Saturday, September 12, 2009


I consider Nigel to be my first child. Nigel was my 1998 Land Rover Discovery that I drove during college. My friends and I had a thing for naming our cars and Nigel just seemed like a snobby, alcoholic old englishman who would not dare be caught roaming the countryside in anything other then this fine example of english craftsmanship, needless to say it stuck. We went EVERYWHERE in Nigel.

He came to be known as the rover of trust, whether we were out galavanting for the night or on our famous ODFD's driving around newport for hours on end it always seemed that we would spill our guts to one another during our drives. The rule was ANYTHING (and I mean anything) that was talked about in the rover of trust, stayed in the rover of trust. If this car could talk we would all be in some big sh*&!

Winters in Newport could get pretty rough and we used to get tons of snow days because you literally could not open the front door to get to class (isnt that why they made windows?... and land rovers) So we would pile into Nigel and head out to stock up on supplies right around midnight (the night was just getting started, I dont think we ever slumbered before 3am!) then drive around admiring the solace that the snowfall would bring to the island.

There were many a wild nights that we would pile in and head downtown for a night out then end up having to walk home and retrieve nigel in the morning. Even when our dorm burned down in college and it was certain we had lost everything the one thing I was concerned about was my nigel. I remember calling my dad the morning of the fire (it was 6am in california and crying to him that I was going to loose the land rover, of course he said who could care less at least we were ALIVE...) Being pretty much indestructable nigel survived but alas I did not have the keys to move him away from the destruction so.... I made the fire fighters go in an they had to hack the melted keys of the coffee table with an axe, but I got them and was so thankful.

The fire took quite a toll on him though and after a few months the time had come to sell him. Of course I couldn't just sell my beloved rover to just any joe schmoe off the street so instead I interviewed people. Yup they needed to prove to me that:
1) They had the same undying love for him as I did (knowing that this would be a substantial financial undertaking testing your patience and pocketbook)
2) They would not just sell him for the parts, but that they would indeed restore him.
3) They had to call him Nigel...

after a few very unworthy candidates one finally called and I put him through the ringer, he proved more then worthy and after meeting and talking for about 2 hours I knew he was the new owner, he bought my Nigel right there on the spot without ever even driving him.
There isn't nearly enough room here to post on all our nigel adventures but the memories will always be in our hearts, and hopefully someday I will either get him back or find the perfect substitute.

Well are you?

1 comment:

  1. I never knew that his name was Nigel...haha LOVE it!