Moving Day

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Car Review: Reluctant to Retire.

Retirement is a tricky subject. It can either be depressing or liberating; or a combination of the two. The depression is usually caused by retirement's darker meaning: the end is near. Or, at least, something is going to give, and the reaper might be just around the corner.

At 24-years-old, most people are in their prime, and nowhere near even thinking about retirement. They're ready to rock and take on whatever the world has to offer. But there is one salty German who, at the ripe old age of 24, is rolling closer and closer to the end of the line. He has been called everything from Jeff, Black-hole and "you son-of-a bitch", but his true name is still a mystery. Even now, he seems exceedingly reluctant to divulge.

During the last two decades, this assumingly quiet soul has evolved into an almost underground legend for a select group of people. Seemingly unaware of his own status, the German has become bitter and cranky. But every once in a while, you can still glimpse his body lurching around the city streets of Knoxville.

"I first meet him at the junkyard," says Charlie Sykes, who currently watches over his older friend. I ask Sykes if the fading gentleman has finally given up his name, but it seems this detail hasn't come up yet. The two have only known each other for ten months, so the bonding process is still a little green. I reveal to Sykes that I once knew the German and that, back then, he went by the name Black-hole. When Sykes asks why, I look over at my quietly sulking former friend and beckon, "Look at him."

It may seem odd that Black-hole is constantly being referred to as "old." Consider that most 24 year olds haven't traveled the equivalent distance of 16 times around the world. In fact, these days most 24-year-olds still live in their parent's basements. So it's perhaps forgiveable if Black-hole seems a little tired. On the surface, he has always been the quiet type, never drawing too much attention to himself. It is only when you really get to know him that his true side emerges and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde manifest their split personalities into a car.

"It's a car with more character than that crazy uncle who always makes everyone uncomfortable during the holidays with his inappropriate remarks," says Lucas Coleman who first met Black-hole in 2007. Coleman never drove him, but he saw his capabilities. "My fondest memory of the car was undoubtedly seeing it spin the tires all the way through third gear on an interstate on ramp," says Coleman. "Given, it was raining, but even in slippery conditions most cars would struggle to keep the tires spinning in second. This car, however, had far different plans."

Black-hole, or sometimes referred to simply as "the E28" is a BMW 535i born in 1986. Bathed in the factory Schwarz black, the original owner shelled out $35,000 to take possession; a substantial amount even now. That pricey sum got the owner a 3.5 liter, SOHC straight six coded M30B34, was connected to a five speed manual trans, and a LSD packed with the 3.25 gear set. With the chassis code E28, this second generation 5 series is still classically shaped and quintessentially BMW. Unlike BMWs of today, this one will never be mistaken for a Toyota.

Resembling what could easily be the vehicle of choice for a drug dealer, Black-hole looks well-aged, and rightfully so. His vehicular retirement, that is the qualification for antique registration plates, is only one year away. But if the term "antique" was measured in miles instead of years, this old BMW would've been sent out to pasture quite a long time ago.

BMWs of the 1980's all seem to share the same problems, and one of them is a faulty odometers. Black-hole's is no exception, so the car's actual mileage is shrouded in mystery. Knoxville BMW technician Jeff Turner, who was once both Black-hole's owner and mechanic, estimates him to be pushing over 350,00 miles. The odometer gave up the ghost at 227,000 miles and according to Turner, that was a long time ago. The assumption is probably not too far from the truth, given that a 2002 Autocheck fact report status, Black-hole's functioning odometer read 195,123. This was in Tucker, GA. The very next day, the odometer read 194,357 in Kennesaw, GA. (the last time the DMV knew how many miles were on this "time machine.").

"Honestly, for a car that's a quarter of a century old with a ton of miles, it's not too bad," says Sykes, who scooped up the E28 right off death row. He bought Black-hole when previous owner Kyle was attempting a euthanization. "Kyle was having trouble selling it and was going to scrap it. I made him an offer right there at the junkyard and he sold it to me for less than scrap."

