RIP Micra

At approximately 1PM on Tuesday the 24th of September our little red 1995 Micra passed away. It had 101,492 miles on the odometer and took us 2,776 miles from London.

We stopped in Cefalu, about 60km from Palermo, west Sicily to check out the old town, and on our way out we stopped and filled up the tank, €67 at €1,90\L. Almost immediately after the transmission warning light started flashing. It had flashed before in Cornwall briefly, and only once or twice randomly on our trip. This time is was continuous.

Now since we have done all we can as far as prolonging its life, and we have driven through every clunk, noise and smell so far, I just kept going. We were fine in the same gear on the autostrada, but when we came into Palermo we hit traffic about 15km from our campground in Sferracavallo. After the first time we came to a stop we had serious trouble getting going again. I knew she was gone. Palermo, and Sicily on the whole, are pretty sketchy, and this section of road was not where I wanted this to happen. We did manage to crawl along, and we got through Palermo, and we got to our campground, slowly, and we managed to park at reception. I turned it off there for the last time.

After checking in here for a few nights I went to start it up and see if we could drive to our pitch. I'm guessing the computer knew it was too gone to turn over because it just didn't, we had to get a push up to where it sits now. A fitting end. To be fair that last bit was in the direction we came from. The Micra literally went as far as we were ever going to go, everything from here was on the way back. It's like a script.

Before we left Wimbledon I went to to a local mechanic for a little advice, and as well as explaining what transmission fluid to use and how to fill it they also shot the shit with me a bit and laughed at my ambition. One joked, if that thing makes it to Sicily send me a postcard. You'll be lucky to get to Dover. The other said it could very well make it all the way home. I took that for what it was and figured we might as well go for it, but if we did hit Sicily they were getting a postcard.

We left some luggage at our friends Will and Lorna's before leaving, and debated driving it to north London, but a couple hours in traffic seemed like wasted time on its life, so we took our heavy bags on the tube. I think that shows how we felt from the start, we just didn't know. Perhaps had we driven to Finchley we wouldn't have made it to Sicily.

Every stretch of road we have driven was something we wouldn't have seen by train. Even if it was boring toll autostrada it was new. We went to so many amazing campsites and saw a totally different kind of traveling from hostels. We went down so many strange back roads getting lost and found in the quietest corners of different countries. We've seen the edges of cities as well as the hearts. We've seen the most amazing scenery, from the Alps to the Adriatic coast of Southern Italy. I could go on and on, and our photos do.

The further this little car went to more I fell I love with it. Every new place we saw away from a train station was a memory it gave us. I actually think Gen got a little jealous when I started calling it baby towards the end. It very easily could have died when we got off the ferry in France, and it could have died when we dragged it through the Dolomites for 5 hours until after dark, and it could have died in some vineyards in the middle of nowhere or on a side street in sketchy ass Bari or Palermo. But it didn't, it drove us exactly as far as we were going to go. Of course I had plans of things to see the next few days, but life goes on.

From here we figure out how to scrap it, leave behind our camping gear, our stump, and a number of other things we can't fit on our backs, and continue by train. It's going to be a totally different trip, but still a good one. I'm so happy this great little car took us so far.

Rest in peace little red Micra, thanks for the adventure!

-Justin