Falling Off

When I first began writing this blog I would have a few people like a blog that I wrote. Occasionally I would get a comment or two. My following, although slow was growing and I at least felt as is if someone was reading the shit I would write. That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. I haven’t had someone like a blog is a while, months. I haven’t had anybody comment on anything, haven’t gotten a new follower and to be honest, I’m not even sure if anybody is reading this shit. In fact I’m almost positive that nobody is reading this shit. It’s basically a glorified journal. I don’t need to pay money for a domain name just to write in a journal. I started this dumb ass shit because I Googled how to become a writer and this was the first thing they recommend, that everything I read about becoming a writer recommend. Every article I read said start a blog and find a niche. Well a year after starting this blog I am no closer to being a writer then I was a year ago, the blog, after starting out ok isn’t growing at all anymore. No likes, no new followers, no comments and I’m pretty sure nobody is reading shit. I have no niche, shit I don’t even know exactly what a niche is. There is no niche for what I like to write. This shit isn’t helping me at all, not in my goal to become a writer, and not with my confidence in my writing. I have no idea how to market my writing, no idea how to get my name or my writing out there. No idea how to grow my blog and further my dreams of becoming a writer. For years now everyone has been telling me that I’m a writer and the pessimist in me has argued against it. I’m not a fucking writer I just have a way of talking that people find interesting. My dreams of writing are just that, dreams. I’d be better off just tossing this whole fucking joke and investing my time in something that is actually going to benefit me and be worth my time, or at least isn’t going to leave me feeling unimportant and retarded. Start a blog they said. Why? For what? Find a niche they said. What if there is no niche for me? Like everything in my life, I just don’t fit. Just an outcast. And apparently everyone all my life has been right about me. I’m just a fuck up. Born to lose. Destined to die cold and alone, oh and apparently poor because any hopes of becoming a writer get more and more bleak with every word I write. I’d be better off just writing in a journal because at least with that shit I don’t get my feelings hurt when I get rejected.

Go figure

My truck had been the light at the end of the tunnel. It was my escape hatch, the thing I was gonna use to elevate myself out of this shit hole I manage to find myself in. Ever since I’ve got the truck I have been working on it, trying to shore it up, trying to get everything in line so that it’s running good and so I don’t find myself broke down on the side of the road somewhere. Every time I think that I’m close, just about to finish fixing something and having the truck at 100%, something else happens and I find myself in the exact some spot I started in. It’s never ending. As soon as I finish one thing I discover 2 more that need to be fixed. All I wanted was to be able to have air conditioning for those really hot days in really hot climates. Switched the air conditioning from R12 to whatever this use now and that ended up fucking my cooling systems. Now I can even fill the truck up with coolant because it just pours right back out. I thought that it was the water pump so I ordered a new water pump. Waited 2 days to get the part only to find out the new part was damaged so I had to go back and reorder the part. Got the new part and installed it and my truck is still leaking coolant, from where I have no idea. I’m not a mechanic. Not even close. With the help of YouTube I am able to fix my truck but I don’t have any idea what I am doing. I don’t understand how shit works so although I’m fixing shit, I’m not learning anything and I’m not making shit any easier to understand. What I do know is that I’m drifting further and further from being ok. I was trying to escape colorado before I caught another case but I failed, now I’m looking at a handful of new felony charges and who knows how many years in prison. Luckily I never finished this post having started it a couple weeks ago and ending up there. Since then, I’ve had a stroke of good luck and those dumb pigs having violated my 4th amendment rights they had to dismiss the charges against me and so I dodged a bullet there. But my truck remains fucked up cause when I was trying to put a gasket on the thermostat housing I ended up tightening the bolt to tight and so I cracked the housing where the bolt hole is into two pieces. I made an attempt to JB weld it yesterday and left it sitting so it could cure. I’m just about to see if that’s gonna do the trick but I have my suspicions that I’m gonna have to go to a pick and pull to get the part. It’s the thermostat housing. It is under a lot of pressure all the time with the coolant constantly flowing through it heating and cooling, I worry that JB weld may not be strong enough. Anyways, we will see. I’m crossing my fingers because my departure is way overdue and I need to get the fuck out of here. I lucked out with those pigs being so fucking dumb but I’m not counting on that ever happening again. I was days away from leaving, as I am right now and I got wrapped up quick as fuck. My entire future snatched up and tossed around like it weighed nothing, and it’s only police incompetence and a bit of luck that sprang me from its grasp. It just as easily could have gone the other way. And until I get out of here I risk the possibility of something similar happening. Crossing my fingers and trying to bring up all the positive vibrations I possibly can, that the things I need to line up, line up. If that happens I should be good.