In the summer of 2008, Black-hole became a legend to Knoxville man Mike Julian. During that time, the E28 found comfort in Julian's garage and became a landmark for his "car guy" neighborhood. Julian's next door neighbor, also a car guy, was in possesion of a landmark vehicle: a gold Nissan S14 240sx. "I knew it [the 240] had been pretty heavily modified, but it was pure sleeper. Fifteen grand into a na hard-body (KA24DE) build, another ten grand into suspension... it was a monster," says Julian. This knowledge was kept from Black-hole who challenged the much-younger athlete one summer evening. Julian recounts, "my neighbor looks over, back at the road and promptly downshifts into third. We keep up, turning off the highway onto a back road that leads to the house. Ahead of us, the 240 takes the turn at 50--speed limit 25. We power through the turn after him, hitting the straight. An intersection is coming up, where we both have to take a sharp left. I look over at the speedometer and see 95mph. E-brake up, downshift and we've turned onto the next road. Immediately, another turn; we're still doing 70, as we slide into my driveway sideways. My neighbor walks over and says, 'Damn, that thing is fast!'" That night, Black-hole earned some respect, even though he seemed not to care. To him, it was just another "kill story" to put in his collection.

Every corner of the black-on-black sedan is covered in what some would call "a story." The passenger side, though dirty, is remarkably straight for the car's age. It's only when you walk around to Black-hole's other side that the E28's age spots begin to show. Numerous dings, dents and poorly-matched cover-up paint smears dot the driver's side panels. "Those are the battle wounds of many owners and literally countless miles...some of those wounds even appeared to be inflicted with a baseball bat," says Coleman. With the Autocheck fact sheet reporting Black-hole's total number of owners at nine, those "battle wounds" could actually be caused by the angry side of a baseball bat. But the truth is just another mystery that Black-hole silently carries with him.

But perhaps the most remarkable thing about this tall-tale of a car, is that even after all of those miles, the drive train is still all original equipment. "You can't kill an M30," says Allen Turner. Allen is Jeff Turner's brother and fellow BMW mechanic. The Turner men had a lasting relationship with Black-hole and devoted a substantial amount of time and effort into keeping him alive. The angular sedan could be seen parked out front of their East Knoxville shop for months at a time, so it came to their surprise when they finally saw the car leave with another owner. When the time came for the E28 to find another victim, Turner's mechanic and electrical specialist Danny put it nicely: "Get that car away from me."

"Part of me wants to believe that it lived in denial of its upscale, luxury creation, and instead preferred to exude the soul of a sports car," says Coleman. And that's the essence of Black-hole. On the surface, vehicles like the E28 are just an assemblage of mechanical parts. But their stories don't end there. The E28 has personality spilling from every body panel gap, dent, blemish and smudge that coasts his long and gracefully-muscular body. Like a tired and worn-down Olympic athlete gives up and picks up smoking, Black-hole seems to have become gritty in his final years. Even though his moodiness has probably made him more enemies than friends, it's that personality that turns cars like the E28 into legends.

It may seem odd to some why anyone would continue to keep watch over a car of this caliber, but people continually attempt to make friends with Black-hole. Like the bitter old grandfather who doesn't seem to like being visited, the E28 continues to entertain guests. "It knows it is nearing the end of its life, and has become bitter," says Coleman. Worked hard and hard worn, Black-hole rolls around with a perpetual chip on his shoulder. "This car was not out for fun, or glamour, but rather blood and vengeance. It wanted to end its own existence as quickly as it could manage, and it wanted to take as many with it as it was capable."

Before we part, the bright-eyed Sykes asks me about my relationship with Black-hole. The only thing I can say, as I shake my head is, "I hated that son-of-a bitch." Sykes chuckles and stops his questioning. This is probably because he understands what I mean. As I watch the black bomber speed the wrong way down a one-way side street, I can't help but feel remorse for giving up on the old man. But then again, I'm not to sure he even liked me. After all, Coleman puts it best when he says, "Ahh, the E28. A homicidal maniac of a car, if there ever was one."

Car People Speak: How to get to The Dragon, the Battlewagon way.

Not too long ago, I was able to see a side of the Great Smoky Mountains I thought was only in my dreams. Some of you may or may not have already been down this way, but if anyone has ever been on the Tail of The Dragon, they have surely seen this. It's Parson's Branch Road and runs from Cades Cove all the way to 129.

The story begins with my mother, who is not a big hiker, saying she wants to hike up to Gregory's Bald. I finally had some time off and the weather was great, so at 10:30, we made our trek to Cades Cove and the trail head. Due to me stopping for some green tea and the idiotic traffic at Cades Cove, we got to the begining of the road at about 1:15. The short jaunt on a two lane gravel road to Parson's was awesome fun, something I thought couldn't be matched. Boy, was I wrong.

