7. Forrest Gump: 1996 Toyota Corolla G-Touring Wagon

FORREST GUMP: 1996 TOYOTA COROLLA G-TOURING

In a previous posting, I briefly mentioned the story of how I found my car. I had been walking around the used car lots in the Wellington CBD, haggling with salesmen, test driving cars, all to no avail. I returned to Paekakariki quite frustrated, still feeling unsettled from living in a perpetual state of limbo. At that opportune moment, Bobby and Verena came home from a walk and said, “hey, we found your car!” A girl down the street was selling a 1996 Toyota Corolla G-Touring station wagon with 107,000 km (66,000 miles) on it for $5000 NZD ($3300 USD or 2500 Euros). I think the Man upstairs must have taken pity on me and decided to work a little magic. I immediately walked down to the house, test drove it, and gave her a deposit on the spot. It was just what I was looking for. It’s a 4WD, manual, 4 cylinder, and obviously economical on petrol. With the price of fuel here quite expensive by Yank standards and ridiculously cheap by European standards, I wanted something that would only sip fuel rather than guzzle it.

When I first saw the car, it had so much dirt and grime on it that the color was barely discernible. Black, green, blue? I was stumped. But it ran well, so that’s really the only thing that concerned me.

I took it to the Chris, the local Paekakariki mechanic, several days later and paid $60 for a pre-purchase inspection which, fortunately, came out well spare a few minor things you’d expect in a used car. The only thing I didn’t have tabs on was the timing belt. As a guy only buys second-hand cars, I’m very wise to the importance of knowing the status of the timing belt. Before I’d even bought the car, I made an appointment to change it out. Smart move on my part because he told me the old one was shot. Knock on wood, I pray there won’t be any other major mechanical issues to address.

RUN FORREST, RUN!!!

For those of you familiar with writings from my previous adventures, you’ll recall I always name my cars based on some noteworthy trait or characteristic. I affectionately named the beater ‘84 Toyota Corolla I owned in Australia back in 1998/99 Bessie May due to her undying loyalty and resilience to death no matter what the odds. My second Toyota in Australia, an ’86 Corolla, was named the Blue Bubble due to car’s body shape.

I’ve decided to dub this car Forrest Gump due to its forest green color, unassuming, unimpressive, soccer mom-esque station wagon frame (complete with bull bars), and its unwavering reliability. It is, after all, a Toyota! It’s also a 4WD, so I’m expecting to dig it neck deep in beach sand with the tide rising quickly, only to escape a saltwater drowning just in the nick of time.

SHOWER IT WITH LOVE….AND MAYBE A LITTLE WATER FROM TIME TO TIME

Every time you buy a pre-loved (or pre-neglected) vehicle, it takes a while to settle into it and learn all the new features, the quirks, rattles, etc. It kind of becomes your child, where you know what’s “normal,” and any little hiccup or sputter catches your attention. I knew when I test drove the car that it would become “my baby.” It just felt right and I went with it.
Once the deal was sealed, I took it away to shower it with love…..and a little water to get rid of the thick layer of neglect that was coating the barely discernible green paint. As I washed the car, I noticed the conspicuous presence of tiny little white flecks of paint ALL over the entire car. They weren’t noticeable when the car still donned its mud coat, so I really got blind-sided on this one. I spent probably 10 to 15 minutes on each panel scrubbing and rubbing off the paint. I actually said to myself out loud, “well, thank God I rescued you just in time.” Poor Forrest craved attention!!

CLUB SODA, NOT SEALS

The surprises didn’t stop there. There was something peculiar about the car that I didn’t really notice so much during the test drive. After I bought the car and drove it around for a day or two, I noticed a persistent “aroma” to put it lightly, and one that refused to part ways with the vehicle. Actually, it was the “essence” of the previous owner that refused to part ways with Forrest.

A musty stench of death body odor emanated from the driver’s seat and carpet. The girl I bought Forrest from was what you might euphemistically call the “artsy, granola, crunchy, UC Berkeley, Birkenstock-wearing, save the whales, hug a tree, club soda, not seals” type. I was tipped off to the hygiene habits by the presence of body hair where it should never grow on a woman, namely the 1.5 to 2 inch-long hairs growing off the mole on her “chneck” (the crease of the chin/neck). Then there was the rather impressive plumage from her greasy mullet (see http://www.mulletsgalore.com/ for tutorial) which also appeared to have weathered a fair bit of neglect. The oily, clumped together look may have indicated a regular combing with a dried fish bone, but I could be wrong.

In all fairness, she was a lovely girl, friendly and well-mannered by all means. She was a painter which would explain the paint flecks. And having done a little painting myself from time to time, I know it’s possible to work up a bit of a sweat. I reasoned that perhaps it was a conscientious effort to save water in New Zealand, even though with all the rain here, a water shortage is the last thing concerning Kiwis.

THE ENTITY

My current saga reminds me of that episode of Seinfeld where some guy with body odor gets into his car and then Jerry can’t get rid of the foul smell. He goes to great lengths to try and rid the car of “the entity,” all to no avail. Well, I’m living a real life version of that. I’ve been to the auto parts shop for some bionic antibacterial odor eater and have been spraying it on the upholstery every day for the last two weeks I’ve owned the car. It has mildly “worked” but I can still detect a hint of the original smell which refuses to be expunged. I fear that perhaps the smell is actually a living, breathing, carbon-based, higher order life form alive, well, and thriving deep within the spongy cushion of my seat. I fear I may have to call on the services of an exorcist to purge the demon, but pray that I won’t have to resort to such drastic levels.

iTard

I confess I’ve recently become something of an “iTard.” Before I bought Forrest, I noticed he came with a radio/cassette player, perfect for me to plug in my cassette adapter for my iPod. I imagined myself cruising along New Zealand’s wide open roads with over 1000 songs at my fingertips, choosing the perfect song to match the idyllic afternoons. Yeah. Right.
I went from iTard to bonafide retard. Every time I popped the cassette into the player, it spat out the tape. I’d push it back in and after a few seconds it would spit it back out again. On top of the cassette fiasco, I learned that my FM radio frequencies went from 76 to 90, then flipped back to 76 again. No matter what adjustments I made, I could NOT get the stupid radio to go higher than 90.

I drove around to some local car audio shops to see if they’d ever heard of this. I soon learned the cassette player can’t use my adapter because there is no physical tape inside. The mechanisms don’t sense any tension on the heads, so it assumes there’s a malfunction and spits out the tape.

As for the radio, it turns out that Japanese cars imported FROM Japan have a narrower frequency range. Basically the stereo and cassette player are useless to me. I only have two cassettes to my name, with some poor quality radio clips from a few years ago. With the radio, I have managed to find a single AM news radio program and one crappy, static-plagued FM station that plays romantic oldies.

A LITTLE SUFFERING'S GOOD FOR THE SOUL, AND THE AMUSEMENT OF OTHERS

In spite of all these little surprises with Forrest, I am happy that it makes for great story telling. Yep, kinda makes me a bit nostalgic and misty as I think back to various moments of personal trauma. Nothing like sleeping in Mexico City airport, freezing my ass off during an 18-hour layover, three times on three different trips. Getting charged by pissed off elephants in Africa and thinking you’re going to die. Or the boat engine conking out on us in the Beqa Channel in Fiji and expecting to drift out to sea (Larry and Geoff, remember? You were there). Yeah, I hated every minute of it at the time, but now I’m glad we can all have a laugh at my expense. Life’s as good as you want to make it for yourself. Just be sure to add a little suffering in there from time to time; it’ll make you a lot more interesting!!