Wordsmith

I think I’ve always kinda liked to write. I remember when I first learned about the internet and my excitement over the opportunity to talk shit to people in far away places. Then when I got out of prison the first time and my buddy introduced me to Facebook, telling me I’d be able to use it to pull chick’s, I actually began my writing journey there. My first attempts at what I call Facebook puking were short, angry, and poorly written. My punctuation was nonexistent and they had a repetitive drunken theme. That is one of the things I like about Facebook, through it and its memories thing I am able to witness the progression of my writing. I’m a high school drop out and even when I did go I didn’t give them the time of day so anything I know chances are I taught myself. I taught myself punctuation and through trial and error learned to write. I am not a bad writer now, definitely room to improve but for all things considered, I’m pretty good. I think that a lot of it has to do with the way I write as opposed to what I’m writing about but what I write about definitely has its spot too. I recently had an experience on Facebook where I wrote some shit about being codependent and I got a comment on it from a girl I was in kindergarten with, until I dropped out. She complimented the writing, calling it beautiful, saying she felt the same as I did and my words could have been hers and that she might steal it. She ended it with something about failing at something and feeling bad for her and wanting to lighten her load I told her that her comment had made me feel less alone. Fast-forward an hour or two and I’m scrolling through Facebook and I see that she did in fact steal my post and post it on hers. At first I believed that she’d just copied and pasted my actual post but as I began to read I noticed that while they were goddamned close to my words, and some of them were exact, she had changed it. A little here, a little there and with minimal alteration my words became hers. This person. Is someone I haven’t seen in forever and when I had we probably didn’t say shit to each other besides possibly a hello. We were friendly but by no means were we friends. I’d always liked her and I think she had never had a problem with me but we just ran in different circles. She joined the military out of high school and became career military. Marrying another career military dude she had a family and at least for appearances sake looked like she was killing it. Me? Yeah I went a different route and without getting into any detail I will just say that I’m not living a life anywhere close to the one she is. Yet a post that I wrote. A post that came from somewhere inside of me about something I seriously feel strongly is causing problems in my life, can just be tweaked the tiniest bit and now it’s as if they are words written by her explaining her life. The fit her perfectly. It’s a trip. It’s kinda fucking me up. After reading her posted I commented telling her that I liked hers better and thanking her for the experience. Then I read all the comments on her post and saw that apparently there was a lot of people who could have taken my words and applied them to there lives. I wish I knew what to do about this whole thing because I feel like there are magic in those and opportunity as well. I just don’t know exactly what to do about it.

People suck

It’s pretty shitty that the quality of people has dropped so low. Maybe it’s always been like this but I’m not so sure. I feel like when I was a kid people were way different. I feel like they cared about each other more and weren’t so low rent. I feel like morals and integrity are a dying concept. People these days are more concerned with being savage then they are with being kind. Kids didn’t go into schools and waste the other kids because someone was making fun of them. We thought about it and that’s where that shit ended because something inside you stops you short telling you that shits wrong. They do these kids not have that? When I was a kid I was taught to respect my elders for fear that if I didn’t I was gonna get my ass beat. I was taught that if an adult told me to do something I did it, regardless of whether or not I wanted to do it. Apparently we aren’t teaching that anymore, apparently we have decided to let the kids run the show. Dictating to us how they are gonna be brought up and what they get to do. I used to fear my father, now it seems we fear the kids. Or at least the loss of them. You know how we fix the fucked up situation that we find our society in these days? Through the children. We need to teach them the right way to be so they can teach their children and eventually things get turned around. That’s not what we are doing. Day by day we slip farther away from our humanity, growing more self-absorbed and shallow daily. More numb to the needs of others with every passing day. The hidden truth is that we need each other in order to become all that we can be. Good luck with that.

