After Ravioli died last Sunday on a lonely stretch of Montana highway, my mechanic turned the ignition and immediately declared the three dreaded words, “broken timing belt.” I am a Toyota-owner devoted to taking my 1999 Rav 4 for the long haul. “Wouldn’t it be cool to hit 500,000 miles?” I often tell my friends and family, excited by the possibility that my vehicle is just now hitting middle-age. Only a very few select people (mostly mechanics) get as excited as I do when I talk of testing the endurance of my little SUV-that-could.

During the 12 hours between having Ravioli towed to White Sulphur Springs and getting the call from my mechanic detailing the extent of the damage, I was overwhelmed with a strange sadness. A giant hunk of metal, plastic, rubber, grease, and glass shouldn’t make me so emotional, yet it does. Some of the best times in my life were spent road-tripping with my mom in this vehicle. Driving down the highway, I can still picture her sitting there next to me, her purse tucked between her feet on the floor, a dog draped over her lap. I spot an old farm house, or some flowers, or a dog, or a train and I long for my parents — they both loved to take drives just to “look at things.” What I wouldn’t give to have them back in these seats for just one more trip down to Greensburg, me half-watching the road and half-looking where they point, hearing their voices saying, “Look over there…”

I know that cars don’t DIE — they just break, they stop working. We have the option to move onto something newer, better… or we can repair what we love. If only the rest of life worked that way. “You’re in luck,” my mechanic told me when he called the next morning. “Ravioli has a non-interference engine. Most new cars have interference engines which means that when a timing belt breaks it usually does serious damage. My dear, Ravioli just needs a new belt… and she’s ready to roll again.”

It’s silly, I know, but I teared up when he told me the news. Non-interference — I like the sound of that.

On the way home from the mechanic’s garage, Ravioli turned to 272,000. And, no, your computer screen isn’t plastered with dust, my dashboard is!