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Obituary: My Citroen BX

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[Related: Lovestory – The REAL Car]

Citroën BX inside

Citroën BX inside

A long amour franco-allemand has sadly ended. My true love. She is gone, gone forever. And although we were often going seperate ways – me to work, she into the repair shop -, we had a wonderful time together. She was addicted to oil and gas, though not as much as Europe is to Russian oil and gas. She was a bumpy ride. She was unpredictable. The windows in the driver’s door and front passenger door wouldn’t open, and if they did, they bogged deep into the door at once. The rope rolls were broken. Also, I never locked the back door for fear that I might never be able to unlock it again. We had turbulent rides together.

No, she wasn’t reliable. But golly, how exciting she was! And how I excited her! Some day, together with a professional mechanic as keen to experiment as I was, I endowed her with an extra circular flow of vegetable oil. As rides to work were long, it was worth the investment. After about ten kilometres, I could usually switch from gas to veggie. She didn’t go out of order any more often than before that measure.

Citroën BX outside

Citroën BX outside

She was beautiful. She didn’t have the makings of a star. Rather, she was beautiful like… well… like a beautiful country wench who isn’t even aware of her own beauty. She was sizable, but appeared to be almost slim. She had rough edges, but not too rough. Not like an Alfa Romeo. She was conservative in a dowdy way, not fascist at all.

She was pure and simple. She was so simple that at night, even the dimmed illumination of the controls and instruments wouldn’t work. I didn’t care. If she wanted a blind flight, so be it. There was no need to see the speedometer. It wasn’t accurately indicating the speed anyway, and I had developed a feeling for the right speed. Whenever the congestion behind me had become too long, it was apparently time to accelerate, until everyone was happy. After a while, I found the correct speed without a jam buildup behind me.

But our relationship has come to an end. A quarter of a year ago, she had her final screw loose. I thought it was another fascinating episode on our seemingly never-ending romantic switchback ride, but this time, she wasn’t just bitchy. She was dead. And only fifteen.

Rest in peace, my dear. Though you are gone, I’ll still often take a ride with you – in my dreams.


Written by taide

August 16, 2008 at 7:50 pm

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