And I’m out

I think I’m gonna leave on Friday, possibly Saturday morning. Regardless by this time next week I’ll be gone. Off to new adventures, new experiences, new people. A new life. I am excited. There’s gonna be some shit I will miss, some people, but not many. This has all gotten to be rather cumbersome, so much so in fact that I am more suicidal at this stage of my life then I’ve ever been before this. We’re it not for the people I would victimize by doing it I would have killed myself a while ago but how am I gonna take away my own suffering and give it to the people I love? Yeah I’m not. So instead I’ve just been spiraling down the rabbit hole, deeper and deeper into the sickness inside of me. I’ve gotten so far down that I no longer can see the light, I’m no longer even trying. Momma didn’t raise no fool so instead of continuing down this path like a drunken sailor looking for pussy, instead I’m gonna turn around and head back towards the light. I mean if I’m not gonna kill myself then what’s the point of being miserable? Exactly, there’s none. I’m not even really sure which way I’ve been coming from. I have no idea how to go about finding the light again, I’m not even sure that I ever really saw it in the first place. But the last place I thought I saw it was west so I’m just a few short days I will be heading west, in search of my long lost happiness. This is one of those shit or get off the pot moments, sink or swim. Get busy living or die trying.

Play Ball

I’m getting ready to go to my first Colorado Rockies baseball game at Coors Field. I’ve been a fan of the Rockies since their very first season but I have never actually managed to make it to a game. I’ve had opportunity after opportunity, shit last season my mom got me tickets to a number of different games and I missed every single one. Today though me, my mom, and my girl are all going to see the Rockies battle the Pirates tonight at 6:30. Got pretty sick seats too. Club level seats pretty much right behind home plate, my homeboy told me that they got like a little suite so I’m pretty excited to see how good they really are. Not sure how good the Rockies are doing right now because baseball season are 160+ games long and I haven’t been paying the closest attention but regardless this should be a pretty good time. Might even get on TV. Oh shit, just got a phone call from the homie that’s giving me the tickets and he informed me that my tickets have been upgraded and now my seats are directly behind home plate and they come with dinner at the home plate restaurant as well. The homie told me to wear something nice. Haha, yeah ok. I’ll make sure it’s real nice.

Call of the Wild

I’ve spent the last couple of months gathering quite the collection of camping and backpacking gear, getting ready for a summer filled with a lot of both. My shit is all top shelf, the very best equipment that you can get. Money wise my outdoor equipment is worth over a couple thousand dollars all together but thankfully I didn’t have to spend a dime. Everything that I’ve got I acquired through the barter system trading someone the things they required in exchange for the things that I required in order to be set up like a boss if and when I decide to go into the wild. I’ve got a really nice 2 man tent made by MSR. It’s super lightweight and although I haven’t used it the reviews all say it’s a great tent. I’ve got a badass sleeping bag that is also super lightweight and it’s rated to 0° so I will probably never have to worry about being cold, if anything I might be to hot. I can’t think of who made the sleeping bag at the moment but I know it cost $500 at REI. For underneath the sleeping bag I’ve got a $300 therm-a-rest sleeping pad. I’ve got no idea what makes it worth $300 but it was the best one available and it said something about it being geared towards winter camping so I guess we’ll see. My backpack is a Gregory and it cost like $400. It’s a 60 liter pack, which is super lightweight and as far as I can tell it’s gonna be pretty comfortable because the frame molds to my back nicely and the belt is snug around my hips. Only time will tell how comfortable it really is. I’ve also got a jetboil camp stove, a fishing pole which folds down to about a foot long and a handful of other camping equipment. One idea that I had was to go and get one of those national parks passes and travel around going to national parks all over the county and camping and backpacking all over. The pass is only like $80, or it was a couple of years ago when I got one, which saves a bunch of money if you plan on going to more then a couple of parks throughout the year. There are some pretty cool National Parks that I wouldn’t mind spending some time in, so that’s seriously one of my options. I would have to come up with some kind of hustle so that I could finance the whole thing but I’m a hustling motherfucker so I’m sure I could figure out something. Backpacking and camping is not really all that expensive so the main thing I’d need money for is gasoline for my truck and that’s gonna be an expense no matter what I decide to do. It would be nice to have a travel companion for this adventure but I have grown accustomed to being alone and the nice thing about flying solo is that I only have to take care of one person. If I was to have someone come with me then that would just burden me with another mouth to feed and another person to have to worry about, so it’s gonna be easier but lonelier. Regardless of whether or not I go into the wild the final destination is somewhere I can get a little place for me and my mom and a job I can sink my teeth into and which doesn’t make me want to swan dive off a building into the asphalt. Probably somewhere in Oregon but also possible in Washington. Or maybe Montana.