The signs at the beginning of Parson's made me even more excited. One way, do not travel at night, TRAVEL AT YOUR OWN RISK! I had to do this. It wasn't the only way to get to the bald, but it was my way. As I began my trek, I quickly began to realize why I love these mountains so much. The short two miles to the trail head were a freaking blast! I've never had so much fun going 20-25 mph. It was loose gravel and slick mud all the way and really made me appreciate my Outback and how I have it built. This is where I made my decision to never buy anything else but Yokohama Geolanders for the Battlewagon.

When we made it to the trail head, I packed up my gear (nothing heavy: just food, water and rain gear) and we hiked up. Sadly, with the moms behind me, it took us three hours to make the 4.5 miles to the top. If I was alone or with my pop, it would have been done in 2.5. On the way down though, I hiked behind my mom, and got her down the trail in an hour and a half. Much better.

We got back to the big guy waiting quietly at six. This is when I came to the deduction that I was screwed. Parson's is a one way road, and 129 was still closed on the TN side due to the spring rock slide, so the only way out was to either go the wrong way down a dangerous one way road, or go the right way and drive into NC to get back to Knox. Needless to say, I did something very illegal.

Karma must not have been on my side because as I approached the end of Parson's and Cades Cove, I was greeted with a locked gate on a bridge with no way around. The Park Service had closed the gate at 5. Things looked pretty bad but managed to get even worse as I read a lonely traffic sign. This sign informed me that there was a gate at Deals gap and that at 8 p.m., it would be closed. It was 6:30. The sign said the entire 8 mile Parson's would take one hour. I had no idea where on 129 it spat out of, so I was forced to get out of dodge and get out quick.

After stopping for a couple of kids locked out of their truck on Parson's, I jumped on to 129 at about 7:05. What preceded was the most hair raising fun I've had in a long, long time. Not only was the road windy and loose, but there are about a dozen stream crossings to bound through. If my car could smile, it would be doing so from ear to ear.

Parson's intersects 129 right at one of the early hairpins. I'm sure if you are a regular visitor to Deal's Gap, you've seen it and wondered, "what's down there." When I got on 129, I knew I was home free. The condition of the road was fantastic! Nice and smooth as butter. No traffic and when I got to the store, I got a special treat from local photographer Killboy himself. Take it from me, his Honda S2000 sounds MEAN.

At 7:30, I ate a PB&J and an apple, sighed and began my long journey back to Knoxville via 28, 74, 441, and finally I-40. When I got home, I was tired. Tired, but satisfied with my life decision to be a car guy.

Car People Speak: The List.

Every car person has a "list." It's usually always changing, but for the most part there are at least 10 vehicles that drive us to be who we are. These are the desires that keep us up at night and haunt our dreams when we sleep. These are our top 10 dream cars.

I'd like to give you (the reader) a special glimpse into what makes me, your not-so-humble author, tick as a car person. I've collected my "list" and just by reading it, you might be able to get an idea as to who I really am as a person.

One final thought before I move on: this list has a rule. The vehicles on this list CAN NOT be modified and must come from the factory the way they were intended to.



1.1966 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 396 4sp Hardtop Black. Reason: I could stare at this thing for hours. I’ve loved this car since I was a kid and I bought a 1:24 scale model of it. It is, and always will be my number 1 dream car. The long hood, slanted nose, dual headlights, and the sculpted rear makes for a car that is pure nostalgia. It’s a muscle car that is also down right beautiful. It screams adventure. I can only hope that the reality of bombing down an empty highway with it is as wonderful as the dream.



2.1978 Jeep J10 4X4 360 4sp. Reason: In my mind, this is THE best looking pickup ever made. I’ve always had a soft spot for jeeps and this thing is by far my favorite. With a hotrod 360, manual 4sp and manual four wheel drive, it’s the kind of truck that would be a complete menace. It looks like it would chew your face off, spit on your shoes, lick a window, jump in the mud, rip up a tree for no reason what so ever, drive through a house and keep going, and steal all your gas in a matter of minutes. I love it.



