What I’m trying to say about my Subaru is that I own it and I own it, so to speak, and in the process I derive a certain self-respect. Let’s call it Subaru Pride.
Yes, I drive a Subaru. And yes, there are two car seats in the back, and princess stickers on the window, and a baby doll hanging out the door. This would embarrass some men. To me, it’s all just an indicator of my virility.
Even/especially the glitter-encrusted paper crown I’m sometimes forced to wear.
Granted, Juneau’s an extremely Subaru-tolerant place. Per capita, we’ve got to rank right up there with Boulder and Burlington. I don’t think anyone can compete with Berkeley. That place is Subariffic.
Anyway, no matter where you live, here are five great reasons to feel Subaru Pride:
- With studs – see, more masculine already – a Subaru can handle the gnarliest winter conditions.
- Subaru vehicles are like the XtraTuf® boots of station wagons, much like Bill Withers is the John Denver of funk.
- A Subaru is not a minivan. In fact, specifically because it seats only five, a Subaru offers the perfect excuse to bail on outings with the in-laws.
- Somehow, podcasts of NPR® sound better when listened to inside a Subaru. Yerba mate tea tastes better.
- Last, but not least, a Subaru is forever. Well, not forever, but six years ago, I put a down payment on one instead of an engagement ring. It still runs like new, even closing in on 100,000 miles, a good 70,000 of which we somehow accrued living in a city where the road ends less than 40 miles out of town.
In my time behind its wheel, more than anything else, my Subaru has taught me this: Ultimately, it’s not the kind of rig you’re running. It’s how you run it.
Geoff Kirsch is a writer based in Juneau, Alaska. In addition to various national publications, he also writes a humor column, “Slack Tide,” for the Juneau Empire. Read more at geoffkirsch.com.