Every guy I know has a short list of dream cars. And a lifted Jeep Wrangler is on every one of those lists, including mine. Yet today I’m selling my Jeep.
Over the past eight months the Wrangler, affectionately known as Champ, has become part of the family. If you have ever owned a Jeep you know what I’m talking about; they simply have personality in a way that no other car does. They become an extension of you.
We bought it because we needed a second car, and my wife had the gloriously un-selfish proposal of getting “a truck or something fun”, and Champ was the epitome of “something fun”.
I’ll never forget my introduction to the un-spoken Jeep Wrangler Fraternity on the day I first drove it home. As I was about to pass another Wrangler for the first time I decided to wave. But to my shock, they waved first. If you own a Wrangler, you know what I’m talking about.
Or the first time I took it to the rock park; I was freaking out, scared a wheel was about to pop right off, while Anna was having a blast and calling me a wimp.
Or the trips to get ice-cream and play frisbee at the park during the summer.
No doubt the Jeep has been a blast to own, but little did I know how much it would disrupting my lifestyle to keep it maintained.
You can’t own an old Jeep without wrenching on it. They’re not like Hondas where you just drive them and put gas in them; you’ve got to be committed to work on your Jeep. And I simply don’t have the time or know-how to keep Champ running like a top.
The good news is that the Jeep will be going to a good home, and I am now in the market for a new car.