Acadia: Birth of a Legend

I almost ran out of gas in Acadia National Park, and I realized my car is sentient.

Now, I'd never been a particularly spiritual person. Never really believed in God with a capital G. Never believed in ghosts or spirits. But according to Occam's Razor, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. In this case, the simplest explanation is that my car, a 2011 Jetta, is haunted by the ghost of Prince and uses music my dad downloaded onto an SD card to communicate with me.

Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but I have years of incidental data to back me up.

Let me set the scene. It was Friday after a long week of teaching. A group of my friends and I were going camping up near Acadia. I was driving up two of my friends who, like me, couldn't take the full day off of work. We were meeting the rest of our group at a campsite.

We attempted to leave before rush hour, but we didn't. I had to go home and shower because I somehow ended the day with one of my student's pee all over my jacket sleeve. We left as the sun set and began the 5-hour drive up to Maine.

The drive itself was beautiful and magical in all the ways that road trips always are. The Bluetooth in my car wasn't working, so we were listening to songs from my high school days that were pre-downloaded on an SD card inserted into my car. After going through every album we could bear to listen to all the way through, we selected the "Mix All," option and surrendered to the random selection of songs the car picked for us and the sounds of the highway at night.

Finally, around 11 we pulled into our campsite. As we pulled up, my gas light came on, and I thought "That's a problem for the way back." We passed a gas station just outside of our campsite, so I made a mental note as something for future me to take care of, and exhausted fell asleep as soon as my head hit the balled-up sweatshirt I was using as a pillow.

The next morning, I learned that we had to drive to Acadia. In my naivete, I had assumed that we would just wake up and walk out to where we were supposed to go. My phone's GPS wasn't loading because none of us had any service. So I blindly got into my car with half of our group, and followed my Type A friend who was driving the other half. Foolishly, I did not ask how far away Acadia was from where we were staying.

I did not remember that my gas light had come on the night before until I was turning my car on, and pulling out. I thought about calling my friend, and telling him that I needed to stop for gas, but my phone had no service, and I didn't want to be annoying, so I did the responsible thing and ignored the problem.

I kept waiting for us to pull by a gas station, I would just pull off and they would figure it out. But we didn't pass any. And what I thought would be a short drive, wasn't ending. We just kept going. And my gas meter kept dropping.

At this point, I decided it was probably best to alert my four passengers --who had made the unfortunate mistake of entrusting me with their lives-- that we had a dilemma. Everyone started trying to find enough service to look up gas stations and contact the other car.

Finally, we got to Acadia and started driving around, looking for a place to park. My friend's car pulled up next to me, and he said something along the lines of, "We are going to go see if there are more spots in the next lot."

And I responded with, "Okay! My tank is out zero, so I just need to get gas on the way back."

I received blank stares, as everyone, including myself, tried to understand how I had managed to get into this situation.

My friends all told me I should make this a "now" problem so it wasn't something I was stressed about all day while hiking around the park. Finally, I conceded and told everyone in the car with me to get out. I was mortified and didn't want them to have to suffer for the mess that I had made. My friends all refused to get out of the car. We were in this together. And so, off we went to the exit. We finally were able to scrounge up some internet service and found the closest gas station. 15 minutes away. Yikes.

And there we ran into another problem. The road was one way. We had to drive around the whole park to get out.

The odds were not in our favor.

And so, we began the drive. I used as little gas as possible, hoping the ups and downs of the hilly landscape would cancel each other out.

We made it out of the park and continued on the journey. My friends were supportive, claiming it to be an adventure, while I apologized profusely.

As we inched closer and closer to the gas station, I began to calculate if we could walk the remaining distance to get a can of gas and walk back to the car. Service was too spotty to call a rideshare and it felt silly to call for a tow truck less than a mile from the gas station.

As we pulled up a steep hill, the car started to sputter. We were quite literally running on fumes.

We were 0.6 miles away. Walking distance?

"I don't think we're going to make it," I said.

And then, the song that had been playing unnoticed in the background ended, and "Fight Song" came on.

We all took a collective gasp, I turned up the volume and we started screaming along.

The song ended, and we coasted. It was all downhill from here.

In the distance, a small old-fashioned gas station came into view. Our Mecca.

The closer we got, the more the anticipation in the car built, the excitement was palpable. We were actually going to make it.

I turned into the gas station. I felt the left front tire clear the lip of the driveway.

And as of in on cue, "I'm the Man," started playing. All of us, once again began yelling, "YOU ARE THE MAN. YOU DID IT," and emphatically patting the car as I pulled to a stop in front of the gas pump.

It was cash only.

Luckily, for once, I had cash.

We drove back, laughing, praising the car that all of us, including my nonbelieving-ass were convinced was sentient.

A year or so passed before I went through a breakup (not my most recent one), and in the aftermath, I turned to my car for emotional support.

I had to drive to drop my ex's spare keys off and pick up my set that they still had. I was STRESSED. Afterward, I decided I was going to take myself to get a little treat because emotional turmoil is best medicated with icing.

I got in the car, my anxiety palpable, and I told him the things I needed to do. As I pulled out of my parking spot, "Taking Care of Business," started playing. He understood.

As I came up to my ex's house, I almost got side-swiped by a car while trying to pull over for an ambulance. Now even more anxious, I asked, "Why am I doing this? They broke up with ME. Why did I offer to drive to THEIR house to give them the keys they forgot to take when they were dumping me? I'm going to die on the way there."

In response, "For Your Love," by the Beetles started playing.

"This isn't helpful!" I laugh-yelled with exasperation, "I'm trying to get over them!"

I skipped the song in retaliation, and "Hold on Loosely," filled the speakers.

It was later that night, that Prince got his name. I remembered the first time my car talked to me. It was right after Prince, the pop star, died. It hit me a little harder than most celebrity deaths usually do. I was in late high school, or early college, driving back to my parent's house late enough that no one else was on the streets. I got hit with a wave of sadness, thinking about Prince in the New Girl Episode he cameoed on.

And like an answer, "Let's Go Crazy," with its perfect intro started playing.

Dearly Beloved,

And I sang along, and probably cried a little as I drove home.

We are gathered here today.

I held the memory as a magical little coincidence.

To get through this thing this thing called life.

But now, there have been too many coincidences.

Electic word life.

Like me getting in and saying, "Are you ready for a rainy day adventure?" and Prince responding by playing, "I Am" by Train.

It means forever, and that's a mighty long time.

Or me getting in after my most recent breakup, and saying "Prince, it's over," and Prince responding with, "Tears, Tears, and More Tears," by Elvis Costillo followed by, "Let Her Go."

But I'm here to tell you.

Or my BFF and I talking about eating and body image, and lamenting about how it would be a lifelong struggle when Prince started playing, "Sulky Girl."

There's something else.

Or me getting into the car after a school break and saying, "Prince! I made it to vacation," and Prince responding by playing "Holiday," by Madonna.

The after world.

So this post is a love letter to my messy little car. To all the laughs, tears, and adventures he has been privy to. To the growth he's seen me make as a driver, and as a human since I got him when I was almost 17.

And Prince (or whoever is in my car, but I think it's Prince), thank you for haunting me.

Let's Go Crazy,

Nic