3.1975 Chevrolet Cosworth Vega 2.0 4sp. Reason: I know, I know, it’s a Vega. But it’s a very special Vega with a very special engine. In my mind, Cosworth are the greatest engine builders on this planet and during a time of choked, dieing V8’s, this little thing had one hell of an engine built by the best. It was one of the first high strung 2.0 liter DOHC fuel injected four cylinders and it paved the way for the future giant killers. I like the look of it too. Clean and small in a land of American land barges. This car used to be on the fence for being on the list until around a year ago when I finally got to see one in person. It’s now number 3.



4.1996 Subaru Legacy GTB Wagon 5sp White. Reason: An easy candidate for perfect daily driver. Haul stuff in rain, shine, snow, ice, whatever; it doesn’t matter because it’s a damn Subaru. With “276” hp, it’s the ultimate underdog sleeper/utilitarian vehicle. Also, how cool is it that it belongs to a very short list of cars that have sequential twin turbos. I’d also finally be able to have a license plate that reads “JDM YO”.



5.1982 DMC DeLorean 5sp. Reason: It’s a DeLorean. It may be slow, unreliable, and probably hard to fix, but it’s the kind of car that I can’t help but love. John Z. DeLorean is one of my heroes and to own something that he poured his heart, soul, and income into would be truly special. It’s gorgeous, has a crappy engine, and its body is made out of stainless steel. It’s also a hero and character in one of my favorite movies. I don’t care if it might be a bad car, it has character and history and to me, that’s more important.



6.1964 MKII Mini Cooper S 1275cc BRG with the Union Jack on the roof. Reason: This car is just flat out cool. It was such a revolutionary car in that is saved so much space but was so small and nimble. It is the ultimate tool for traffic dissection. I honestly believe that nothing would find it easy keeping up with this car in the city and or during rush hour. Quintessentially British, the Mini Cooper screams blazing down London city streets being chased by a Merc or two. The big Benz never catches the Mini; never.



7.1995 BMW 850CSi 6sp Black. Reason: BMW’s 90’s super GT that to some, is the black sheep of the BMW family. Some BMW purists dislike the car because of its looks, but that’s the main reason I adore the E31. I love every line and every angle of it. It is what a super GT should look like: Long noise, short rear, big cabin. It has a glorious drive-train too. Big, 5.6L V12 matted to a BMW perfect 6sp manual. A beautiful, classy car that is fast and comfortable at any speed is a recipe for joy. This car has to have character too, probably too much of it.



8.1971 MKIII Jensen Interceptor SP Black. Reason: This car actually might define the word cool. When ever I look at it, I think of 70’s British gangsters running cash as fast as they can down some city streets. They leave nothing but chaos and noise. Not too many people even know what this car is, which to me, is always a plus. I love the idea of a British body, interior and chassis with a big, American drivetrain stuffed in. The MKIII SP was the most powerful, with a Chrysler 440 Six Pack V8 and a torqueflite auto trans. The interior looks so welcoming that this car could easily put most modern GTs to shame.



9.1970 Oldsmobile 442 W30 4sp Red. Reason: Another dream car based on a 1:24 scale model. I’ve lusted after this car since I was a kid and the reason finally became apparent recently: I adore the miscellaneous, odd-ball muscle cars that in reality were and are faster than the mainstream cars everyone else wants. The 442 seems to be overlooked and it shouldn’t, especially the W30. The 455ci Olds V8 made “370hp” and a diesel amount of torque and it would lay rubber in all four manual gears. The look is also nothing but menacing. It looks pure 1970’s: long hood, short rear. I have a feeling that the first time I would meet the car, it would head-butt me.



10. 1971 Ford Falcon GTHO Phase III. Reason: This muscular gem is the most recent addition to my list. It's another car that makes me envious of the land down under and another Ford that makes me furious at their US administration. This Australian only muscle car is so rare, that most of the original ones (what's rumored to be left) can fetch close to $700,000 Australian (about 660,000 sum in our dollar). The reason is no one really knows how many there are left, but the quess is right around 100. Also, this car is an Austrailian hero. I love it for it's looks and it's drivetrain. A underatted 351 and bulletproof 4-speed top-loader manual from a HD F-Series truck make this another muscle car that screams "shut up and drive me!" It's pure adventure.

Video Roll: 2010 Knoxville News Sentinel Auto Show

Guest Blog: Member of the Family

Writen with love by a true, honest-to-goodness car man by the name, MudRunner.

