As I look into our rearview mirror, I see all the great times. The last minute trips to Vegas, San Francisco, and San Diego. You got me there faster and cheaper than any airline could have, with no security lines, and better music.
I remember the ocean breeze blowing through my hair and your four windows along the Pacific Coast Highway. We had some great women in that passenger seat, didn’t we? What happens in the Civic stays in the Civic, right buddy?
But mostly, like most fine things in life, you were at your best when I didn’t notice you. This made it easy to take you for granted sometimes. But I don’t anymore. We had a great ride together, Blue.
Even at the end, we went out like we should. Sure, I could’ve had you towed in to the shop, but I waved off the AAA tow, much like the injured football player waves off the stretcher, and I drove you to the station myself—street legal or not. It’s what you deserved.
I admit I felt a bit guilty, letting you go for such a small price—you’re worth infinitely more than that. But since when does money determine the real value of something anyhow?
I take comfort in knowing you went out like you should, like we all should—with your vision failing, your odometer stretched, and your gas tank on empty.
We lasted a long time together, more than most. Now, it’s time, my buddy. Ease the seat back, put on the cruise control, and turn up the radio. No more blind spots, no more speed limits, just the open road ahead.
You shine on, Blue Diamond, you shine on.
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