Today was my first day at a new job — I’m still at Cloudflare, but moved teams to be the new Product Manager for Stream, our video encoding and delivery platform. That’s why I opted to remain in Portland in a hotel rather than trying to last-flight-out and hope nothing got snarled in the machinations of air travel. Given the particulars of my previous role, it felt odd to turn on my computer and have few meetings, no to-do list, and no chat/email backlog waiting for me. But as the day went on, I started to find my footing and now have a better view of how to get started. I’m excited for this new adventure.
I also made a somewhat costly decision. We made it across The Oregon Trail, and although I expected my bottom-dollar prairie schooner to attract more attention, it did not, and it was time to face that fact. I fielded a few more messages today — every single one disappointed by the lack of recent service to the PCV and timing belt. So between meetings, I figured out what wrecker service handles donations for Oregon Public Broadcasting — an old client of mine — and made a call. I can drop my Wagon with them in the morning, sign the title over on-site, and at least it will generate a pittance for a good cause. After all, the previous long-time owner of my wagon donated it in Texas, so it felt like continuing the cycle of goodwill. And my hope was that donating the vehicle intact might keep it from turning into the next pile of bones to pick at the junkyard.
But this afternoon, I got a new response from a message thread that had been dead since Saturday. Someone named Bret wanted to come all the way up from Salem to take a look. I almost turned him down after yesterday’s depressing triple play, but I decided to give it one more shot. I agreed to meet him down at a Whole Foods across town after work.
Since I’m on Central Time hours, that gave me enough time to get out of my hotel-coop for a run around a little lake and a scenic drive down Marine Drive along the Columbia shoreline before cleaning up and heading south. Just being in sunlight was good for the soul.
Bret and his buddy, whose name I didn’t catch, beat me there, so the exhaust smell (that Ria didn’t like) had no time to dissipate before they walked up. I was crossing my fingers that, being based in Salem, they wouldn’t care as much because emissions testing is only done in Portland and Medford… “Well it smells like an old Volvo,” they chuckled.
And the standard transmission (that Richard didn’t like) was actually the selling point for Bret. Also his buddy figured that might be a way to haggle on the price a bit, since there is apparently little interest in manuals in this market. Oops.
So Bret hopped in and took it for a spin around the shopping center. He came back a short while later and my own optimism was starting to get the better of me. I wanted to be prepared for the anguish and logistical complication when this fell apart… but he was smiling like he knew he was about to do something stupid.
Then they went about a rather thorough search for rust, of which they found plenty — apparently they pulled a vehicle history report that noted its formative years in Wisconsin. At one point I saw Buddy holding flakes of something in his hand… “I hope that’s food you’ve got there,” I said.
No, it’s the rest of your floorboard that came off when I poked it. Do we get a discount because the driver’s footwell carpet is an exterior feature? But I mean… can’t be that hard to patch over… but I’m not doin’ it for ya on this one, Bret. No more rust repair for me.
He fiddled with his rust flakes like they were poker chips, but stated shaking his head, knowing Bret was about to do something rather foolish. Then there were questions about the spare seatbelt in the backseat — whereupon I launched into the retelling of that saga. He seemed unsurprised and said he’s got a couple 850s back home he could steal from if he needed another replacement. After a little more of the roadtrip story came out, he ultimately decided to go for it. I even took their opening bid… I’d already knocked a grand off my Facebook Marketplace ad and my only other plan was to literally give it to NPR, so I was happy to line my pockets with some cash (and a great deal more than a junkyard would have offered) and walk away.
And I was delighted to have been able to sell this wagon to an enthusiast who seemed to be going into it with his eyes open, too. He knew this was a gamble. But he wanted to take the bet; he wanted this car. He wanted an 850 specifically, he wanted it with a standard, he wanted it to be kinda old (and thus kinda cheap). And he knew what all went with that but was excited to get into it.
I walked into the Whole Foods and shared the news with EG over the phone as I stood by the window, watching the two of them pop the hood again, poke around a few more things, and then button it back up — drive away in their new prairie schooner. Once they were safely out of sight, I made a little takeout box from the hot bar, grabbed a beer from the Build-a-Six-Pack cooler, and sat outside in the cool evening air for a quiet victory dinner.
Meanwhile, Evan M made good time down from Twin Falls, Idaho to Salida, Colorado and managed to sneak in some good scenery. He’s set to go to Optima Lake in Oklahoma tomorrow, a waypoint he’s always wanted us to visit but is not within a six hour drive of pretty much anything else we’re interested in. So he’s doing it solo.
Optima Lake was a recreation area with picnic tables, a trail, and campsites around a manmade lake that would be filled in by an Army Corps of Engineers dam project in the area… which… though the dam was constructed, for reasons I’m unclear on, the reservoir never filled nor is the dam actually holding back much water. So the facilities are basically abandoned. A ghost park.
George has put the Fiero into storage until he returns to Portland for football season if not before, and he is lounging in working from his fancy suite on Hayden Island until Wednesday.
Evan G is also back at work, has announced his new job (putting him knee-deep in transition preparation) and is workin’ the particulars of a book deal. But in his spare time he’s already starting to put plans together for our climbing roadtrip in July — but I think we’ll pick a car we already own this time.
With my wagon now sold, I’m feeling like the trip really is nearly finished, so I’m much less bitter about the hovel hotel. I’ll office there tomorrow morning and then relocate to the airport for something better before I fly back tomorrow night.