“It ain’t gonna pass inspection with the rot,” said AAA’s Bill who towed the Saab story away this morning. She’s on her way to Saab heaven after a couple of terrifying rides a couple of months ago and just shy of her 30th birthday.
She did start this morning with the assist of a jump start. I backed her down the driveway my heart aching with memories of my parents. How could I let this relic go? The glove compartment had a box of matches from the Dunes Club, a tire pressure checker, a small magnifying glass. The Saab folder with manuals, registrations and insurance cards told of long family ownership. The ashtray held an open wrapper of tokens for the Newport bridge, a nail clipper, a dime, 2 nickels and 3 pennies. The map storage area on the passenger side had an appointment card for Mother at Guy’s and Gal’s Hair Salon along with street maps for Boston and Providence and 2 tape cassettes — one with Glenn Miller hits, the other called “Big Band Gold.” I’d be listening to them now except I can’t get the tape function to work on the tuner.
Rot is the least of the Saab story’s problems. If you look closely at the car in the side view photo, you’ll see rot in the body above the front tire. It’s been there through many state inspections — all due respects to Bill. I’m no authority on cars, but I can think of more important safety issues with the Saab story that would take precedence.
The little Princeton man, though his orange and black have faded, still leans on the “P” on the back window. He’s the messenger I send along with the Saab story as she goes to the dealer to see whether she has any useable parts.
Now Bluey has the entire parking area to herself. She may not be as heartbroken as I am with this development.