Not many people can say that they have had a friend since the day they were born. I can.
Her name is Nan and she - yes, Nan is definitely a girl - is a silver 1987 Volvo station wagon.
When I was a new baby, Nan came to take my parents and I home from the hospital, guarding me just as carefully then as she would in the many rides to come. Nan remained my family's primary car well into my childhood, dutifully dropping my sister and me off at elementary school in the morning and patiently lugging our rooftop carrier to the beach each summer.
Nan took it gracefully when my parents bought a new family car in 1998. She moved to the other side of the garage and resigned herself to making smaller trips. But her glory days weren't over yet.
As our only automatic vehicle, it fell to Nan to teach my older sister and me how to drive, and she was the perfect learning car. I'm not sure how much you know about old Volvos, but they are virtually indestructible. Nan might not have air bags, but she has a thick steel cage and a boxy exterior that I would bet on against the toughest SUV on the block.
By the time my high school years rolled around, my parents had a third car and Nan had been kicked out of the garage entirely, but she didn't seem to mind. She sat by the curb in front of our house instead, keeping an eye on our front door and waiting to take me to first period each morning.
Nan was starting to show her age a little bit by then, she whined a little more when it was cold outside and adopted a few quirks - my favorite is the way the back windshield wiper inexplicably swipes once whenever you honk the horn.
Now this is the part of my column where you are expecting me to tell you what a good car Nan used to be, and what a shame it was when she gave out. Your expectations are wrong. Nan and I have been through a lot during the last 20 years, and she isn't going anywhere any time soon.
Nan was one of the first to celebrate with me when I got into the University. Her large back window welcomed the sabre-clad University of Virginia sticker and she still drives me around Charlottesville today. In fact, Nan earned herself a spot in the Car Hall of Fame living with me in Lambeth last year.
Fearful of the impending snow storm, my parents came to get me for winter break in my dad's four-wheel drive SUV. The plan was to leave Nan behind for a week until the roads were clear enough to bring her home. But less than five feet outside the Lambeth parking lot, our car was rear-ended and banged up so much that it was impossible to drive. My parents debated what to do, and finally decided we would just take Nan and hope for the best.
We had our doubts about her front-wheel drive and aging engine, but it turns out Nan saved our lives that night. Six hours for a trip that normally took two, in the biggest snowstorm of the decade, and she never faltered once. The pavement was invisible with snow and there were moments where I-81 was pitch black and deserted, but Nan crept slowly on. When at last we reached Roanoke, her wheels were packed with frozen ice and she had earned her space back in the garage.
To this day, there is no logical explanation for why Nan made the trip that night. Her heating system and engine were shifty for three or four years before that, and we had long since declared her unreliable on interstate trips. Although she technically should not have been able to make the drive, I was not surprised that she did. Nan is more than just a car; she is a member of our family and has devoted her whole life to taking care of us. So how could she have failed when we needed her most?
I read an article last week that Volvo is discontinuing its iconic station wagon line this year. Nan is among the last of a dying breed. While this makes me sad for the future generations of drivers who never will get to cram the trunk with extra friends and cruise to high school in the safety of the steel cage, I am also secretly a little bit pleased. I always knew that Nan was a classic, and now the rest of the world does too.
Katie's column runs weekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at k.mcnally@cavalierdaily.com.
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