By on July 10, 2017


July of 2013. Somewhere between Death Valley and the Mojave Desert, with the scorching summer sun beating down upon the bleached blacktop. Colin Firth’s perfectly accented voice reading the conclusion of Graham Greene’s The End of the Affair.

My white 2009 Chevrolet Tahoe Z71 carried me towards San Bernardino from Albuquerque on my journey to Cayucos, where I was headed to visit my great uncle through the nothingness of the desert and the interminable heat. It can drive a person crazy, particularly when you’re alone. While I don’t mind being alone, sometimes it’s not best to stew in your own thoughts for that long of a stretch. Instead, I listened to audio books on my iPhone, connected to the Bose stereo system via an auxiliary cable. The Tahoe had Bluetooth capability for phone but not for media. I didn’t mind.

My Tahoe has witnessed, and at times been party to, the ends of many an affair. The beginnings, as well — changing relationships, changing jobs, moving homes. The big white truck carried me both willingly and reluctantly from one place to the next, safely and successfully weathering storms both meteorological and emotional. It carried my amazing daughter, my German shepherd, Stella, and my most personal belongings on the journey from Albuquerque to Columbus. From time to time, it has also carried my preferred demons. It made sure I arrived to countless physical therapy appointments and home from several surgeries. In the 114,524 miles we were together, it betrayed me only once.


After a car crash three and a half years ago, as my broken pelvis and back were healing, the Tahoe became insufferable. It wasn’t just the bones that had to heal. The force of the crash had torn ligaments, tendons and muscles. My four month convalescence, post crash, was purposefully absent of physical therapy as per my doctor’s instructions.

During that time, I experienced considerable atrophy of my core muscles, to the point that I lost over twenty pounds. I couldn’t sit it in the Tahoe for more than twenty minutes without unbearable pain, thanks to the upright angle of the seat coupled with the stiff suspension of the Z71 package. As a result, I simply stopped driving, unless I absolutely had to. I’d gone from putting around 25,000 miles a year on it in the high, dry desert of Albuquerque to about 5,000 a year in Ohio.


Every other week, I had to make a four-hour round trip to another one of my company’s offices. I would stop twice on the way down in the morning to walk around for a couple of minutes, but without fail I would arrive at work in a tremendous amount of pain. It would ease somewhat during the day and, on the way home, I would typically stop halfway, recline the seat as much as I could, and sleep until the pain was bearable enough to continue home. As I was driving, taking my pain medication was out of the question. When I finally admitted this struggle to Jack, he suggested that I start driving his Accord instead, which helped.

I became angry with my Tahoe. Resentful. I would remark about how much I hated it. After all, it had betrayed me after we’d been through so much together. I’d been patient in my search for it. I had scoured lots, dealer websites, and test driven other makes and models only to be disappointed and further determined to hold out for exactly what I wanted. I’d always wanted a white Tahoe, but thanks to a combination of time, pressure, and difficult dealerships, my first Tahoe ended up being blue and the one that followed was black.

This time I’d managed to get almost exactly what I wanted. My only concession on this Tahoe was a lack of heated seats, which was fine because it had everything else: Z71 with tow package, leather seats, nav delete with the rear view camera in the mirror, DVD players in the headrests for my kid, Bluetooth phone, and brushed metal accents instead of the fake wood I never cared for in a Tahoe.

So, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I grew emotionally attached to this truck, and it shouldn’t be surprising that I felt betrayed by its inability to take care of me after the crash. Yet I was still taken aback by how difficult it was to part with this vehicle, this tool, this machine. Jack and I decided a few months ago that we needed to purchase a tow vehicle for “Marilyn,” our NC Mazda MX-5 Cup Car. As such, the Tahoe immediately became superfluous. I have Matt Farah’s Fiesta ST as my daily driver, and I have his little red Corvette as my trackday rat. (What can I say? He always wants to sell when I want to buy.) Add a tow rig to this fleet and really, the Tahoe doesn’t seem to fit in our plans or in the driveway.


The rub was that I didn’t think I’d be parting with it so soon. I thought we’d trade it in when we purchased the tow rig. And the purchasing of the tow rig was just talk — it was simply in the ether, and would come to fruition at some indeterminate point in the future. And, as I have healed over the last three years, the Tahoe has become more palatable. It still makes me hurt, but not as much. A couple of Mondays ago, however, I received an email from Jack with the subject line, “Last chance to back out…” He’d sold it. My. Tahoe. And there was no new tow rig sitting in the driveway. It’s much easier to let something (or someone) go when you’re experiencing the euphoria that comes with something (or someone) new.

