An ode to our Subaru

Or… a car is just a car, even if it isn’t

Yesterday we donated our 2002 Subaru Forester to Oregon Public broadcasting. I really love this car.

Its origin story is the end of medical school and beginning of residency. I had been five years without a car. There was no need (and no way) to have a car in Japan, and I did fine by foot/bike/T while in Boston. Now we were moving to Seattle, and in addition to getting around to various clinical sites, I wanted the ability to drive home to Portland and see family/friends when able.

Thankfully I won a small award at the end of medical school, and that became the car fund. I put my Dad on the mission — he is an excellent shopper for all things, knows many people, and has a particular knack for finding a great deal. He found this Subaru, which had been previously totaled and reconstructed, located about an hour outside of town and a great deal for $5000. It was a chance to give the car a new life, having been put back together by several mechanics. I was warned it may be difficult to ever resell, but that didn’t matter — I immediately loved it. I had lived away from the Pacific Northwest for nearly a decade, and there seemed no better way to be back in my home region than to get an AWD Subi of my own. As it turned out, I was able to attend my younger brother’s high school graduation in Portland, and then drove our new car to Seattle that same night to begin residency the next day.

There are so many memories in this car. I am not at all a car person, though I am a fan of loyalty and shared experience. That first year together in Seattle, Megan had flown home to Sacramento for Christmas. I was on call overnight on the 24th for general surgery at Seattle Children’s Hospital. And, at least from that night’s experience, I am confident there are a lot of kids who won’t go to the hospital on Christmas Eve unless it is pretty serious. I think we did back-to-back-to-back-to-back laparoscopic appendectomies for non-subtle appendicitis. Basically as soon as we were wrapping up one, the ED would call with another classic presentation. So then on Christmas morning I started driving to see family in Portland. Around Olympia, the coffee wore off, and I pulled off the freeway and took a nap in Subi for a few hours before (safely) finishing the journey.

A car, of course, is really interwoven with those who ride in it together. And for Megan and me, it is impossible to consider our Subi without thinking about Oscar.

Our sweet dog.

A couple of years had passed. Our apartment in Capitol Hill had become far too expensive, and we moved to a small house rental in Green Lake. And it is nearly mandatory to have a dog there, such that one can walk it around the lake. Megan and I had really wanted a dog, and my parents had some boxer puppies. One of those puppies had been a runt, and the veterinarian had suggested they let nature take its course. My mom and brother had fed it by dropper, even taking it to work in a shoe box. Somehow this puppy, named Oscar, had not just survived — he thrived. Ultimately he would grow to over 100 lbs, and was largest boxer we’d ever known. Rather lazy, and a bit skittish, Oscar became our dog. We drove him home in the Subaru, with one of the back seats laid down flat. And our Subi really became Oscar’s car. Whether it was Magnusson dog park, or off to the mountains for snow shoeing, or just on trips to Grocery Outlet and the garden center. We took him everywhere, in the car, with a seat laid down and often his head out the window. Oscar was something of a stinky dog, and the car picked up a bit of his scent. He and our cat Captain came to a peaceable arrangement as well.

Residency kept moving forward. Our Subi would have the occasional trouble, like when the headlights stopped working or the water pump gave out. But it was a solid car, always getting us where we needed to go. Down into California to see family, to the Yakima valley to visit hops and wines… all over the place.

Life kept happening as well. Our family was about to grow! Megan was due in February of our final year in Seattle. One night we went out to dinner at a quant, quirky restaurant in Fremont — the sort of place you definitely wouldn’t go with an infant or small child. We drove Subi home, and that night Megan went into labor — she was very keen not to go to the hospital too early, but when she had to brace against me and Subi as we got into the car, the odds of that seemed low.

We welcomed Robert into the world, and like many new parents then had that crazy moment when they actually let us take this baby home with us. The Subi was all ready — carseat attachment, infant insert, tires checked, and maybe even cleaned out a bit. I vividly remember pulling the car around in front of the hospital, helping Megan in and clicking Robert’s infant carrier in place, and starting another adventure together. Likewise, I cannot forget the excited sweetness of Oscar greeting Robert when we got home, and that instant bond of protection between them.

