras”.  But it was new, and it was a real Jeep, and I had a blast in that car.  

Jeeping

Sure, things happened.  I didn’t realize that the shallow lake I was driving across would suffocate the exhaust.  We had to push it the rest of the way out.  And when I dropped it into a huge hole in a field, it backed right out (but my face hurt from hitting the steering wheel!).  And when one of my runners tore up his ankle in the forest, I didn’t even realize that a gas line broke as I ripped between the trees to get him. It wasn’t until he was on the way to the hospital, and a puddle of gas was forming, that I figured it out.

I learned about seat belt tans (highway driving with the top off and no shirt on), and big puddles over the windshield (but it sure was fun driving through them).  There were drain plugs in the floor if you got caught out in a flood.  And I learned that while snow was no big deal, four-wheel drive and ten cents didn’t do you any good on ice. That white, two-door, soft top Jeep with big tires became my trademark.  And it lasted for fourteen years.

Rust Never Sleeps

But rust finally got it, with holes in the floorboards and the sides.  It got too cold to drive in the winter, even with a great heating system.  So I went out and bought a used 2004; another white, two-door Jeep with a soft top.  It was a newer version, a YJ with the traditional “big eyes” of Jeeps.  It was even more fun, and had plenty of adventures as well.  In fact, it’s the only Jeep I ever got stuck.  I was “playing” in a parking lot after a big snowstorm, and the Jeep skidded right up on top of a snowdrift.  Low four-wheel drive, even in “creeper” gear, doesn’t work if the wheels aren’t touching the ground.

Luckily, one of my students showed up with a tractor and a chain.  He laughed, and pulled me off the snow bank, and off I went.

For a while the Jeep was the “toy” car.  The Suburban, Yukon, and the Silverado Truck were the “family vehicles”.  But with Jenn out looking for dogs, and my taking on a full-time officiating load, we needed it back in business.  The last ten thousand or so miles have been a lot of highways, ending at track meets.

The Gift

My Jeeps took care of me.  And this last one gave me the ultimate gift.  I drove back from a track meet last Saturday night, fifty miles or so at my usual highway speed near 80 miles an hour.  Everything was fine.  I pulled off the exit to go home, and stopped at the gas station to pick up a couple of things.  When I got back in to drive that last five minutes, all of a sudden the Jeep was uncontrollable. Any speed over twenty miles an hour, and  it felt like a wheel fell off, like the back half of the Jeep was on ice, like I was driving too fast on a flat tire.  It felt like the Jeep was going off the road, either left into traffic, or right into the ditch. 

I called Jenn, told her I’d be late.  Then I crept down the back roads.  If I stayed under 20 miles per hour I could still keep control.  I dropped the Jeep at our trusted car mechanic, Steve, and Jenn picked me up.  I pretty much knew then it was over.  But Wednesday morning, Steve gave me the official bad news.  The frame was broke.  The springs the held up the back of the Jeep were no longer connected, just drifting in the air.  

It could have broken at 80 miles per hour on I-70.  It could have been an uncontrollable crash.  It could have been…but it wasn’t.  The Jeep got me safe, and got me home.  I slowly drove it back  from the shop, the engine still humming, the clutch still firm, even the heater still cooking along.

Showing Respect

It’s probably the end of my Jeep-ing days, now thirty-one years later.   There’s no fixing the frame, welding good metal onto rust.  And I’m not in the position to build my old Jeep onto a new frame.  We’re looking at a “new car” (to us) Equinox, or Forrester, or the like.  My ducks, and my gear shift knob, will now have a hallowed place on my bookshelf, beside the Plymouth Fury III logo (my first car) and the Volkswagen piston with the hole in the top. 

So if you’re driving a Jeep, and some strange old guy in a Chevy “grocery-getter” flashes you the peace sign, remember; it’s a Jeep reflex.  Maybe he just forgot what he’s driving. Or maybe he’s just respecting your choice:  a Jeep.

PS: We bought a “new to us” vehicle on Thursday. It’s a Buick (really, wouldn’t you rather drive a Buick?). It’s smaller (to us), an Envision. The Envision has all wheel drive, and all the bells and whistles (heated seats, blue tooth everything, automatic lights, even remote start!!). It’s an “adult” car. It’s still fun to drive, but…it’s not Jeeping!!

The Sunday Story Series

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Author: Marty Dahlman

I'm Marty Dahlman. After forty years of teaching and coaching track and cross country, I've finally retired!!! I've also spent a lot of time in politics, working campaigns from local school elections to Presidential campaigns.