When you are a car lover, it is almost painful to say goodbye to a vehicle.  It is especially hard when you absolutely love a vehicle, but circumstances brings upon the separation.  To someone who is not a "car person", a car is just that, a car, sheer transportation; nothing more than a hunk of metal and plastic bits rolling on tires.

    To someone like me, the car represents so much more.  To me it represents the efforts of those who strove to engineer it to last countless freeze-thaw cycles, millions of bumps, dips, expansion joints, and pot holes; hundreds of thousands of heat cycles, and the careless abuse of teenage drivers.  The car represents the combined efforts of the workers who assembled the vehicle, as well as all those who worked to keep it in an operational state.  More importantly than that, it represents the tie between the expansive country side and endless supply of adventure.

    Cars can be fun, but at the same time practical.  That was the definition of my beloved Volvo 850 Turbo.  It had just enough torque and horse-power to be a blast to drive, while maintaining the superb practicality of a 4-door Volvo sedan.  Every time I sat in the drivers seat I could not help but feel special as if the car was built just for me.

    As I write this I struggle to find the words to express just how much I loved the car.  But alas it was not meant to be, as the automatic transmission went the way that they always do, in a spectacularly uneventful complete failure. 

    All that I can do at this point is hope that my new Fusion treats me at least half as well as the Volvo did, and perhaps we can hit off a nice relationship.  Hey, At least I wont have to worry about the transmission... only the clutch ;-)