Tuesday, October 6, 2015

The Zip-Meister -- An Ode

It crouches.


Like tigers in martial arts movies, it hunkers down there beneath the mesquite tree next to the carport. It crouches just a bit too well sometimes though. The tree drips sap on its oxidizing hood, roof, and trunk. The spoiler has begun to peel.

It's a crouching old tiger now, a '97 Nissan 200 sx, with 165,000 miles that have begun to show. It gets 40+ miles per gallon, if the winds are right, and has five sweet speeds on the floor. It's a thinking person's sport coupe with manual everything. It's Arizona plate has the letters ZFC, Zippy Friggin' Car, which makes it light and cool.

A bit lonely too. The "pride" has moved on into adulthood.

Zippy the Zip-Meister, has been the faithful steed of both of my sons, Kyle and Sean. It has served nobly and tirelessly.

Sean ferried his friends all over Tucson during his high school days. Zippy went from the east side climbing destinations to the west side trail heads without complaint, carrying hundreds of pounds of sweaty teen-aged boys and girls. It went to The Beach, to tennis matches, even to San Diego a couple of times. It lived there for a bit, after crossing the Mojave Desert in all its sweltering desolation.

Kyle had Zippy then. He used it for work and to take Alesita to Hermosillo, Mexico after her bus failed to depart from Tucson. All the way to Hermosillo, with no idea of how to get back.

Zippy doesn't even speak Spanish.

Zippy may crouch, but it does not hide. As a dragon of sorts, its prowess is not easily masked.

Yes, the Zipper is long-in-the-tooth, and we have a lot to talk about as we commute to work these days. It has been a good friend. We both have entered late mid-life, with tires that are getting a bit bald.

Every trip is a gamble. I don't know if a hose will burst, or CV joint go arthritic, or heart seize.

We are a day-to-day thing, moving still, but for how long, nobody knows.

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