Farewell sweet prince

*Sigh*

So last night, coming home from Okotoks, the camaro starts to 'backfire'. I'm not worried, assume it has to do with the goofy sensor on the computer. Then the 'backfiring' gets more frequent. Then it gets more or less constant. Then I realize that it was one of the tailpipes breaking off the muffler, and that about 3/4 of my exhaust system is dragging on the ground behind me. Actually, last night it just looked like a tailpipe, so I was full of hope. This morning I crawl underneath and realize its more like a tailpipe was the only part still attached to the car.

So there's enough else wrong with the camaro that it's done for. That's right... scrap city. *sniff* It was my first car, I paid $3200 for it, put maybe $500 into it over it's lifetime, learned how to do body work on it, replaced the radiator and alternator with my dad, took it into the field surveying (that was awesome... it was a great survey car), cruised many a warm day with the top down, squeezed 80,000 kms out of the almost dead tranny, painted the spoiler, rammed a guy in an 86 chrysler, fit an entire kayak, and on occasion a raft and all the neccesary whitewater gear, perfected my dukes of hazzard driving skills, went star gazing with the top down drove all the way too and from Regina in a snow storm with a severe lack of sleep, and many many other car related memories. And now... sniff... its dead.

It was a good run, and thanks to Dave, the sketchy biker who sold it to me for cash under the table and took me to the harley diner while it got inspected for selling me such a great car. It's the end of an era. Now I have no excuses left to have a mullet, or blast the AC/DC cassette tape Dave left in it when I bought it. I guess I'll have to fix up the valiant and work on my pompadour and get some bowling shirts.