Adventure #6: One Of Jimmy's Favorite Bad Ideas

One of Jimmy's Favorite Bad Ideas

Some treasures aren't found in the woods.

Some are parked in the driveway, quietly judging your financial decisions every time you walk by.

Meet the Grey Duchess.

A Niagara Gray Range Rover P38 Callaway Limited Edition, number 4 of only around 220–235 ever produced.

Still almost perfect. Still runs like the day she left the factory. Still classy enough to make poor financial decisions seem like perfectly reasonable investments.

The only thing the Grey Duchess doesn't run on is my current gas budget.

These days, I mostly start her up, smile like an idiot, remember what gas costs, and conduct one final archaeological dig between the seats in hopes that Past Jimmy left Future Jimmy enough change to make it home.

Before anyone gets inspired, Jimmy's history includes scars, scrapes, bruises, blisters, broken bones, bites, and enough questionable decisions to make a first-aid kit quietly sigh.

Please don't do what Jimmy does.

Jimmy has tried many things. Surviving them should never be mistaken for a recommendation.

Then there was that winter.

Our city received a deeply unreasonable amount of snow. The kind that makes ordinary roads disappear and perfectly sensible people decide today is an excellent day to stay home.

Right about then, the imaginary background music started. You know, the kind that politely warns everyone a terrible idea is about to receive full approval.

Jimmy looked outside and thought,

"The Grey Duchess needs to stretch those gears and sensors."

My partner gave me the look.

Not the "don't do it" look.

The "I already know you're going to do it, so I'll just wait for the story afterward" look.

Music cranked.

Just me, my partner, the Grey Duchess, and a small amount of chaos waiting up the road.

We came to a well-known snow hill where several capable four-wheel drives were already taking turns trying to make the climb.

Some made respectable progress.

Some returned backward with considerably less dignity than they started with.

Jimmy watched for a minute...

...then quietly promoted himself to next in line and let the imaginary soundtrack take it from there.

"I'm doing it."

My partner didn't even blink.

That announcement contained absolutely no new information.

Four-wheel drive engaged.

Then the Grey Duchess took her turn.

She found her footing, climbed steadily, and carried us all the way to the top.

No drama.

No frantic wheelspin.

No mechanical complaints.

I did my very best to look like I'd expected that all along.

We sat at the top for a moment, took in the view, eased down the other side, and quietly disappeared.

To this day, I honestly don't remember seeing anyone else make that hill.

Maybe someone did.

Maybe they didn't.

Jimmy was far too busy pretending that had been the plan from the beginning.

The Grey Duchess did stretch those sensors.

One little ride-height sensor stretched itself directly into retirement.

Apparently, even great memories come with repair bills.

Chaos has always been a little expensive.

Some treasures are gold.

Some are places.

And some are memories made with the right vehicle, the wrong idea, loud music, a remarkably patient partner, and just enough luck to make the story funny instead of catastrophic.

The Grey Duchess has taken me places where turning around would have been the first intelligent decision of the day.

After everything I've asked of number 4, retirement has been thoroughly earned.

Still commanding attention.

Still running like a dream.

Still making me smile every time I see her, looking as though she remembers every bad idea we've ever had... and quietly wondering what Jimmy has planned next.

The gas station, however, and I remain in a very complicated relationship.

Jimmy is a fictional treasure-hunting persona. The raccoon insists he is real.