Over the years, your car becomes you. All those miles driving with friends and family. All those arrivals at trailheads and put-ins. And, of course, the stickers you apply.
Moab Man joined our Honda CRV after a particularly fun road trip three years ago through southeast Utah. It's a very simplified version of a real petroglyph just outside Moab, Utah. We LOVED Moab Man. He was like a family pet, only one you didn't have to feed or walk. He was our freedom and our wanderlust.
Moab Man, and the car he was attached to, went to the junkyard last week.
All four of us were packed into the car and on our way to Ely for the week. A car ran a red light in downtown Duluth and bashed us hard, sending us into oncoming traffic where we got bashed hard again. Air bags went off, it was way too loud and way too scary.
Moab Man made it through the accident without a scratch, unlike me (burns and bruises) or Sally (bruises all over). We also left the Minnesota state park sticker attached to the car.
The car was totaled, and now we're wrestling with the insurance adjusters to replace the vehicle. But there's no replacing Moab Man.