Pardon the “off-topic” post, but it’s something I just felt like writing about today. It’s the weekend anyway - you shouldn’t be working.

For those who don’t know, I drive a Ford Bronco. The Bronco has been my truck of choice since I began driving, starting with my first vehicle after I got my license. I love the Bronco, though I don’t know why.

My first Bronco wasn’t really mine. My parents bought it from my grandfather when he was selling it to buy a new truck for himself. It was a 1986, blue and tan, 1/4 Eddie Bauer edition. I don’t know if there was a specific “1/4 Eddie Bauer” edition, but I had one. It had the Eddie Bauer badge on the outside, and the embroidered EB seats, but other than that, it was about as basic as could be. Power nothing. Some carpeting. Not much else. Didn’t matter though, I loved that thing.

However, being the first car that I drove, followed by two more brothers, and having a manual transmission, it was destined to die a slow, painfull death. Although I eventually got the hang of driving a stick, it transmission had been wounded. You never used first gear for two reasons: one, it was so low that you could only drive about 6 feet before you had to shift, and two, if you put it in first, you’d have to almost hang on the stick to get it to come out of gear to shift.

Similarly, downshifting back to second was a process that more often than not involved you slamming your knuckles on the edge of the center console, because the force needed to get back into 2nd often caused the shifter knob to pop off, giving me a near-constant set of bruised knuckles. Reverse was something that often required a series of voodoo chants and other black magic to engage.

During it’s time with me, I lived through the following:

• I had two timing chains break
• A tie-rod break, resulting in only being able to turn left, leaving me stranded in the middle of the driver’s ed range at West Jordan High School. (Nothing like doing repairs on a truck while a bunch of kids with Learner’s Permits do figure 8’s around you.)
• The lift spring in the tailgate snapped, causing the rear glass to explode
• Spark plug wires burning through their boots, or just falling of the distributor, causing me to sound like a lawn mower as I drove home on 5 of 8 cylinders
• Several other assorted breakdowns, and the pleasure of being towed home on several occasions.
• While doing some work on it, Dad and I discovered that it really was held together in spots with some bailing wire. So we added some spit for good measure.

During this time I also learned that:

• With the top off, you can fit almost 30 band geeks.
• A Bronco can drive over a Dodge Intrepid. (I’m still sorry Dad, I mean it!)
• The top speed of a ‘86 Bronco is around 80 mph. Going downhill, with the wind at your back.
• Muddy fields and dirt roads exert a gravitational force over the body of a Bronco. There’s nothing you can do about it, really. So just go along for the ride.
• After hitting the above-mentioned fields, it’s best to hit a car wash before coming home and parking in the garage. That way your excuses for coming home late will stand up a little better.
• Eventually, with enough rust and missing paint, even if you drive around for two days with the keys hanging out of the tailgate, no one will steal it. (Love you Mom!)

Eventually, the time came to part with our Bronco. This was 1999 I believe. My dad actually sold it three times. The first two buyers couldn’t make it home without it dying, so they returned it. Finally, we found someone who was willing to put up with all it’s problems.

Fast-forward to 2001. I had gone away to college for a little bit, and had just got home from serving an LDS mission in Brazil. I got a job selling guitars and other musical things at Musician’s Friend. I also needed a car. So, I began looking for a new ride, when the call of the Bronco came again.

I found a 1994 green and tan Bronco at a used car lot. It had over 160,000 on it, but it seemed to run ok, and it looked like new. It had obviously been taken care of. It was also a full-blown Eddie Bauer, with every option Ford offered that year, minus the keyless entry. This new Bronco has begun to show it’s age however, leaking oil every chance it gets, having the under-dash wiring catch fire one morning leaving for work, and having been rear-ended twice. (Both times I had the trailer hitch in, so it didn’t hurt me, but knocked a hole in one bumper, and another radiator.) I had the fuel pump go out, causing me to spend one fine January day under the truck in the MediaRain (at that time we were MediaRain, not mediaRAIN) parking lot, eventually resulting in me having to tow it home.

However, since that winter last year, it’s been running good. Until three weeks ago, when I was driving home from work, and the fan mount on the water pump decided that life wasn’t worth living, and was going to jump. Unfortunately, when it broke loose, the fan went with it, slicing into my radiator, and taking out a few of my coolant lines in the process. As bad as that was, I was able to fix it in a few days time, for less than $300. I got it done in time for my wife and I to go camping up in the Uinta Mountains for the weekend with my family for Father’s Day.

As happy as I was, this happiness was short-lived. Returning home, towing my in-laws popup-trailer, I heard a lound bang, felt the truck jump a little bit, and heard a sharp grinding as something was being dragged behind me. Sure that the trailer had fallen off the hitch, and my life was over once my father-in-law found out, I pulled over, and began to imagine how close to death dad-in-law would beat me. When I got to the back of the truck, I saw that the trailer was still attached, and breathed a sigh of relief. While looking around thinking about what that noise was, I saw what it was. About 200 yards back on I-15, was my rear driveshaft. The bolts attaching it to the transfer case had broken off, and as a result, it fell. Actually, after having heard stories of vehicles pole-vaulting when those fallout and dig into the ground, I consider myself very lucky. I’m also lucky that thing didn’t bounce out and hit the car behind us. I should also be thankful that my wife was brave enough to stop me from beating the truck apart with the driveshaft once I had retrieved it.

Having lost my driveshaft, and being about 15 minutes from the in-laws, I called Ralph to have him come get his trailer. My dad took his trailer home, and then came back to help tow me off the interstate. We towed it to the parking lot of a restaurant, hung out for a while, and then I was able to engage the four-wheel drive, and drive it home, using the front wheels.

It’s now been two weeks since that event, and I haven’t got around to fixing the Bronco yet. Mostly because some of the parts were on order, or I can’t find what I need at a wrecking yard. One of the benefits of having a garage now, is that when I’m not in the mood to deal with it, I can just shut the door.

So, why after two Broncos, and countless breakdowns and dollars spent on repairs, do I still put up with these things? I don’t know. Part of it is due to my stubborness to get rid of it. Another is my geekiness in wanting to see my odometer roll over to 200,000 (only 2,900 to go). Part of it is the hope that after a while, I’ll have a brand-new truck under a 11 year old body. Another reason is that I just think they look cool, and that they’re just fun.

But I think the main reason is for the memories. A Bronco was the first vehicle I drove, and the first one I bought for myself. I got my first speeding ticket in one. I learned how to do my own auto repairs from my dad working on one. I missed the yearbook band pictures, because my friends and I got it stuck in a mud-field on the way back to school. (We got there 15 seconds too late, barefoot, and mud up to our knees in our suits.) I drove my first prom date in a Bronco, and cringed as the restaurant valet ground every gear driving it away to the lot. Later, I drove it on the first date with my lovely wife. We’ve since spent hours and hours driving it up around the hills near our home and in the mountains above Salt Lake camping out under the stars and planning our future.

Will I sell it? Probably not, though I’ve had offers. But even with all the troubles it’s been, I just may be buried in my Bronco.

Really I think it boils down to what those cheesy license-plate frames on a lot of Jeeps say: It’s a Bronco thing, you wouldn’t understand.