Just a few months later, Subi faced one of its defining challenges — driving all of us across North America to Toronto for fellowship.

We geared up with a 5 month old, Oscar, our sweet cat Captain (not a fan of any car), and all our stuff to traverse the continent. It was not a fast journey — we took about 9 days on this USA Farewell Tour. It was a full car, and seems even crazier in retrospect. But we made it.

Seeing the Toronto skyline and making it to our rental townhouse on the Danforth, we lovingly tapped on the dashboard and thanked our car for making it.

While I returned to taking the subway and walking to work, and Megan/Robert/Oscar also frequently walked everywhere (high WalkScore for sure), our Subaru took us on many adventures on the frozen tundra. It was Robert’s first Halloween, and Christmas, and many other firsts — we got our pumpkins and tree, and made it to the fortifications of Quebec City as well as toured the solid ice lake Ottawa (aside: Beavertails are delicious).

Oftentimes it is the small things. I remember dropping the car off to get an oil change at Canadian Tire and going to see the latest Star Wars movie — thank you Subi.

Soon enough it was time to head back to ‘Merica. We certainly weren’t going to all drive again — that particular madness only struck once. Megan flew back with Robert, and we had movers haul away most of our stuff (it is nice to have a relocation budget!). My high school best friend and prior-road trip companion (other long stories for other days) was kind enough to fly into Toronto, and together we made the drive across the Trans-Canada Highway with Oscar and Captain. We learned that Ontario is a very big province, and for hours and hours never saw a road leading further North.

We imagined a clear expanse leading to the Hudson Bay. We crossed an ice road, saw what looked like rock salt strip-mining, and witnessed the splendor around Banff. It was at a small crossing that we returned to the USA and made it to Spokane. This had been a faster trip, driving 8–12 hours a day. From there we were well within range, and as we drove into Portland — the end, really, of a 15-year odyssey that finally brought me home to work at OHSU & the Portland VA — we patted the dashboard and thanked Subi yet again.

Our Subaru Forester had been purchased just up the Columbia River Gorge, in Hood River. This hour-ish trip along I-84 is a meaningful one, as it was the drive made by my Pops (and some summers, with me) back and forth to work for decades. As a kid I remember him listening to OPB endlessly while on the road. Occasionally he’d get into jazz, or some other such thing, but then would return. Through the segments on the radio, and our own conversations that sprouted forth whenever I joined him, I gained an interest in local/regional/national/international affairs. My dad was knowledgable, and I wanted to be too. These drives and OPB were a pathway. When younger, this led to attending some Portland City Club meetings and volunteering with election campaigns. This interest spread, and led to many other adventures. In Seattle I became an avid KUOW listener. Kai Ryssdal and Marketplace became an important part of each weekday (thankfully even during our year in Canada, due to the magic of podcasts). While taking I-5 through Seattle isn’t quite as nice as spotting a bald eagle along the Gorge, it was a connection back to my dad and a desire to be a knowledgeable citizen.

It was as happy day, when finally back in Portland, that I received my OPB Sustaining Member sticker for the Subaru and essentially stuck that dial on 91.5 for KOPB.

Sure, at this point, done with training and all — we could have retired the Subaru. But it was a great car, and my Dad got us connected with the best old mechanic in town — this grease jockey worked out of a tiny side-shop hidden behind a gas station, and was quite the character. He helped keep Subi in fine driving shape, occasionally hollering at Megan and me for not bringing it in more regularly. I’d ask him a few times whether Subi was worth still fixing.

He’d reply, “Can I buy it?”

I passed on the offer. Occasionally we’d get a note passed under the windshield, with a message and a number to call if we were interested in selling. Sometimes another similar year Forester would honk at us on the road, windows down and waving at the 2002 vintage. How could we part with that?

Plus, after years and years of school and debt and training, I had found Jim Dahle and the WCI Network. A car is meant to get from place to place, should be bought in cash (we had!), and certainly the higher priority is paying off those loans. We had made a financial plan, and driving the Subaru into the ground was part of that plan. I’d see others at the hospital with new cars, or another new lease, but I’d just keep taking Subi to work each day, listening to OPB (or Marketplace podcast) each way. We did get some new WeatherTech mats and a stereo with Bluetooth for hand-free calls. Even in the Beforetimes, I kept water and some food and emergency supplies in the back. During an uncharacteristically long winter storm — which Portland doesn’t particularly handle well — Subi got me up the Hill and back again every day without troubles or even chains. And, 4.5 years into practice, we paid off our final student loans (combined total: $500k)! Thank you Subi.