And so the end came. Goodbye to all that, goodbye to my favorite Tahoe. The best one. The one I owned for the longest time; in fact, it was the vehicle I owned for the longest time period, point blank. I couldn’t watch it drive away. I couldn’t shake the man’s hand. As Colin Firth once read to me, “Love had turned into a love affair, with a beginning and an end.” My voice cracked as I said my goodbyes, so I turned quickly away and scurried back into the house as Jack wrapped up all the loose ends of the affair.


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44 Comments on “2009 Chevrolet Tahoe Z71: The End Of The Affair...”

  • avatar

    It’s strange, but true somehow, that of all the machines and gadgets we use in the modern world the only one we seem to get emotional about, and psychologically attached to, is a car. I certainly plead guilty. I wonder why that is?

    • 0 avatar

      What I find odd is people getting attached to a vehicle BEFORE they buy it. After all it is extremely rare that a given vehicle, no matter how perfect is a one-of-kind unit. Looking hard enough you can always find another one.

      I’ve never missed a vehicle at the time of sale, only later looking back do I ponder: maybe I should have kept that one a bit longer. In some cases your happy to finally get rid of it. One reason I think people miss their cars each one has a distinct “feel”. After awhile that feeling gives you confidence, its a predictable, comforting thing you interact with every day. If you ever had a favorite watch break its the same thing… it often takes a bit of time (no pun intended) to get used to the new one on your wrist. Most personal gadgets (your phone) just get software updates and all the personal stuff (texts, photos, apps) that you interact with get moved over when you upgrade so you don’t miss them as much. Depending on the user experience I’ve missed old TVs and radios, not due to attachment issues but due to the user experience. Learning a new remote drives me crazy!

      • 0 avatar

        For me anyway, a car is about proving itself in multiple situations, maybe adverse.

        I have fond memories of high powered rwd manual cars and their prowess on mountain roads, the times i got lost on what you people would call ‘unsealed outback quasi dirt roads’ following a gps, using engine braking down a mountain pass, hanging the tail out in the wet, authoratative overtaking, driving up to but not past average speed cameras…

        I crave that sort of confidence.

        I do not get that in the fwd and 4wd models I get to drive and I damn well know its not going to be possible in an EV.

        I know I’ll get back to that feeling one day but in the meantime, let us sit quietly in an EV FWD world.

      • 0 avatar

        @ JMII: I think you hit the nail on the head. I would liken it to the guitars I own. My 335 has a feel that instills confidence over many years of interaction. Same situation with my 84 Shelby Charger. It wasn’t that it was the greatest car made – it wasn’t. But after over 400k miles I “knew” what would happen when I did *fill in the blank*. One gets used to the things we interact with on a regular basis. Attachment comes with familiarity. It’s a human thing I ‘spect.

  • avatar

    Well written .

    I hope your recovery continues apace ~ I’m waiting for my transport now to see what they say .


  • avatar

    When the time comes to “end the affair” with my old Buick, it’ll be bittersweet. It’s the car that carried me through the best and worst times of my life. But it has two kids to carry before its’ career is done.

  • avatar
    S2k Chris

    “And there was no new tow rig sitting in the driveway.”

    A quick check of Instagram tells me this may no longer be true…

    • 0 avatar

      Wow. I don’t think she’ll miss the Tahoe for too long…

      • 0 avatar
        danger girl

        Jack realized how absolutely devastated I was (still am) by the Tahoe’s departure and so he immediately worked a deal for the tow rig. The tow rig is nice – beyond nice. I am very happy with it. Ask me in seven years if I’ve lived as much life in it as I lived in that Tahoe. I doubt I’ll say yes.

  • avatar

    I’ve always felt an attachment to the vehicles I’ve owned but I’ve never felt much in the way of remorse or doubt leading up to the time of sale or even post sale.

  • avatar

    That last paragraph hits close to home.

    When I sold my 91 LX 5.0L notchback Mustang, I signed the title, dropped the car off at my parents, and had the buyer pick it up there.

