Now's the Time

The other night, while driving back from a darts match with my wife (yes, I play competitive darts), I realized that my car's odometer was at 99,996 miles. Nearly 100 G's. The peak of a car's lifespan. The moment of truth. The Arc de Triomphe. A "milestone," if you will. Sure, my '99 Camry, like most modern autos, has a digital odometer, designed to show a full 6 digit mileage. But back in the day it was especially neat so watch a car "rollover," where the odometer resets itself to zero. When I first got the car, it was brand new, and had only 3 miles on it. I was with that car when it hit 100, 1000, 10,000, 12,345, and all the palindromes, too. It's fun to take note of the various stages your car reaches. Well, not "fun" really, but you know...Fun-ish. Lately, however, I had kind of stopped noticing some of the fun milemarkers. I totally spaced on 88,888, and I'll always kick myself for missing 90,210. So, 100,000 was a big deal for me.

We were too close to my house to hit 100 G's just going home, but I quickly remembered my wife was taking the car in the morning for a work function. She would hit 100,000 miles on the way there, and knowing her morning state of mind, she'd probably be too tired to even notice the event, much less enjoy it properly. So I declared we were going for a 4 mile drive so I could watch my car rollover.

Unfortunately, it was not as simple as just "continuing to drive." We had to actually stop at home to pick up the dog, who had not been let out for several hours. Then we had to stop and get gas, because even 4 miles would have proved too far for the drops remaining in the tank. Finally, we set out west on Belmont Ave, looking for a suitable stretch of road to strip my car of it's 6 digit virginity. (Is this post getting too long, or what? God, I'm bored just writing it.)

We drove a couple miles and turned around. A few moments later we were greeted with 99,999. Staring at all those 9's was almost satisfying enough on it's own. I was thankful for the minimal late night traffic, because for the last mile, I barely glanced at the road, my eyes glued to the odometer. We came to a stoplight. I looked up to see a TV facing out the window of a closed martial arts building showing what looked to me like "The Little Mermaid." Interesting... Anyway, the light turned green and I re-affixed my eyes to the dashboard. Mere seconds after accelerating from the stop, all the 9's vanished, replaced by zeros, with a slender, almost sexy "1" preceeding them. It was glorious; a dream come true. My wife and I both cheered, startling the dog.

I know it's dumb. Not much of a story, really. Nothing happened on the way home. My lust for 100,000 did not lead us to any great adventure or tragedy. We just went home and went to bed. But I had a subtle smile on my face, knowing I had taken my Camry to the promised land. I can't wait for 200,000.