On a snowy winter day in 1995, I can remember trekking out to a dealer in Leavenworth, Kansas with my mother in some sort of courtesy car. I didn’t know where we were going, or why; I was just happy to be in a car. We arrived at a Chevy dealership. I was 4 years old at the time, so the whole thing was fascinating to me. All the pretty cars and trucks lined up in neat little rows, and the cars in the showroom… How did they get those in there? As my mom talked with the salesman, one vehicle in particular on the showroom floor caught my eye. It was a bright red Suburban. It was huge with its big wheels and tires and chrome bumpers that I could see my face in. I was enamored by it. Being a typical four year old boy I screamed with a huge grin, “Mommy, mommy, come look! It’s a big red truck!”

She peeked out of the office, and laughed, saying “Do you like it honey?”

She then disappeared back into the office. I went to look at the truck some more, but was interrupted by some man who got into it! He proceeded to start it, and drive it across the showroom to a set of open doors on the other side. I was heartbroken; he was taking my truck away! Just then, my mother came out of the office with a large envelope, and walked over to a desk in the showroom, where she talked to a lady about something. I didn’t know what was happening as the lady handed my mother two sets of keys with little black remotes and told her that ‘it’ would be waiting outside. Being a typical four-year-old, all I wanted was that big red truck that I liked so much.

“Mom, can we please get the red one? Please? It’s pretty…” etc. My mom simply said, “Zach, just be quiet. There are other people in here.”

She took my hand, and we walked me over to the door. She got some papers from a man outside, and began to walk towards the big red truck that I wanted so bad. And that’s where it began.
Mom’s special-ordered 1995 K1500 Suburban 4x4 was pretty cool to say the least. At the time, it was probably one of the coolest cars I’d ever been in. After all, I had my own air vent in the back seat. That’s just cool! I couldn’t reach it, but heck, it was still cool.Over the next 15 years, it would travel more than 250,000 miles, take 100 plus trips across the US, 9 cross-country military moves, and consume more than 15,625 gallons of gas. 90% of those miles I spent in the right rear seat, looking across at the instrument cluster. I would close my eyes, and listen to the sound of the engine working, pulling the three-ton beast along the freeway. It was like my own little heaven. Little did I know that at that time my bizarre sensory feelings were caused by my growing love of all things mechanical (and partly by ADD).

The Suburban has had a pretty eventful life, serving as a daily driver, pulling a 5,000lb camping trailer, serving with the USCG drug task force in Los Angeles, CA, and even appearing on the show “Walker, Texas Ranger”. No, Chuck Norris didn’t drive it; the truck was just in the background.

When my parents got divorced, my mom, sister and I lived out of it for about a week as we moved cross country again. It's been with us through the good times, the bad times, and everywhere in between. To be honest, it's probably the only thing in my life that has remained totally stable.I never really thought about driving it, it just happened one day. In a way, it was no different for me than just sitting in the back seat. I knew where and how everything worked, I knew what it felt like, and I knew what and what not to do. My mom just sat in the passenger seat and was silent, as I drove us to the store for the first time. It was bizarrely peaceful. The feeling of the engine through the cable throttle, the slow, but linear steering feel, and the way it glided over the pavement created a permanent impression in my mind of what a vehicle should feel like. I drove it almost every day after that. Running errands, practicing parallel parking, using every excuse I could to drive it. Fast forward to today: I was driving my mom, step-dad and sister home from Costco in Memphis, TN to our home in Selmer. It’s about a 70 mile trip. Leaving the Costco parking lot, the power steering pump grenaded, blowing ATF all over the exhaust manifold, and creating a smoke screen behind us. I wrestled the truck home, and into its parking spot. I felt sort of hurt the whole way, as if the truck were a part of me that was injured. For reasons I have trouble explaining, it was very emotionally disturbing. As I shut it down, and everyone got out and began to unload, I sat in the driver’s seat, head resting on the steering wheel, just... not feeling right. It was all wrong. We’ve been thinking for a while now about doing an engine rebuild, since there is a slight coolant leak somewhere. I don’t know where exactly, but it always shows up as a trace in our Blackstone Oil Analysis. So, the time has come to begin the project. Aside from religious synthetic fluid changes, tires, and brakes the truck has never been in the shop, not for anything. The power steering pump seemed to be some sort of sign that it was time to give it a bit of a restoration; a rejuvenated heart to make it stronger, healthier, and better than new. The project shall begin as soon as possible. The 350CID small block is coming out and getting rebuilt from the ground up to go another 250,214 amazing miles. The clear-coat on the roof may be failing, the carpet may be worn, and the leather seats may be torn, but this old, incredible truck will stay with us as long as I live. It has been with me almost as long as I can remember and I won’t let that change.