It was the commuter car, but eventually not much else. It made 1–2 trips to Bend, but we soon switched to taking our other car — a Nissan Rogue purchased after a year of hard labor with Hertz. When our sweet second son Deacon entered the scene, it was our other car that brought him home.

The Subi started to overheat sometimes, though it and I had a good arrangement, and I knew how to manage it. It leaked a bit of oil, and occasionally had a funny noise. It didn’t seem to like it when loaded up with lots of stuff or people anymore. With about 200,000 miles of love and itself about 20 years old, the Subaru was slowing down, and struggled to get acceleration on hills.

It wasn’t the only one aging. Oscar, our sweet Oscar, had grown old with us. Nothing seemed to help his skin, though we and many vets tried. He loved us, and our boys, and that car. He held on until Deacon was born and home safe, but that was his last gift to us. When it was time, I took him on a final drive in the Subaru — back seat down, head and tongue out the window. We said our goodbyes, and we put him down to rest. The car kept his scent for long thereafter, and there are probably plenty of his short boxer hairs still in his Subi. It was hard driving the Subaru home without him.

In our grief, it wasn’t possible to think of replacing Oscar. He had joined Captain, in ashes, on our dresser. With two boys our days and our cars were full. The Pandemic came. With volunteer help, we made a bunch of masks from operating room wrapping sheets — Just In Case — ferried around in the Subi during production. In the early fog, cleaning myself off in the Subi before entering our house was part of the routine. Masks found their way to the rearview mirror and the gear shift. When so much had changed and kept changing, the Subaru was a constant. Hearing the latest episode of Marketplace, now joined with Make Me Smart, was a refuge and a connection backwards. But as COVID-19 entered deeper into 2021, and our boys had gotten a bit older, we wanted a dog. And the Subaru was Oscar’s car… nor would two car seats plus kid accouterments plus a dog possibly fit in a 2002 Forester (nor the Subi handle it) for a drive to the Oregon Coast or Mt Hood. Then, tragically, our mechanic-and-now-family-friend passed away. We are grateful for all he gave us and our Subaru, and could hardly think to take the car to anyone else.

During a Pandemic holiday — no travel, not much to do, still getting >100 emails and several pages a day — we rented an SUV for a few days and a minivan for a few days. The first time we pulled a minivan into the garage and opened the dual-sliding doors for the kids, our decision was made. While it took awhile, and we basically had to order the van before it started production, this summer we welcomed Glenda — our metallic green 2021 Toyota Sienna hybrid AWD. And we all love it… including Berry (full name: Strawberry, as determined by our boys and what we were eating that night) — our wonderful Bernedoodle puppy. We drove him home in our minivan — his minivan.

A car is just a car. But an era is just an era — that doesn’t make it unimportant or devoid of meaning. The Subaru’s time with us was at an end. Megan would drive the Sienna most days, and me the Rogue. What to do with our sweet blue car (as the boys call it)… it still has that salvage title, and I know it could use some work. But I hoped it may have another life, or at least some more meaning.

There was only one decision that made any sense, and yesterday we donated our car to OPB. It is basically is infused with the sounds of KOPB, NPR and APM as it is, and we all owe so much to public radio.

Perhaps it’ll be sold for parts — it has a great catalytic converter… fixing that up was our mechanic’s final project. Like with organ donation, parts of our Subaru could help many other cars. And that would be great. Alternatively, maybe someone will get a great deal on it at auction. Maybe they will fix it up, and give it a third life. Maybe I’ll see it on the road — I’d know it, for absolute sure. It whatever form it next takes, we thank it for all it gave us, and hope it has more to give.

Goodbye, our Subaru. On this Thanksgiving, it is among the many things we are grateful for.

PS: Did I hear that the all-electric Subaru Solterra is coming soon?