The Legend of Spunky

Here's a picture I took on the way to work yesterday. Winter is on its way, which is a cue to tell you about how Spunky came into my life.

We have in our family a thing we call a Spunky Adventure. Every encounter with Spunky is an adventure. And of course you’ll all know that Spunky is my car.

Once, before my dotage, I rode my motorbike to work every day. I didn’t even own a car. Rain, snow, sleet, or hoards of Mongol riders attacking the motorway, it was just the same. On with the gear, and onto the bike.
I kid you not. Canberra winters are to be sneezed at – by which, I mean, they really do get cold.

One morning, it was minus 8C. Serious! My visor froze over, and my face was blasted with arctic air. On another morning, it hailed buckets, and icy water bearing a flood of hailstones washed over the road. Note my use of the word ‘bearing’. This is appropriate since hailstones are a pretty good imitation of ball bearings. Yeeehaaah!

I tolerated this for about ten years until one day, I said words resembling ‘f-it’, and went in search of a cheap car. The legend of Spunky was born. Spunky I was a 15 year old Corolla, and here began my daily adventures. All was good, but Spunky’s age started to show, ushering in the Spunky II epoch.

My daily Spunky adventure now sees me on the edge with a slightly newer Mazda 323, and double-digit below zero days are a mere trifle. And Mongol riders simply bounce off my bonnet, although I try to avoid that because they tend to clog the radiator.

But poor, poor old Spunky I came to an inglorious end. I sold him to Tegan, the school-aged daughter of a friend. She enjoyed a few months of adventures with him until some utterly repulsive, bog-headed scummy excuse for a dog’s dropping stole him. Spunky was found dumped, maliciously slashed and abused. Headlights, engine, and the interior were all wrecked. But, spunky to the end, I believe his last words to his attackers were something like “If you strike me down, Darth, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine”. Maybe one day they'll be found with the ghostly imprints of a Corolla up and down their arses.