RIP 1994-2009"Bertha" was with us for 15 years. Like anything that sticks around that long, a beloved dog, comfortable butt- sprung chair or the family car- it becomes part of you. Bertha lived up to her name, strong, stubborn, BIG. "Belching"became a prefix in later years when age took it's toll on the steel princess. Her gold color and faux wood trim were unique in this area- there are (were) other Roadmasters on the road locally, but she became my trade mark, sort of. Everyone knew the car and knew it was mine. It became a beacon when parked anywhere- it seemed to announce- Anne is here!!!
The Buick Roadmaster Estate Wagon was the largest station wagon ever produced by GM. Predating the monster SUV's by a couple of years, the Roadmaster was dubbed by Consumer Report Magazine as the extravagant gas guzzler of its day. The Corvette engine necessary to carry its bulk was standard for this model... a fact we tried to hide from the new drivers in the family for obvious reasons. That power saved one son from a potential disaster on a run from Pittsburgh to Columbus. Faced with a tight spot on Interstate 70, the engine got him out of it. Thank you, Bertha.
The car was huge, long and wide. I was pretty good at parking it, and one day, while pulling into a parallel space in front of a building, I did a particularly good job- classic two movements - and it was snuggly in place. I was going to a meeting, and several men who were also attending the board meeting witnessed this feat. While not complimenting me -a woman driver- on my good job.. one of them did manage a comment- he said "You dock that thing, you don't park it".
Bertha hauled lots of things in her time. Everything from bags of play sand to swing sets in boxes graced the back deck. In later years, baskets of stuff destined for dorm rooms in Morgantown filled that space. "Eau de Arnold Hall" was a scent that lingered long after it should have... as did Rosie's smell. Our old Newfoundland dog, Rosie easily glided into the big car without really having to climb at all, it was so low slung. Our vet dubbed it "Rosie's Car"- its windows were chronically blurred with tell tale Newfie slobber.
It was like a living room on wheels. There was enough room in the front seat for me, my purse, a couple of shopping bags and a passenger. I had to lean to put my arm on the arm rest.
I couldn't complain even when the shocks were completely gone, the ride was smooth. The 1/2 mile drive from my house to Kroger gave the sensation of being in a canoe and riding the wake of a power boat...not unpleasant at all.
We kind of replaced Bertha (without trading her in) last spring with another gas guzzler, a Toyota 4-runner- sport model, used...good deal, all of that. It sat in the garage while the dependable Buick continued to carry things I didn't want to dirty up the new car with...mulch, plants, potting soil. When the helper at the nursery asked if I wanted plastic to protect the car...I just smiled and said, "not necessary".
The trusty Buick even passed inspection in June! Shortly after that, we knew the time had come. Things started to go wrong, air conditioning quit, funny noises under the front of the car, then a flapping sound under the hood. We even entertained the thought of having the faithful servant checked out just in case we could keep it going....a little longer...
Reality and the "cash for clunkers" offer- soon to run out- made us face cold hard facts and we made a decision...
As I sat in the Honda dealership, after signing a paper swearing that I was indeed who I said I was, that the old car being turned in was indeed mine, documented by two trips to the DMV no less, I almost had a "moment". The faithful Buick, which had carried so many of us safely throughout the last decade- and- a -half was placed in the back lot with all the other rejects. They will paint "clunker" across her windshield and pour a cement like substance into the engine...all required, the nice young man said. I asked him to please not put paint on the old girl and he just smiled.
She doesn't deserve that humiliation.
As I drove the mostly plastic little Civic off the lot, I felt a nagging sense of betrayal. Silly me...it was only a car.
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