    I couldn’t be there when it went, and the last time I drove the car I had tears in my eyes.

    • 0 avatar


      • 0 avatar

        Thanks man.

        Seems like a mental disorder to be attached to a car like that, but parking my car in the parents driveway that day felt like I was taking a beloved pet to the vet to put it down.

    • 0 avatar

      Amen. My 91 Wrangler (with ALL the TOPS) had to be traded at the beginning of my “real job” days. Carburetors and gears and highway commutes and all the crap I thought was insurmountable.

      My grandmother had had a custom license plate with my name. I couldn’t get it off the bumper. The lump in my throat leaving it at that nasty dealership was awful.

      Reference for car loss: King of the Hill S05E09 “Chasing Bobby”

    • 0 avatar

      Been there. I bought an 07 GTI in college- my first new car and the one that made me a car guy. Every close friend I had in college I met because of that car and the car clubs I joined with it. 5 years, a stupid amount of money in modifications, and dozens of trackdays later it came time to sell her and focus on my mountain of student loans. I choked up the last time I walked around it in the garage before driving to meet the next owner.

      What made it even more tear-jerking? I found out that it eventually made its way into the hands of a “stance” kid who ruined it and blew the head gasket.

  • avatar
    87 Morgan

    Despite being a serial auto trader/buyer etc, I 100% understand the attachment to a particular vehicle.

  • avatar

    Excellent writing Charly.

    When my wife and i were just kids we had a couple of “beater” convertibles. I bought them cheap, sold them cheap. Kids, mortgages, educations, and weddings, all intervened. No more convertibles.

    Empty nesters in our 40’s, we bought a 2000 Firebird convertible. Lets just say the Firebird, epitomized everything that was wrong at GM. Five years of pouring endless money and aggravations…As a life long GM employee I was beginning to understand why there was so much hate for GM. When it worked, it was a blast to drive..I sold it, and there was no tears, from either me or my wife. The bad times, out weighed the good times.

    A year later my wife started to show signs, of a degenerative neurological disorder. At that point we didn’t know what it was.

    My wife spied a 08 Mustang convertible for sale..My position was “I don’t do Fords”…”lets just look at it Mike”..”Okay, i’ll take a quick look”..Well a “look” turned into “lets take it for a drive Mike.. . At that particular time my wife still drove… “I want this car, Michael , go make a deal”..When I get a “Michael” I knew I was going to lose this battle.

    We loved that car. Road trips down through Eastern Canada, New England, and a trip to Jacksonville Florida to catch an NFL game. The Lions vs Jaguars ( a real battle of the titans that was, in 2012)..As my wife condition deteriorated, her license was suspended..We cut the trips down to two days max. As things progressed we kept it to a few hours cruising through the back roads of Ontario. In the summer months of 2015 we put only 2000 KLM’s on the odometer .

    With the escalating costs of my wife care (no, its a long ways from “free” in Canada)..I made the decision to cut down to one car.

    Parting with that Mustang broke my heart. I handed the salesman the keys…I never turned to take a last look at it. It was certainly a necessary deal to make. I knew that we had just parted with a piece of our life…

    My wife went into Long Term Care in February of this year..I never had the heart to tell her “I sold your car”..She never asked about it. I guess she figured the Mustang was still safely tucked away in the garage.

    I built cars for 36 years, I know they’re just metal, and plastic, inanimate objects. That being said “emotional attachment” is a real thing..

    I’m not into pity parties…I do, however, miss that Mustang, and the life ,and fun we had with it.


    • 0 avatar
      Shinoda is my middle name

      Mr. Mikey…

      Jack is as eloquent a wordsmith as I have ever read… and we can see here that his wife pays close attention…but even a non-pareil writher such as he is poor with words compared to the wonderful story you just told…the true brutal honesty of love, moments shared between man and wife in a car you both cherish. Thanks for sharing, mate. Prayers for both you and your wife. She sounds like a wonderful lady, and you, sir…even though we have never met, you are a true gentleman, a man we can all admire and only hope to emulate.

      If there’s an Heaven…and I sure hope there is…my prayer is that there is a special edition Mustang convertible for you and your bride to drive on the streets paved with gold…

    • 0 avatar
      danger girl

      Mike – thank you for sharing this. My prayers are with you and your wife.

