You might recall that last month I whipped together a lil’ video in order to apply for the Fiesta Movement – an innovative marketing effort by Ford that gave 100 entertaining and influential bloggers a new car to drive around for 6 months and share their thoughts and adventures with the world. Well, lucky for me, I got chosen – one of 4000+ applicants.

I spent a fantastic couple days up in New York City getting some information and training on the program. It does not suck to spend 24 hours with a group of people who are equally, if not more nerdy than me about blogging, Twitter and the Internet arts (shout out to my new friends Seth, Alexis, John, Sarah, Grace, Jody, Jill, Joe, Bliss, Eric and Alex). Here’s the first clip I just uploaded – an introduction to the car and a rainy training day at the racetrack.

There’s a bit more to it than simple videos and witty car quips. The best part of this is that Audrey and I are already planning some road trip adventures for this summer and we’ll be extra sure to make you some entertaining videos while we’re on the road.

A couple weeks ago, my buddy Julia invited me to make a video for the Fiesta Movement program she was helping put together. I was a bit reticent at first, being the busy fella that I am. But after she told me that they’d hook me up with the totally sweet 2011 Ford Fiesta for 6 months in exchange for sending me on little adventures that’d I’d twitter and vlog about, I came around to the idea. Fun!

Today I found myself with an empty Sunday afternoon I thought, “what the hell?” So here it is, in all it’s nerdy glory. I know I’m rather shameless y’all. Please forgive in advance.

I recently had to sell the greatest car that ever lived. Here’s a eulogy (aka classified ad) I wrote for him:
This is Sparky, my trusty steed.

I’m extremely sad to sell him, but I must. He’s had a good life with me. We’ve traveled to every edge of this continent together (and thus 89 of his 188,000 miles — and they’re highway miles!). We’ve been companions on many a strange adventure. He’s lasted through four girlfriends, lived in five states, drove countless road trips, been slept in, slept on, buried in snow, driven off-road in the desert, off-road in the jungle, off-road in the ghetto. He’s never ONCE broken down on me. He’s a damn fine automobile.

I never really used him to commute, though he did have a rather unhappy two-month stint as a Pizza Hut delivery jockey. He didn’t like that much. I paid him back by traveling to Asia for 3 months with that pizza money, and no one drove him while I was gone; he got a nice long vacation.

Everyone says it’s a strange coincidence, I suppose, that he’s never broken down considering he’s a Ford Escort. I always say, “that’s because he’s the GT model…” I’m convinced that, though a machine, he has a heart. That thing just kept on ticking.

His ticker is wearing down now, though, I’m afraid. He’s lost a little of the ol’ spark. He’ll probably need a new starter sooner than later. The paint is less than radiant red anymore. And the interior is getting that well-worn feeling of an old shoe – comfy, but not pretty.

I will miss him dearly. I already do. He’s been parked at my parent’s house for the last 4 months, sitting in that strange purgatory. I’m unwilling to bring him to the scrap yard as my dad demands. He just doesn’t have the emotional attachment that I do.

“No one’s going to buy that old junky car,” he says.

“He’s NOT junky. Someone is going to love it. He’s got soul. And he’s got character. Character goes a long way.”

As the weeks go on, I feel the increasing weight. Sell him, send him to the scrap yard, give him away. I don’t know. He’s so obviously the symbol of a part of my life passing. My carefree twenties. My vagabonding era. The coast of California, the mountains of Colorado, the rough and tumble neighborhoods of Philadelphia.

There was that one time, Sparky was taking my crazy (literally psychotic) French ex-girlfriend and me on a road trip around the Southwest and up the coast of to San Francisco. I had been trying to dump that nut for a while, but she just kept hanging on like a bad cold. Under the guise of adventure, we loaded him up, and hit the road. When we got to San Francisco, ready to look for some under-the-table work for her, I told her I had to go back to Colorado for a couple weeks, but that I would soon rejoin her.

Nah, that didn’t happen. Once Sparky and I were free, we were lighter than air. Flying across Route 50, “The Loneliest Highway in America,” on the leeward side of the Sierras, past Reno, past Fallon, speeding across Nevada with a tailwind, hitting 80, 85mph (I’ll be honest, that’s top speed) towards freedom.

I’ve fallen in love in Sparky, too. With a beautiful blonde hippy, whilst camping in the Sangre de Cristo’s out of Spark’y hatchback. I was driving her the long way to the train station in Albuquerque the week after 9/11 (remember all the flights go cancelled?). We felt so quiet and disconnected during that week, touring through the mountains. It was so surreal, like we were the only humans on planet Earth. Us and the car. It was truly magical, and it turned out to be the beginning of a two-and-a-half year relationship. Sparky moved us back and forth across the country twice in a ragged statement of our gypsy-ness. She and I even lived in a tent (and thus Sparky’s hatchback again) in the Berkshires of Western Massachusetts for an entire summer of peaceful New England creek-side picnics and blessed out hippy utopian dreaming.

I want him to go to a good home. He needs some TLC, to be sure. But not too much. He’s still worth the effort. If you need some cheap transportation, you drop me a line, let me know. And if you need any tips on road tripping around the U.S., feel free to ask. Sparky and I are pros. If you want to be the next phase of this storied car’s history, write me back. Let’s talk.

Thanks.

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