The Jeep that Saved Christmas
Those that know me, could easily describe me as a “car guy” (also stubborn, bull-headed, and somewhat amusing). My love of cars started at a very young age with Hot Wheels, Matchbox, Tonka, and various other toys. Even as I write this at the ripe old age of 41, I’ve never lost my love of driving. I’ll still hop in the car and head off with no destination in mind just to see where a certain road leads. Top-down, stereo up, with a throaty V-8 under the hood, second star to the left, and straight on ‘til morning, there are a lot of worse ways to travel.
Every man has a”type”, and a powerful convertible is mine. A convertible is an automotive equivalent to a curvy Latina with sultry eyes to me. And while I am still in love with, and still have, my ‘72 Chevelle ragtop, there came a time when I ran out of road and found the joy of exploring off road. Rocking and rolling down a trail to go where few have traveled is a blast. That’s when I discovered Jeep. A convertible 4X4, what more could I want?
Roundabout the fall of 1993, I found a 1980 CJ5 soft top for sale. It needed a bit of work, which is fine with me, as turning a wrench is one of my few hobbies. It just so happened that this particular Jeep had a V-8, which in car terms, might as well be Shakira in my driveway. (Shakira, call me.) Money was a little tight, so some of the major work would have to wait, but I jumped right in with a new soft top, new stereo, and a fresh exhaust system. The new body was planned, and I was toying with the idea of a custom shell reminiscent of the military Hummer, complete with a hinged front bumper to access the engine.
As winter came to Pennsylvania, I quickly learned to dress in several layers, fire up the Jeep’s V-8 a few minutes ahead of time, and plug in the electric heater I bought to try to get the temperature in the driver’s compartment close to freezing before setting off to work in the mornings, evenings, or even mid-afternoon.
Christmas of 1994 was a bit unusual for western Pennsylvania. A white Christmas wasn’t unheard of, but that year, we had quite the storm. A day or two before Christmas, a Noreaster moved in that lasted several days. What started as gentle holiday snow, turned into a full-blown blizzard. By Christmas Eve, there were approximately two feet of snow already on the ground and it was falling faster than road crews could clear it. This presented quite a problem. Every year, we spent Christmas with my grandparents, “Weeze and Pap,” as I affectionately called them, and with the weather as it was, it looked like we wouldn’t be able to be together for the holiday.
Weeze and Pap.
As the snow continued to fall, I debated whether or not to brave the roads. I watched the frequent weather updates on the local news and hoped for a break in the weather. Or to hear that the major roads were clear. Sadly that wasn’t to be the case.
The morning of Christmas Eve, I decided that I wasn’t going to let something as simple as the weather keep me from the warmth of my grandparent’s house, my grandmother’s Christmas ham, and candied sweet potatoes, and the precious time I would get to spend with them. After all, I had a Jeep with a V-8 engine, 30-inch off-road tires, a 4X4 drivetrain, and a decent stereo.
Digging out.
I let my parents know that I was going, and after the obligatory “are you sure?” and “maybe the weather will clear.” Mom decided to go with me when it was clear that my mind was made up.
Not enough snow.
Mom bundled up as best she could, and we hit the road. As I had already removed the back seat from my Jeep, there wasn’t room for a third, so Dad had to stay home, where it was warm like a sane person would.
The key to the whole trip was sticking to the main roads, which were sufficiently covered to require we stay in four-wheel drive the whole way despite the best efforts of PennDot crews. The main highway, Route 51, was fairly clear for most of the trip, just as we expected. Ever-present ridges of snow separated lanes and as we got further away from Pittsburgh, some areas only had one lane clear. But nothing that caused me any concern, despite some slush that seemed to pick up my Jeep and slide it into another lane independent of my wishes and best steering efforts. A couple of cars that had slipped off the road and into snowdrifts, and we spotted a few accidents in the oncoming lane, but we trudged along at a comfortable pace.
However, there were a few surprises along the way.
First, it hadn’t occurred to me that I had never actually used the windshield washer before this trip. Ironically, it worked exactly as you’d expect on a 15-year-old off-road vehicle that hadn’t been exactly perfectly maintained. That is to say, not very well. The passenger side would be clear, but it seemed to spray more dirt on the driver’s side. This meant frequent stops to clean the salt mist off the windshield, which eventually led to me reaching from inside the moving vehicle to clear my view with a shop rag, my glove, or the remainder of a Happy Meal, etc.
Also, despite being bundled up like arctic explorers with two heaters going full blast, 40 miles per hour in a Pennsylvania winter is damn cold! I can’t feel my toes just reminiscing about it.
Coming into Uniontown and turning off the main roads, we encountered deeper snow on the streets that would have made my grandparent’s hill impossible to climb in any lesser vehicle. At the top was Weeze and Pap’s house. The greatest place on Earth. As my V-8 rumbled to a stop, Pap emerged from the warmth of his house, bundled in his winter jacket with a big smile. I helped Mom over the drift at the side of the road and through the deeper snow of the Laurel Mountains to the porch. I gave Pap a big hug, knocked the snow off my boots, and gave Weeze a kiss in the kitchen.
After pulling the Jeep onto the foundation of the old barn that had become the parking at their house, I shoveled the steps and walk for them before heading inside.
The trip that normally took just under an hour had taken us a little over two. But we made it, safe and sound.
We had a wonderful visit, recounting the adventure of the trip and having our traditional Christmas dinner with Weeze and Pap. Sadly, with the storm not letting up and darkness coming early, we could only stay for a couple of hours and decided to head out to try to make it home before nightfall.
The trip home was nothing more than the road had shown us prior, except a bit heavier snowfall and slower speed and even colder. Ok, so it was a little bit more than we had seen prior. But we made it back to Pittsburgh just after dark and spent the rest of the evening laughing about the adventure and thawing on the couch and watching “A Christmas Story” as was another family tradition.
What made this trip so special, wasn’t the weather, wasn’t the gifts or the dinner, it was something much more important than we could never have seen coming. In the Spring that followed, Weeze fell ill. After being in and out of the hospital, we lost her in the Fall of 1995.
Christmas of 1994 was our last with Weeze. We lost Pap in the Spring of 1996, and Christmas hasn’t been the same since.
In the summer of 1996, I had to sell the Jeep. Still, in need of a new body, it wouldn’t pass the mechanical inspection required by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and I ended up trading it in on a Jeep Cherokee Sport. I was, and still am, sad that I had to give up my beloved CJ. Noisy beat up, and ugly as it was, I will always fondly remember it by the nickname it has earned in our family lore.
– Jim Cavalier March 26, 2011
Las Vegas, NV