Round 2

Oh shit son. We’re getting close now. After all of the feet dragging and procrastinating we are now only moments away from starting round 2 and by moments I mean like 10 days, maybe less. Coming back to Colorado was pretty much the only choice I had. I needed a whip and at the time I made the decision I was fucked up, needing to heal my body which I had just beat up in a car accident so Colorado was the easy, logical choice to make. It had the possibility to go either way, good or bad, and until we are actually in the truck, exiting the state, we won’t be able to call it exactly but I feel like this went good. For the most part. It definitely took longer then I had planned because in the beginning it was supposed to be in and out. I just wanted to stay long enough to get a vehicle and to heal my broken bones, both things of which I had taken care of months ago but I definitely wasn’t trying to stay here another winter. Regardless, I’m gathering up my shit, taking care of all of the loose ends I’ve got out there and readying myself for departure. My plan this time is nowhere close to what it was last time. In fact it’s more of an anti-plan because I have absolutely no idea what exactly I will do. Last time I had a destination and some structure to the plan as well as some support when I got there. This time, not so much. My destination is west, there is no structure, I’m flexible as fuck, basically letting the wind take me where it may. As for the support? Well, that shit is overrated. My support last time turned out to be something else entirely when they ended up kicking me out of the house a day after wrecking my truck, then since I didn’t have a whip and so having no way to get my property from their place they were supposed to hang on to my shit until I came back and got it. Proving that they were not support when they refused to pay me the money I was legitly owed, $1200 and stealing all of my worldly possessions. Yeah it’s probably a good thing that I no longer have that support. And so once again starting from the bottom, now we’re here. On the very edge of starting the next chapter of my life, I have butterflies. I’m full of angst. I’m nervous but excited, as the countdown begins.

Now What?

I wish there were like a manual or something on how to lead a happy, healthy, successful life. I wish I had drank the kool-aid all them years ago and had bought into that American dream bullshit. Life would probably be easier if I wasn’t such a non-conformists, if I gave a shit what people thought about me, if I was just trying to be a cookie cutter version of every other motherfucker out there like most of the population out there seems to be about. But I just never could conform, to anything. Now at 42, almost 43 years old, with no career, no mortgage, no family, no roots, and to be honest nothing that I am really trying to look at with pride, I’m feeling a certain kind of way. Partially it’s got to do with the game. The game is fucked off right now, the players have always been kinda scummy but they’ve changed and so has the game. Fentanyl is the motherfucking devil. I call them blue devils because they are controlling motherfuckers like the devil would. Eating people alive and leaving shells of the people that they used to be. I used to say that drugs couldn’t change a person but I was dead wrong. Certain drugs mixed with certain people can absolutely change a motherfucker. It’s like being personally responsible for creating the zombie apocalypse. People always tell me that if they weren’t getting it from me that they would just be getting it somewhere else, which is pretty true but they aren’t getting them from someone else, they are getting it from me. That leaves a shitty taste in my mouth and a constant weight on my conscience. Then to top it off, I’ve got everybody and their fucking mothers owing me money right now. By noon I’ll have 10 people hitting me up for drugs, of the 10, 2 have money, and usually not the full amount. So 8 of these motherfuckers are coming at me daily with zero money, their hands stretched out, and some bullshit lie or another, some sob story about how they are gonna pay me on Tuesday, they promise. Then Tuesday comes and goes and surprise surprise they don’t pay me my money and don’t even try to hit me up and give me an explanation. Instead I have to go looking for them. And when I find them and inquire about the debt, they get all indignant about me asking them about my fucking money. Telling me shit like come on man, you know I’m good for it. Or feeding me some shit about me getting my money real soon, not to worry. Then when I don’t get paid I get mad, being an asshole and threatening injury, but what is that gonna get me,? Surely not my money. So it leaves me with 2 shitty options, bitch up and wash my hands of it, or thug up and bash a motherfucker out, neither is gonna get you your money 9 times out of 10 and both have all kinds of consequences. So I’m probably gonna just bitch up and wash my hands of it. It’s only money, and it’s a good way to get your ass thrown in prison going and bashing someone out over $50 and I’m trying to stay out of prison. The plan used to be escape to Oregon. I had a homeboy there that would help me get on my feet. Somehow that shit got all fuck up and the day after I crashed my truck, rolling it 6 or 7 times before coming to a stop and getting arrested, him and his wife kicked me out of the house for having drugs in there. Drugs, I’ll have you know that everyone was aware I was still doing drugs the whole time I was there and never once did them inside the house. 2 days after my crash I not only lost my truck, I’d lost my place to stay and my job, being as how I worked for the homie and as it would turn out I lost the homie too. That was like having a safety net, but actually more like having a crutch. Now as the noose tightens and my days if Colorado gets shorter and shorter, I have no idea what the fuck I’m gonna do. No idea where I’m gonna go. Part of me is addicted to this outlaw lifestyle more then I’m addicted to the heroin so that part of me wants to just kick back in Colorado and wait for the hammer to fall. Just keep on keeping on. That part of me is very influential, very strong willed and he’s been running the show for a long time so he knows the ins and outs. Plus he’s fearless. But that’s not what’s gonna get me into trouble, I mean it might, but what’s really gonna get me wrapped up is that he’s hopeless. There is no light at the end of his tunnel, he doesn’t look forward to tomorrow, he dreads it. He is not looking for solutions, he knows he is part of the problem and he’s cool with that. But then there’s this other part of me that just won’t give up on the idea of greatness, on the dream of saving the world, or at least my soul. For 40 years that part of me has been has been disassociated from the reality that the other part of me created but over the last couple of years he’s been awoken. He’s no longer disassociated from our reality and he is no longer content with sitting back while skank tries to destroy the world.

