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Some history on our trusty steed, a 1985 Subaru wagon: Mo was a gift from my family when I graduated from college 8 years ago. I asked my then 5 year old nephew what I should name it. His
response: "Mo. It sounds like a lawn mower." The name stuck. I've heard that some research biologists don't give names to the wild animals they study so they do not develop sentimental
attachment to their subjects. My attachment to Mo probably goes beyond sentimental and towards ridiculous. But I can feel Mo's moods. When I drive Mo, he becomes an extension of my conscience.
I know how he needs to be warmed up, how much I can push
him and when I need to back off. I can feel the road, gravel, rocks, and boulders under his four wheels. The combination of my superior driving skills and Mo’s guts has taken us to some
amazing places. One particularly proud October day we headed up Montezuma Basin for some early season snowboarding. We passed several larger 4x4's that were parked, their occupants electing
to hike the rest of the way up. We made it to a couple hundred yards from the end of the road at 12,700 feet, blocked by a Ford Bronco stupidly stuck into the deepest part of a snow drift. One
consequence of this trip was damage to the exhaust manifold. While rallying some momentum over one of the steeper and rockier sections of the road, we bottomed out on a rock. This gave Mo a
throaty, almost Harley Davidson type roar. It seemed fitting for this mighty little Subaru! It stayed for several years as a replacement manifold cost over $300. About a year and a half ago a
mechanic fixed it for $30 by pulling the assembly back together by replacing a stripped bolt and using a Healy coil. My first 5 months in Aspen (October-February 1994) I lived in the back of
Mo. I worked digging ditches to put power lines under ground, and then ran the presses for the Daily News until I could afford Aspen rent. I put my futon in back and slept under several
comforters. Several years back I hit a deer while driving Mo. It was like living a video game. I was coming into Aspen traveling about 55 mph and a five point buck bounded in front of me,
rolled over my hood, stuck a prong of his antler through the windshield and rolled over the top of the car and off the side of the road. It was all over before I could get my foot off the gas
pedal. I was thoroughly shaken. What a waste! A beautiful stud deer throttled by my speeding vehicle, left to die bruised and broken on the old soccer field at Truscott. I had to have the
radiator fixed and the wind shield replaced. I was able to tie down the hood, and later bent it back enough to get it to latch down again. Mo was already a beater, no need to spruce him up
with a new hood! One summer I decided to paint Mo light yellow, the color of the convertible VW bug my bother, sisters and I drove in high school (my mom has since restored the VW to nearly
mint condition--quite a feat considering it survived untold abuse from 4 teenagers). My goal was to do the paint job for under $20. I bought 15 cans of 99 cent Wal-Mart spray paint and a
couple of rolls of masking tape. I painted the roof, the driver's door, and the adjacent front quarter panel. It was a lot of work and I never finished. Know anyone who needs yellow spray
paint? Mo has been adorned with several trinkets over the years. A yellow shark is tied onto his grill. It was an old dog chew toy I found in the middle of a gravel road on a bike ride one
day. It just seemed to fit. There are Mardi Gras beads, a tiger print band, a necklace with my name written on a grain of rice and another with a peace sigh hanging on top of the seats and
from the rear view. An Andy Warhol print t-shirt serves as a seat-back cover. A ceramic Buda and a carved wooden saguaro cactus are glued to the dash atop pedestals of large mica flakes for
good luck and protection. Stickers abound. My favorite is the one in the center of the steering wheel of a lion roaring in front of a laser-etched background. Pictures of my niece and nephew
are glued to the underside of the driver’s side window shade. Last spring I drove Mo to Ft. Collins to park him at my parent’s house for the summer while I hiked around on top of the mountain
ranges of Colorado. A disconcerting grinding had developed that spring in the transmission. On the drive home, the grinding progressively got worse. I found that if I pulled the gear shift
towards my knee it went away. As I drove, I had to pull harder and harder on the gearshift to stop the grinding, and by the time I reached Avon, I was pulling with both hands and steering
with my knees. A few miles further demons seized the gear shift. Despite my pulling, it writhed violently in my hands and the transmission ground hideously! Then there was one final profound
shake and a deafening bang. The motor killed but we glided peacefully down the road. A smoking chunk of steel was somersaulting down the freeway behind us. Mo had performed an exorcism. He
spat out that possessed chunk of grinding steel! We coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the freeway. I sat there thinking what to do. Hitch a ride into Vail and call a tow truck to haul Mo
away to an unknown grave? I figured what the hell, I'd try and turn over the engine. See what happened. Mo fired right up. Well, why not try to put him into gear? We pulled away in first,
then second. The grinding was gone. I didn't ask any questions and we glided smoothly the rest of the way to Ft. Collins. I wasn't sure what had happened, but figured it wasn't good and
wouldn't be cheap to fix. A friend of mine was selling an old but well taken care of Nissan 4x4 truck last summer. I figured I could build a topper on the back and have all I needed. It was
time to trade out Mo, I thought. I been many places and had many memories, but it was time to move on. The price was right on the truck and I bought it last fall and drove it home to Ft.
Collins. I decided to take Mo to a mechanic for an estimate. I went to a place named "Merlin's." If anyone could fix Mo, surely these guys could. Turns out it was the connection to the rear
drive shaft that had blown up. Merlin had an extra drive shaft lying in the garage and he said he could put it in for $150. Hmmm. My friend Nathan and I had been fantasizing about driving
down to Central America, and perhaps on to South America. This might be the perfect trip for this car who doesn't want to die. I decided to fix him and threw on a cheap used hood to spruce
him up for border crossings, and he was ready to go!
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