Why I bought the worst car of my life.

Her name is Scarlet, and she wants to kill me.

No, I'm not using hyperbole, this vehicle is decidedly devising my demise. Perhaps I should back up a little at this point, you haven't yet met my Jeep.

I was perusing Craigslist with my bff Greg, as was my custom, searching for a vehicle that could deliver me and, ideally, at least one other occupant to deep forest locations where adventure and untold action surely awaited. The parameters of a successful find included four wheel drive, fuel efficiency, low cost, simplicity, and a removable roof. Candidates ranged from Scouts to CJ7s, and the choices were each enticing. Greg and I found a Scout that had most of what we were looking for (minus fuel economy, thanks to the 392 big block) and met the owner for a test drive. It was horrendous. Then I found the posting that would ruin my life.

Mind you, I already owned a 4Runner that had four wheel drive, seated 4 comfortably, got 19 MPG consistently, and was paid for, but I wanted to pull the roof off for the 3 sunny days Seattle gets each year. And four wheeling meant at least a 2 hour drive to Walker Valley, or a 3 hour drive to Naches. And I had no other vehicle.

The post was clear enough; 1946 Willys with a V8 (goodbye fuel economy), four wheel drive (check), an attainable price tag (check), and no roof at all (sort of a check, right?). I called and set up a test drive. Greg reminded me that I had neither money nor a second vehicle. To me, it was already too late, I was dreaming lovely things involving a decidedly compromised vehicle.

We arrived at the seller's house, and Greg gave me a look that said it all; this was the one. We babbled with the owner, my heart enduring an unending array of ache as the owner himmed and hawed over whether the little Jeep ran, could be driven, or was even for sale. He finally handed me the keys, offering a low speed test drive, given that the carb wouldn't idle and the tires were weather-checked.

I still remember that drive. If you haven't been in love yet, you'll likely misunderstand the feelings I knew at that moment. For those of you that have encountered such a thing, may God have mercy on us all. The little Jeep, with too little leg room, too little fuel economy, no roof or license plate, was perfect. No, it didn't idle smoothly. Yes, it did have four shifters. These things may have been blemishes to someone else, but to me they were beauty.

I left the seller's house with a promise to return, cash in hand. I feverishly sold the 4Runner, borrowed money, and almost started selling Plasma to collect the funds. Each step was a blur with visions of my lovely Willys the only point of clarity.

Finally, with the entire asking price in my sweaty hands, I met with the seller. Remember, I no longer had another car. I held the entirety of my worldly possessions in cash form and was about to trade it for a vehicle that was 65 years old. The seller crushed my now tender heart once more, asking where the trailer was. I couldn't speak, I was cold. He pointed out that the Jeep idled poorly and was going to be difficult to drive. Air reentered my lungs as my body snapped back to life. I told him that I'd feather the throttle. He finally accepted this and traded my cash for a title. Then she was mine.

That first drive, that first real drive, was 45 minutes before sunset on a twisty road in a valley filled with breath taking beauty. I discovered that my little Jeep had the most lusty roar when I tapped the throttle, second only to the full-bodied howl developed when jabbed to the floor. The wind in my hair, the acoustic delights of very little exhaust between my ear and a built 1965 Mustang 289 V8, and the knowledge that she was mine.

I later discovered that this Jeep would rip through each gear quicker than I could shift between them, that she was faster than anything I'd ever owned, that she got 8-10 MPG, and that a car show magically appeared wherever the Willys was parked. People offered me money, which I gladly turned down. Other drivers on the road would catch up to us just to wave, honk, or give a thumbs up. That's when Scarlet earned her name. She was quite a catch.

When it rains, as is often the state of Seattle's somewhat unimaginative clime, water becomes needles in the eye while driving Scarlet. All known remedies shy of ponying $500 for a roof have fallen short of the ideal when it comes to sorting this error out.

The fuel economy is so poor, driving to and from work, a 10 mile round trip, mind you, would cost me $200 per month. And that's if I drive nicely, which is hard to do with that kind of unlimited power at my right foot. Greg and I drove to Walker Valley for an evening of rowdy wheeling, and $70 disappeared in less than 150 miles. Scarlet may be many things, but a cheap date she is not.

Why then, as many of you would ask, wouldn't I sell this Jeep? I'd happily reply that you are all crazy. Whatever Scarlet demands of me, it is far too little a price for the sheer joy she brings to my life. Sure, I can't really drive her. And no, I don't really fit behind the wheel. And yes, I need a personal loan before contemplating a trip to anywhere further than I can immediately physically see when setting off. But she's so perfect, it hurts me. This is the vehicle I will die with. Actually, I'll likely die in her. Ah, what a way to go.