The Death Wobble

At the end of last summer, I think it was August but possibly the end of July, I rolled my truck right outside of Canyonville Oregon. I was cruising along at about 90 mph and decided to try and take a little nap. Bad idea. I woke up to inevitable disaster and stupidly jerked the wheel which sent me rolling. I think I rolled 7 times. Regardless of the number of rolls, I wrecked my truck pretty good, coming to a stop on the roof. Physically it fucked me up pretty good, breaking my nose, my clavicle, my orbital bone, some ribs and bruising the fuck out of every other part of my body. Someone called the cops when they saw me crash and I had just finished trying to gather my shit up when the pigs showed up. At first that asked me if I was driving and trying to avoid jail I told them I wasn’t, telling them that this chick was driving but she had already left. Of course they didn’t believe me asking me numerous times it I was sure it wasn’t me driving. Still trying to avoid jail I assured them that I wasn’t driving even after they told me that they were gonna check the highway cameras to find out the truth. Fuck it. Check the cameras, I wasn’t driving. I had given the pig my real name which he checked for warrants and surprise surprise, guess who had a warrant? When the cop first showed up he asked me if I wanted an ambulance and since I just wanted to get out of there I told him no, that I was fine. Finding out that I had a warrant made me wish I’d taken the ambulance. Instead, broken as fuck, they cuffed me and threw me in the back of the cop car. I was pretty fucked up. I can still remember the pain from wrapping the steering wheel as I started to flip. At jail they realized how fucked up I was and not wanting to have to deal with it they asked me if I promised I would go to court? I told them of course I would and they gave me a PR bond. Released from custody with the clothes on my back and wearing a pair of shower shoes the only other things I had were my wallet and my cellphone. I immediately called the homie James, who I was living with about an hour away from where I crashed and explained what had happened. I told him my truck was totalled and asked him if he could come and swoop me up. Even though he had a working vehicle, wasn’t busy doing anything and was only an hour away, he told me that he couldn’t come get me, giving me some bullshit excuse which I can’t even remember and said he would try and find me a ride. Pretty sure he never even tried. Anyways my homeboy Boston was living outside of Portland and had a whip so I asked him if he could come save me. Portland is 6 hours away from where I crashed but Boston agreed to come and get me. James wouldn’t even drive an hour. It took Boston forever but he finally showed up and we started heading slowly back to where I was staying. The next day we made it to Grant’s Pass and even though it’s only 12 miles from there to where I was staying when Boston got a hotel room in Grants Pass I decided to stay the night there with him. I was feeling a little salty that James wouldn’t come and rescue me and had no desire to go “home” so I stayed with Boston. In the morning Boston told me that he felt like taking his dog for a walk in the redwood forest and I agreed to go with. Before we even got to California but after we’d already passed Gold Hill I got a message from James freaking out telling me that I was kicked out of the house and wasn’t welcome to come back. Apparently his wife was looking for dirty dishes(which is bullshit, that bitch didn’t do the dishes one time the whole time I was there) and deciding to look in my safe(because I stash dirty dishes there) found a bag of dope. Because of this bag of dope, which I might add, I wasn’t even doing, hence it being left behind at the house and not with me, I was in violation of the rules of no drugs in the house which I thought was actually no using drugs in the house but apparently I was wrong because a couple days after wrecking my truck and almost dying I was now kick out of the place I was staying. Plus I worked with James so in a 3 day period I lost my truck, my place, my job and as time would tell, my best friend. With very few options I decided that my best bet was to return to Colorado, heal up, stack some bread, get a new whip and then go back to Oregon. I had