elgeeko’s blog

This is the second of three installations that, in some way or another, revolve around my 1983 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Age had faded its beige color into a soft brown, which warranted the nickname “Shibrowner”. For its age, it was surprisingly comfortable and fast, boasting its speed on a dashboard bearing a needle that swept horizontally (as opposed to the modern circular design). Shibrowner was the only car in which I was able to bury the needle; at a speed at which we could only estimate was between 100 and 110 mph, the needle actually disappeared beneath the dashboard. At such a high speed, the age of the car became apparent, as worn sealing leaked air through turbines that sounded like the engine of an airplane, and loosened bolts and fixtures rattled in a symphony of restlessness. Shibrowner was purchased in 2001 at a price of $600, and died roughly one year later when a bearing in the engine locked due to heavy throttling. Shibrowner lived hard and died hard.

One Saturday afternoon, my friends and I were raising hell in our hometown of Logan, Utah. Having offed enough of the city, we roamed into the construction zone of a new mountainside property development. With all of the arrogance and bravado of youth, we concluded that Shibrowner was the perfect sport utility vehicle, capable of handling the most rugged of terrain. Shibrowner and its six occupants sought to digging (off-roading to the layman) through the mountainside. We whirled about, tossing rocks and dirt everywhere, spinning the car wildly in the smooth but unpaved terrain. My passengers cheered and laughed at the ride, with every moment more exhilarating than the last.

As we inched towards the mountainside, I saw a hill of dirt that was begging to be climbed by my awesome SUV. It was if I was at the base camp of K2, doped on oxygen, and propped up by the confidence of a Sherpa. I turned towards the mountain, gunning the engines despite the screams of my friends who had less confidence in my Himalayan experience. A quick leap through the air and sudden impact with dirt yielded a car propped against the hill, its hood embedded, its rear wheels suspended above the earth.

For nearly an hour, we tried desperately to free our car, but alas, Sir Issac Newton had other plans. With the hood stuck, the rear bumper sitting on the ground, and the rear wheels suspended, there was little hope of freeing Shibrowner from her entanglement. I left the driver’s seat, stepped away from the car, and took in the desperation and despair of my friends. My heart sank. While there was worry of tow trucks and cab rides home, I longed for the cheers and laughter of the moments before the impact.

“Friends,” I said, “let’s watch the sunset.”

My friends turned to notice sun as it was beginning to set in a brilliant show of colors carried through the warmth of an idle summer. My friends took but a moment to observe my sincerity, that the car should be left for the time being, and that we should live in the moment. We climbed over the car to the top of the hill, sitting in the dirt, arm in arm, laughing and watching a beautiful sunset. At that moment, we were the kings and queens of our world. We were young, and energetic, and could roll with whatever life threw our way. We knew our youth and enjoyed every minute of it; moreover, we were solaced and comforted by our friendship. Until the sun would escape below the horizon, we had forgotten all about Shibrowner and the mess we were in.

“Shit,” I thought, “how are we going to get out of this. Guys, can we give it one more try?”

What great friends - lifting the bumper from behind and pushing the hood in front, the car escaped the earth’s grip in a slurry of gravel and dust.

“What should we do now?” my friend asked.

Minutes later, dirt and cheers were flying through the air, illuminated by our headlights in the night.