Since this was written, the engine has been stripped, and I'm rebuilding it with some mild modifications. The basics:

-Original crankshaft, cleaned and polished (yes, that is all it required... Mobil 1 5W-30 is a beautiful thing)

-Original Block bored .030 over

-Comp High-Energy cam kit

-Speed-Pro Pistons on stock rods

-King bearings

-Rebuilt heads

-Ported and polished throttle body

-Full 3" headerback exhaust with super-quiet muffler

All in all, should be a great DD build, with a nice torque and MPG increase. It's mom's birthday present for this year, and I think she'll enjoy it for many years to come.

Car People Speak: The Worst Day of My Life

The year was 2005. The date was December 22. The time: 6:30 p.m. The event: the worst day of my life. The event that took place on that day will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. Nothing else even comes close. That day replays in my mind over and over again. It will continue to do so until I have passed. I will never forget the day I lost one of my best friends.

December 22, 2005, started out as any other day. The Christmas spirit was in the air and everyone was getting ready for the magical 25th. It was a relatively warm day for December (I remember wearing a tee shirt). My Christmas shopping was complete with the exception of one very important thing: my mother's gift card to the ever popular Target. Realizing how important this was to her, I made it my priority for the day. So, at about 5:30 p.m., I decided to make the drive out to the local Target. Little did I know that this simple act of kindness would end up becoming the worst day of my life.

My mission was simple: drive to Target, pick up the gift card and then drive home. How hard could it be? I had made that drive numerous times without incident. So, without a care in the world, I hopped in my trusty green machine: a 1998 Jeep Cherokee Classic. This was one of teh most beautiful pieces of machinery I had ever laid eyes on. It was fast, smooth and a dream to drive. It made a wonderful roar that made you want to waste even more fuel than you already were. But, most important of all, it had soul. I don't know how Jeep did it, but that thing was addictive to drive. This made the trip out to West Knoxville actually enjoyable.

I started the green machine up and was greeted with the ever familiar song of a 4.0 liter straight six and cooling fans. And just like that, I was off. In no time at all, I had arrived at my destination. I made the short walk inside Target and purchased the card to my mother's happiness. It was time to go home, so I jumped into my Jeep and drove off into the distance. I was feeling pretty good as I listened to the sound of the band Bush. Little did I know that in two minutes, my joy would be crushed, thrown to the ground and stomped on until it didn't exist.

As most sad stories go, they end badly. Welcome to the unpleasent ending. As I drove home, I came across an intersection that I had driven through plenty of times. The light was green, I needed to turn left, so I went for it. I made it across the white line and then, in mid turn, everything stopped. You see, at the same time I was making my turn, a senior at Bearden High School was making his speedy getaway through the intersection. It wasn't until mid turn that I was his red Toyota Tundra. I will never forget what happened next.

When you get into an accident, you know it's going to happen. Everything slows down so you can remeber it. I had no control over my body and neither did the operator of the Tundra. The only thing I could do was hold on as the Tundra slammed into the front left fender of my Jeep. I won't lie, it hurt. Both of my airbags went off, with the one on the right hitting me square in the face. My week old Dr. Pepper spilled all over my leg. I was cold, wet, scared and most of all, angry. The F-word spewed from my mouth like it was the only word I knew. After everything settled down, I decidet to do the normal human thing and get out to survey the damage. Let's just say it wasn't pretty.

My green machine was injured and it was bad. His lungs were punctured and green fluid was spilling out onto the cold street. His ankle was shattered and his foot was bent in the opposite way. He would never walk again (unless you replaced the radiator and front differential). I had done the unthinkable. I had shoved my best friend into the moving path of a tank. It was over. To quote my father, "One minute you're driving along in your Jeep, and just like that, you're sitting at home with your driving privileges taken away." Thanks dad.

I, as well as the senior from Bearden, walked away from the accident with nothing but a bruise. But unlike the Tundra driver, who I overheard mentioning to his mother that he could finally get something with four wheel drive, I was had lost a true friend. I'll never forget that day as it in some way made me a better person. That day taught me to cherish everything you've got because just like that, it can be taken away.

Rest in Peace Mr. Jeep.