originally planned on being in and out. Get a vehicle ASAP and bounce. My plans never work out like I want them to. Months later, after a full cold ass Colorado winter, here I still sit. At first I thought that someone was gonna come with me so I was waiting for her to be ready to go but shit changes fast around here and once again it’s just gonna be me. I had a new whip pretty quickly once I got back, a Ford explorer that my homegirl hooked me up with but that truck got stolen from right in front of the house. That shit fucked me off pretty good. I need wheels with the lifestyle that I live and my truck getting stolen threatened to derail any plans I had wanted to have in place. Fortunately I have been blessed with some super amazing people in my life, one of which is Jesse. Jesse Astuto has been my friend since highschool. We once went to a Grateful Dead concert with my mom and a couple other friends when I was 14. Although there have been stretches of time when we didn’t see each other or hang out we have remained friends the whole time. A couple days after the explorer was stolen I went over to Jesse’s house. As soon as I walked in he handed me a piece of paper along with the title for a 1993 Ford F150. He told me he wanted to give me his truck and the piece of paper he’d given me was a bill of sale. My fucking parents never even gave me a vehicle as a kid but Jesse did. He told me there were a few issues with the truck but that it was mine. Driving away I found out that one of the issues the truck had was a death wobble. The death wobble wasn’t to bad when I first got the truck so I didn’t rush to fix it. But as time went on and death wobble after death wobble occurred, they steadily got worse. I decided to fix the problem but death wobbles are tricky and they are caused by a number of different things so I didn’t even know where to start. I replaced the tie rods, inner and outer because when I did my little inspection the tie rods were movable by hand which they are not supposed to be. The the tie rods were the initial cause but the death wobble was so violent that it was destroying my truck. One death wobble shook the front end so bad that it broke a bracket that was holding one side of my dual I-beam axle to the frame of my truck. That was the motherfucker and it took me quite a while to figure it out. It wasn’t until this dude I knew who works at a mechanic shop offered to let me put my truck on a lift and raise it up so we could inspect it from underneath that we noticed the broken part. I was gonna have the homie weld it, going as far as acquiring a $1,000 welder so he could do it but when he showed up to do the job he informed me that I’d be better off just going to a pick and pull and getting the part I needed off of a junked truck the same as my truck. So the next day we went to Denver to do some business and go to a pick and pull. My time management is trash so I didn’t make it to the pick and pull until 4:00 pm and the closed at 5:00 pm. I had 2 bolts left to get the part and end the death wobbles but even though I had and cordless impact wrench, I left it at home and so with only two bolts left to get the pick and pull closed and I was forced to bounce. The next day after handling some pretty rewarding business I went to Home Depot and bought a beast of an impact wrench with 700 lbs of torque for $400. Best $400 I ever spent cause the next time I went to the pick and pull it took me less the an hour and $30 and I had the answer to my death wobble problem. Replacing the part on my truck took 24 hours of soaking the whole thing in PB blaster and about an hour to actually do the job. And with that the death wobble was no more, at least for now. It’s like I have a new truck. I’ve never driven it in as good of shape as it’s in now. It’s a 1993 Ford F150 with only 150,000 miles on it. It has had basically one owner before me, an old man who did all the maintenance regularly. When I got the truck it had a huge pile of receipts for everything done to it so if I pay attention to fluids and maintain the maintenance, I can easily get another 150,000 miles. I’m currently murdering it out and I replace the stereo and got 2 12 inch subs in a ported box that fit nearly perfectly behind the bench seat. She’s a bad bitch. My new pirate ship. What grand adventures we will have.