    • 0 avatar

      It’s so hokey to say this…but when you find someone you love, squeeze every goddamned second of love and life you can in.

    • 0 avatar
      Will in MKE


      As Shinoda stated, very eloquently written. I feel for you, your wife, and family. All the best to you and yours. Enjoy the time you have with her, and always focus on the positive. Prayers for you, coming from Milwaukee.


    • 0 avatar

      It’s funny how
      Even now
      You still support me after all of the things that I’ve done
      You’re so good to me
      Waiting patiently
      And isn’t it sad that you still have to ask if I care?

      I never said I was perfect
      But I can take you away

      Walk on shells tonight
      Can’t do right tonight
      And you can’t say a word
      Cause I leap down your throat
      So uptight am I

      I never said I was perfect
      But I can drive you home

      I got down on myself
      Working too hard
      Driving myself to death
      Trying to beat out the faults in my head
      What a mess I’ve made
      Sure we all make mistakes
      But they see me so large that they think I’m immune to the pain

      I’m praying for a miracle
      But I won’t hold my breath
      I never said I was perfect
      But can you drive me home

  • avatar

    I felt the same way with my 2007 Dodge Magnum SXT. I abused it, towing WAY beyond capacity, plowing through 18″ of snow…. It took it all. It had minor issues (AC clutch failure, general wear and tear). Only once in 167K miles did it ever strand me. The starter died… but that was terminal in my wife’s mind.

    My wife, afraid of cars over 100K, forced me into trading it in (got $2K) towards a 2016 Jeep Patriot (Her choice, not mine). Biggest POS made. Within two weeks, I was already trying to end the lease. My dealer, suddenly became defensive and stated “that’s what I picked, the lease will be up in a 27 months!”. Well, I dumped that POS on my wife and drove her Dodge Journey till it’s lease was up.

    Now I have a Chrysler 200s. Not what I wanted, but it’s a nice car to commute in.

    • 0 avatar

      We test drove a Patriot with the 2.4/6sp auto and it was the most miserable shifting transmission I’ve ever experienced.

      • 0 avatar

        So did we. I hated the lack of power, stupid location for the 4×4 switch, uncomfortable seats, cheap feel, WAY TOO SMALL interior (my running statement is if I can sit in the seat and by just stretching my arm horizontal I can touch the other door, it’s too small). My wife and daughter LOVED the high seating position and the sunroof. I lost.

        Only nugget of wisdom gained is that now, almost 2 years later, my wife and daughter agree that the Jeep “isn’t that great” and the 200s (the car I wanted to replace the Magnum in the first place) is a much better car. Hopefully, they have learned that I know cars!

  • avatar

    Whither Vodka McBigbra?

  • avatar

    I’m jealous. Where do you guys PUT all these awesome toys? I have two spaces and two more in the garage and four cars (the only fun one belongs to stepdaughter). Whenever I go anywhere it feels like playing one of those plastic sliding puzzles.

    Great article BTW…

  • avatar

    I’ve been there and I know it hurts. In 1993, my beloved hard-driven but well-kept 1984 CRX 1.5 5-speed was stolen here in Miami. Somehow, the police recovered it a month later and it was sad. The car, though still somewhat drive-able, had been abused, rattle-canned black, hit in a few spots, filled with smelly junk, and thoroughly trashed. I could have cried. The insurance company wrote it off as a total loss and I really did have a moistening of the eyes as the flatbed truck took it away to the crusher.

  • avatar

    No mystery at all why people bond with their cars. The manufacturers know why and bias design to reinforce the connection. They diguise the goal with layers ranging from “excitement” to “emotion” to “aggression”. Because the actual motive is unspeakable.

    Cars are designed to be surrogate wombs. Sitting in a body-hugging body-tissue leather seat, in the semi-darkness of black interiors and narrow darkened windows, vibrated by the simulated heartbeat of the bass line on the stereo, bodies pushed this way and that by the car’s motion, drinking warm nutrients from a sippy cup. Safe, warm and hidden from the world. All the while convinced this is a statement to others to take us seriously.

  • avatar
    Master Baiter

    Let me guess: Jack bought a vintage guitar with the proceeds from the Tahoe sale.

  • avatar
    Dave M.

