I began to panic when my car key wouldn’t come out of the ignition switch.
Jerry Davich
I twisted it, yanked it, begged it and cursed it. Nothing worked. It was stuck.
I had just pulled into the parking lot at my office in Munster and tried to turn off my car, a temperamental 2004 Chevy Monte Carlo with 314,000 miles. Her name is Betsy.
Her engine kept running as my mind raced with what I should do next. I quickly sent a text to my mechanic for any suggestions. Then I sent a text to my boss, telling him I was stuck in our parking lot. I was at work, sort of, but not for long.
I had to get to an interview, so I pulled out of the lot and headed in that direction while I figured out my next move. Should I leave my car running while doing that interview? Should I drive straight to the repair shop in Valparaiso? Should I pray to the car gods for mercy?
People are also reading…
The key ignition problem was just the latest in a series of minor but aggravating issues I’ve had with Betsy over the past few years. Passing an emissions test every two years has felt like acing a final exam in astrophysics.
She’s slowly dying, and it feels like my driver seat is situated inside a casket. The SS decal on her side once stood for Super Sport. Now it stands for Super Sad.
The dashboard lights blink like a Christmas tree. Her worn out brakes shake the car at fast stops. Exhaust fumes serve as an air freshener inside the car. My side mirror looks toward the sky, not at the road. The driver seat looks like it’s been mauled by a bear.
The sunroof hasn’t worked in years. My seat hasn’t been heated since the first Obama administration. Betsy rattles, vibrates and smells like burnt oil. She is held together by rust, hope and stubbornness.
Jerry Davich's front seat looks like a bear mauled it
On her rear bumper is a “26.2” sticker from the Chicago Marathon I ran back when Betsy and I were both in better condition. But she’s the one who’s still running a marathon, for vehicles anyway.
Most modern cars can make it to 200,000 miles without any major issues if it’s well-maintained, according to J.D. Powers. The average owner drives 10,000 to 20,000 miles per year, accounting for roughly 15 years of service. Betsy has surpassed this by five years and 115,000 miles.
She should be entombed at a junkyard by now, not leaking quarts of oil in my garage. But I just can’t part with her. She’s been my longest romantic relationship, and I love Betsy despite all of her rust, problems and potential dangers.
She can die on me at any time. I’ve come to grips with this fact or fate. When she eventually makes that sad trip across the Rainbow Bridge, I will be forced to do something I haven’t done in 20 years: buy a new vehicle for myself.
Black Friday and the weekend after Thanksgiving is a popular time for shoppers to look for a new or used vehicle, according to Kelley Blue Book. Auto manufacturers offer end-of-year deals, low interest rates and lower monthly payments.
I was intrigued until I researched the average monthly car payment for U.S. drivers in 2024: $734 for new vehicles and $525 for used vehicles. What? Huh? Are you kidding me? My wife and I recently paid off her 2017 Buick Encore and its $400 monthly payments. We haven’t had a car payment in months.
I asked my social media readers how much they’re paying each month for their vehicle, regardless if it was purchased new or used. Their responses gave me sticker shock: $1,384 a month for a 2024 BMW; $1,105 for a new Chevy Blazer; $920 for a 2022 Land Rover; $994 for a 2023 Dodge Ram Bighorn; $640 for a 2021 Chevy Trailblazer; and $438 for a used 2018 Chevrolet Equinox.
Some readers said they were paying nearly as much for their car as their mortgage.
“Wait until the tariffs hit the auto industry,” another reader wrote.
Maybe I can keep old Betsy alive for another month or maybe another year? “Don’t you die on me,” I often tell her on the road.
Every time I drive Betsy, I wonder if it will be the last time. I keep spare clothes and running shoes in the trunk, just in case. I’ve poured a few thousand dollars into her over the past 10 years. Not enough to scrap it, though.
Last year, I had to finally scrap another family vehicle, a 2005 Hyundai Tucson, for $500. It was slowly dying from old age, parked at the curb for months, and in need of money we didn’t have to keep it alive.
Before I scrap Betsy for a similar price, if that, I plan to keep her until death do us part. I figure I’m saving at least $500 a month, not to mention lower auto insurance premiums.
If she makes it through winter, I’ll take a long cruise and play a love song we first heard together in 2004. Of course I'll play it on a cassette or CD. Yep, they still work, sometimes.
