Fellow Snaabs --

At 12:38 pm on Monday, I received the call from Vito Randazzo that my 
'86 900, Helga, was diagnosed with mortal wounds to her A-arms, the 
result of 15 years of driving on Pennsylvania highways (until very 
recently, universally acknowledged as the nation's worst).

This and the privations of living outside, sacrificing her place in 
the garage so that my wife's '86 VW Cabriolet (the Dreammobile) could 
have a warm home for the ferocious Great Lakes winters, finally 
caught up to her.  'I can't pass her (for PA vehicle inspection),' 
Vito said.  'There are cracks between the A-arms and the frame.  It 
just wouldn't be worth it.'

I was filled with sadness, but not surprise.  Vito and I had long 
anticipated this moment and we decided that no heroic measures were 
to be taken.  After all, she was riding on the spare, an indignity 
she had endured with Nordic stoicism for a month following a rim's 
fatal encounter with a lunar-sized Erie pothole.  Helga's body, too, 
was battered by all manner of contretemps, not the least of which, a 
1991 encounter with a guardrail on I-79 between Pittsburgh and Erie.

I had passed out at the wheel during a January blizzard ('A 
one-in-a-million occurrence,' my physician father-in-law told me, 
'that just happened to occur at the worst possible moment.').  I had 
the good fortune to be following a police car; good because it forced 
me to travel a bit below the speed limit and without cruise control. 
Had the cruise been activated, I would now be part of the landscaping.

But I'm not and I owe it all to Helga.  Quite literally, the car had 
saved my life.  And what did she get in return?  Oh, a new clutch 
about 4 years ago, and the occasional wash, but I had allowed her to 
go to s**t and now I am filled with regret.  When her headliner 
sagged, I did not prop it up (and with it her spirits).  I tore it 
out.  A bit of her heart must have gone with it.  You just don't do 
that to a lady.

And now the lady, shabby though she may be but with her dignity 
intact, is on the farewell tour with me (but without a valid 
inspection sticker).  Soon, you may read about her in the Saab 
Network classifieds.  Soon, she will give of herself --as she has 
done for the last 15 years -- so that other Saabs may live and 
thrive.  She always was like that, Helga was . . .

With her goes my need to subscribe to this listserv, the first one I 
joined way back in, when, 1993?  I was on AOL then.  It was a very 
long time ago.  Family (a 3-year-old daughter) and economic (I'm 
actually making less now then when I bought the car new) circumstance 
will prevent me from buying another.  The Saab is still an exotic car 
in Erie, PA, though, with it's wintry climate, you would think things 
might be otherwise.

But, in truth, I just don't think I could look at another Saab out 
there in the driveway, in Helga's place.

So thank you to all of you have been of occasional but often 
indispensable assistance for the last eight years.  But most of all, 
thank you Helga.  There wa'n't but one of you.  Hail, farewell and 
'tack.'

Allt år i sin ordning.  Valhalla awaits.



-- 
JC

John Chacona
writer/producer
jchaconano39sdcx6spamx782reporters.net
402 Shenley Drive
Erie, PA  16505-2232
814.453.3497 (v)
509.463-0178 (f)
www.johnchacona.com (as soon as I get around to finding a host)

• Hail and farewell, John Chacona, Thu, 12 Apr 2001 11:39:16

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