    Great sentiment Charley! And yeah, ask me about the over-indulgence on repairing my Trooper after a deer strike. It certainly didn’t make financial or mechanical sense, but it was the car I bought when the kid was born and took us 200K+ miles all over the country including the daddy-daughter road trip to it’s retirement in the northeast.

    It still serves as our vacation car when we’re up there, and I’m still cleaning Cheerios out from her various hiding places from toddler-hood….

    • 0 avatar

      Nice story. I surely agree with the others here that you’ve touched on a universal truth, for some of us at least. I still wax nostalgic (after applying dozens of nostalgic waxes) about my ’92 4DSC, the first “really nice” car I ever owned. The cold reality was that I didn’t love it enough to spend irrational amounts on engine reconstruction. Yet even though its replacement objectively surpasses it in almost every way, I still miss it sometimes. Why? Damned if I know. A pop psychology author could make some real money on this.

    • 0 avatar

      I’m getting to the same place mentally with my ’96 4Runner. Two fantastic roads trips to the OBX, numerous christmas trips out to NE Ohio and NY to see family, day trips down to Brown County to hit some dirt roads and take the dogs hiking, etc. My ’12 Civic that I simply used for commuting was sold without a second thought. I’d have a hard time letting go of the 4Runner, I’d seriously rather street-park any new vehicle if that’s what it took to hang on to my beloved ‘yota 4×4.

  • avatar

    So your telling me a Tahoe with tow package cant handle towing a Miata? Please explain.

    • 0 avatar

      Yeah agreed. I pulled a early 90s Camry home with an Avalanche with the same powertrain.

    • 0 avatar
      Jack Baruth

      Actually, I’m telling you that.

      Put an MX-5 Cup car in an enclosed 22′ V-nose: that’s about 7,000 pounds right there.

      Add eight spare wheels, six fuel jugs, four packed tubs of spare parts, a TTR-90 pitbike, two tents, six chairs, two coolers. You’re knocking on the door of four tons.

      Now all you have to do is pull that trailer to VIR, which means going up eighty miles of two-lane roads that are so steep and twisty they’re used by auto magazines for comparison tests. At night, in a hurry. Oh. And if you break down along the way, you’ve lost between $4,000 and $12,000 in race fees, team travel, and prep and you’ve cost six people a race.

      It *can* be done with an old Land Cruiser, in a pinch. I know because I’ve done it. You don’t *want* to do it with an old Land Cruiser. Or an old Tahoe.

  • avatar

    My dad is preparing to donate the 1919 Seagrave fire engine he methodically restored over 15 years to the city that bought it originally. Although it’s the ‘right thing’ to do–and was his plan all along–I fear a piece of him will be gone with it.

  • avatar
    Frank Galvin

    Thanks for this.

    When my mom’s Reliant wagon gave up the ghost, she bought her sister’s 1985 Pontiac Grand Prix- it was something else packing up three kids, and two adults for family vacations. But, it worked. And she loved it, having a two door car set her apart from the helicopter moms that looked down on her because she scrubbed toilet bowls to send her kids to parochial school. And, she was taught to drive by her dad who believed in that all one needed was a fast two door with a stick. Austin Healeys, Studebaker Hawks, and her (actually his) beloved 442.

    Then came the day when she was stuck in traffic, behind an ambulance of all things, when she was rear-ended by a doofus in a Bronco – preoccupied with something else. My little sister had dropped something on the floor, and the woman who never drove without a seatbelt had briefly taken it off to pick up the toy. No sooner had she sat back up – bam. Rear ended by the Bronco and slammed into the back of the ambulance. Severe double whiplash, concussion, short term memory loss, a cornucopia of damage to her neck, back, shoulders, and God knows what else. She was out of commission for a long time. The next few years were tough for her and tough on all of us. We used to sit at the kitchen table, she’d read the metro section of the Globe and ask me to quiz her on an article to test her memory. It was a long time before she could remember what she had just read.

    Somehow, the GP was not totaled and pulled back together. I got my license soon after the accident, and that car was mine – to do the grocery shopping, take us to school, and run my mom around. Dad was on the road a lot – all over the country and was just not around. She avoided driving for a long time, and when she did, it was to physical therapy, and around town. Then it died – tranny gone and few other things. She told me that she wanted me to have it, and it was mine if I wanted to fix. Which I did. Worked all summer to put it back on the road. It took me back and forth from Boston to Buffalo and promptly died when I graduated. There was no way to fix the cancer from the Buffalo and Boston winters. It was time to let it go.

