She sits, no longer used, languishing in the field. Perhaps, like me, hoping for the lottery win that will once again set her on her tires and allow her to rock over the roads. A ’69 Ford Bronco, four wheel drive, once Barney purple, now faded to pink, body still solid. Loved and holding a spot in my heart. Known as “Betsy the Beast”, for her get up and go, often when nothing else would.
She came to us in New Hampshire and became something of an icon there as she was found five mornings a week in ‘her’ parking spot on the college lot or roaming the city as I wended my way through my home health clients neighborhoods.
I was out of town for a few weeks, Hubby was driving and stopped by a man who wanted to know “Where is the lady that is supppsed to drive this car?” He added that I was one of his mothers home health workers and was missed. She watched from the window for Betsy to arrive for her visits.

One morning, on our way to school, her shifter rods locked at the busiest intersection in town, tying up traffic. People who saw her daily on this route, slowed to ask if all was well as I dipped under the hood, armed with a screwdriver, to coax the offending metal back into synchronization. Betsy complied and we continued on, but the problem continued with increasing frequency. Shortly after, Hubby changed the worn out column shifter to a beautiful floor shift, Betsy and I were on the road again! “She shifts again like she did last summer…” I sang when she was mended.
When we moved from New Hampshire, Betsy came along, towed behind the pickup, loaded with our belongings, crowned with our canoe.
Betsy was my transport in Missouri as well, her purple body began to be known at the varied places I worked as physical Therapy assistant for home patients and rehab centers.
Finally, after taking us nearly 300,000 miles, Betsy had to be retired, and so she sits, patiently. Should I ever win the lottery, Betsy’s restoration is near the top of my list.

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