About two months before college graduation, I realized I needed to learn how to drive if I wanted to get a job on a political campaign.  Us City-born folk rarely have the need or opportunity to learn.  To the great credit of the Razor, Lis Smith and a couple Panarchists, I passed the incredibly easy New Hampshire test on June 13th, and received Suby, a ’99 Legacy Outback, as my mom and uncle’s graduation present.  The maroon manic was built for road trips- its trunk could hold innumerable duffel bags, boxes and assorted goods acquired on the road.  It got 30 miles to the gallon when the AC wasn’t blasting or the car wasn’t gunning at 80 miles per hour. During the Bush era, we went everywhere together.

In Hartford, Connecticut, where I spent two months with the DNC, Andy Walton, oblivious to my total lack of driving skills, gave me some of the most car intensive Assistant Director work, like driving canvassers out to the field and scoping neighborhoods for afternoon targeting.   That job begat the Stephanie Herseth campaign gig in South Dakota.   Despite my highly limited driving skills, my endurance was strong enough to handle the long solo trips that would become the staple of my post college years.  On my third morning, blasting through western Wisconsin rocking to “I Fought the Law”, a cop slapped me with a $270 speeding ticket (later reduced to $200 for no apparent reason).    It was the first of many speeding tickets we’d rack up together.  One time in northern New York, on a trip back from Biloxi, a cop pulled me over in a work zone going 15 over, which is not good.  I saw him looking at my plates, so I put on my best Mississippi drawl.  He was sympathetic, and explained that up in New York, orange cones represented work zones, where you needed to slow down, and let me be on my way.  Orange cones, for the home-bound reader, represent work zones everywhere.

Suby got her name from Sameeta, a Hartford buddy. Not the most creative name, but everyone seemed to like it.  Suby and I did not like South Dakota, with its hardline conservatism and endless dust, so we set out for Vegas.  Vegas is a tough town to take care of your car in, because drunks are swerving through the streets at all hours.  Someone pulling out of a parking lot once badly dented my front door- at ten in the morning while I was getting coffee.  With Grant and Leigh in town at the end of the campaign, the four of us were ready for a massive cross country adventure that took us through nine states in ten days.  In Knoxville, the car began steaming and rattling anytime it was pushed more than 15 mph.  Grant and Leigh had their own erroneous theories, but after Suby’s first tow truck ride, we learned there was just some screw loose.  The guy fixed it for $50.

During the Biloxi days of 2005-2006, Suby went through its time of troubles.  Some hick smashed into us in Waveland, causing substantial body damage, and jacking up my insurance rates. The alarm system got finicky, getting loud, angry and hard to turn off whenever someone opened the doors of the car out of order.  This caused me and my equally raggedy looking buddy Guillermo problems in Kentucky, where people kept thinking we were trying to steal our own car.   Suby’s tendency to overheat badly in traffic was starting to worsen- this required blasting hot air through the vents, which was incredibly unpleasant during the summer, when rolling down the windows only made things worse.  For all you car half-wonks out there, blasting the AC does NOT solve the problem.  But these two years were also some of the best bonding I ever did with Suby.  I found that a perfectly good mattress could spread out in the trunk when you folded down the backseat.  This meant on long solo trips I could find $5 overnight parking in some downtown garage, and curl up to sleep in the back of the car after the night’s adventures.

By the time I moved to Williamsburg, Suby was 130,000 miles deep, and content to live as an urban car, used for moving furniture, short road trips and the like. We did our last New Orleans run in 2007, and our last cross country road trip in 2008, which cost Suby its sunroof.  There’s a picture somewhere on Facebook of me and Brett feverishly duct-taping it to the rest of the car.

Oh, there it is…Rather than deal with the hassle of re-registration and storing it somewhere during my trip to Liberia, I put the word out for a free car, which was soon claimed by Brett’s sister Britt.  In return for getting Suby free, Britt merely had to give me first right of return, which she did this September.   I gave Suby a quizzical look at our East Village reunion.   As soon as work starts at Hogan, the thought of owning a car in New York, with all its parking and registration hassles would be downright foolish.  Thus the idea of one last whirlwind road trip around the country was born.  It is somewhat ironic that Nate was behind the wheel when Suby bit the dust in Idaho, as we had just decided he would get the car after the road trip ended.

The final count- six and a half years together, during which we logged 110,000 miles, through 43 states, Montreal and Toronto..  When I found out I was getting several hundred dollars for the parts I thought, ‘that’s more severance than I’ve ever gotten for breaking up with a girlfriend.’  But then, I’ve spent far more money on Suby than any other person.  She was a girl with constant crises, who but for the amazing times we sometimes had together I would have split with years ago.   There are no plans in the near future for a new car, but even if I cross that bridge down the road, I’ll never forget my first.   Suby, it’s been a good ride.