    Since it was mine – I donated to some charity group who would remove it. She stared out of the living room window, watching the flatbed take it away. She was crying, really crying. I can’t say I was the same – my memories were of the illicit, possibly illegal variety, and would land me a slap she knew. I asked her, why the tears? She looked at me, and noted that despite the accident, the GP was *hers*, she bought it, it gave her so many happy memories, it took the hit, and then it was mine. Then she told me about all I had done for her once I had my license – saving her from having to drive when she was terrified to do so, taking on a lot of responsibilities when she couldn’t, and that it was a part of her life that was leaving. Yeah – then I teared up.

    She bought a Saab 900 turbo (2 door again) with some of the insurance proceeds, and then sucked it up when my dad drove it into the ground with his commute from hell in metro Boston. When he finally had something go his way – he went out and bought her a 2000 Monte Carlo SS. Black, lovely, and absolutely loaded. She loved that too – until the day another jagoff kid in a large Ford rear ended him, totaling it. That was it for the coupes. Age, back and neck problems landed them both in crossover country.

    Many happy memories for the new truck, and we’re all glad to see that you’re continuing to heal.

  • avatar

    My 1974 BMW 2002. This was the car I had grown up lusting after…desiring above all else. No Porsche, Mercedes, etc…even came close. So in 1993, a short year after graduating college, I found a pristine 1974 BMW in Baikal Blau up near Indianapolis. My wife and I made the drive up from northern TN and included a visit to my dad’s side of the family. Somebody up above posted something to the effect of “how can a person fall in love with a car without even driving it.” Well, when I turned the final corner and saw that little blue box sitting in the owner’s driveway, it was over. Done. I took the test drive as a courtesy. We returned home and I set out to sell my Sentra SE-R to clear the cash to buy the Bimmer. And so I did, and for years that box became my DD. I lavished much, much attention on it. Drove it back and forth to work and relished each and every second behind that huge steering wheel. Joined the BMWCCA and attended meetings and shows like an obsessed fiend.

    At some point, the notion hit me that driving a 20+ year old car as a DD wasn’t perhaps the brightest idea, so I decided to sell it. Signs went up, ads went into the publications (before the interwebs really got cranking). A young(er) gentleman in Nashville called and made an offer. So, on a sunny Saturday morning, my wife and I headed out to Nashville to sell Blue Bonnet (the name given my beloved). My wife followed me in her Del Sol and as the exit drew nearer and nearer, my heart started pounding harder and harder. The sense of dread was overwhelming and I wondered out loud just what in the holy heck I was doing? I had grown up rabidly in love of all things Blau mit Weiss and this was MY ultimate driving machine. When we pulled over to the proposed meeting place, we had arrived earlier than the gentleman wanting to buy the car. Wife offered to take one last picture of me and BB, and that was the final push over the edge. I cried. Unashamed. Unrelenting. I cried. I think I genuinely scared my wife. I couldn’t do it. Just wasn’t ready to let go, so when the prospective owner arrived, I gently explained to him that there was no way I could part with it. I won’t say he was overjoyed, but since no cash or title had passed hands, he accepted my explanation and drove away. Oh, the euphoria of driving my little ’02 back up I-24! She was still mine! At that time, my parents were visiting me from Germany and when I pulled back into the driveway, my father looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and understanding. That drive back from Nashville was every bit as exciting and satisfying as when I first took command of the wheel and piloted her down from Indianapolis.
    So yes, it is not impossible to fall for a car long before ownership. And it is not impossible to grow horribly, indescribably attached to a car once it is yours. We all have the “one that got away” that should have never left our driveway, and my little ’74 was that one. It eventually was sold as continued maintenance versus available financial resources clashed repeatedly as did the fact that I had no real ability to store a third car. Of all the cars I’ve owned (and the list is a fairly long one), this is the one that I miss the most.

  • avatar
    Brett Woods

    So how much money did he make you spend to get rid of your Tahoe? You were using a 2009 to tow your race car until you met Jack…. He convinced you to sell it and buy something more expensive, and just as uncomfortable. Is this the story so far?

    Has he given you any guff yet about the value of pit-bikes and Marco Andretti’s enclosed trailer? Guys will bankrupt you if you let them. You know that right?

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