Lightning’s Girl 2017-2026.

I am in mourning. I am devastated. I am distraught.

My beloved 2017 Chevrolet Volt Premier, the one I’ve colloquially named “Lightning’s Girl,” is dead. Unrecoverable. Destroyed.

All because of a deer carcass.

On June 20, I was on my way to East Greenbush for an event. To get to East Greenbush from my house, I must take I-787 to I-90, and then cross over on U.S. 4 to get to U.S. 20.

Well, on my journey, I’m driving up I-90, and everything’s all right in the world.

Then I saw it.

In the middle of the road.

A deer carcass.

Right in my pathway.

FUCK.

Okay, Chuck, what can I do? I could swerve left … no I can’t, there’s a car alongside of me. I could swerve right … no I can’t, there’s the possibility of sliding off the road and crashing into an exit sign. I could slow down … no I can’t, there’s not enough time for the guy behind me to brake.

Hope for the best.

In an instant, I drove over the deer carcass like it was a speed bump.

Okay. Car’s still rolling. I’m still under power. All seems to be good.

When I could, I pulled over at a gas station and checked the front of the car. Valance is intact. No dents. Nothing.

Whew. I must have dodged a bullet.

Drove to my event. Drove home afterward. But on the way home … I noticed the car was acting a big sluggish. It needed more power than usual on the highway.

This is not good.

Sunday morning, June 21st. Drove some errands. And the car’s sluggishness turned into a nasty vibration. One I’ve never previously experienced with Lightning’s Girl.

I pulled into a Mavis Tire. The workers put the car up on a lift.

And then I could see the damage.

The splash shields under the car were shredded. Deer fur and deer skin everywhere.

That night … I called my insurance company. Explained the situation.

Tuesday morning, I dropped the car off at a collision center.

Wednesday morning … I spoke with the collision center workers.

That deer did more damage than I expected. It wasn’t just the splash shields. It hit the transmission. It hit some of the mounts.

And the worst part – it hit the battery and dented it.

The battery. The one part I can’t replace on the car. The one part General Motors no longer makes.

A few days later … I received the post-mortem from the insurance company.

The car is totaled. Undriveable. Just to repair the damage – and replace the battery, if I could find one – would cost $10,000. To start.

Will you all excuse me for just a moment? Even typing those words brings painful emotions.

Goodbye, Dracourage. Hello, Lightning’s Girl.

It’s not fair. We went on so many journeys together, Lightning’s Girl and I. CPKC Holiday Train chases. The Union Pacific Big Boy chase. Trips to the Big E and to the New York State Fair and to the Adirondacks and to a dozen other locales.

The car was paid off. Three months of complete ownership.

I get it. There were people who thought I obsessed over that car a wee bit. But so what? This was my car. It wasn’t their car. It was MY car.

I was told that car was too small. Well, excuse me for not buying a gas-guzzling Hummer or a MAGA-thumping Cybertruck. Screw that. My car was perfect for me.

And now it’s gone. Because somebody clobbered a deer and knocked it into the road, and there was no way for me to avoid it.

Ugh. Just straight-up ugh.

I should count my blessings. I’m not injured. A car can be replaced. It’s just a car.

What am I saying? It’s not “just” a car. It was a personal lifeline. Every car I’ve owned has been a personal lifeline. A commitment to my travel and commuter needs. And an escape from trauma. A car was my conduit, my chariot, my mobility.

And Lightning’s Girl had the best of them all. A mixture of electricity and gasoline. It was perfect.

So in the past few days, I’ve resigned myself to get a new car. Preferably another Chevrolet Volt, maybe another ’17 Premier, or even an ’18 or – if I see one out there – a ’19.

I looked at my options. There were three Volts for sale in the area.

Lia Hyundai had a white ’17 Premier. Low mileage. No accidents. I checked the VIN number. The car was manufactured in a CARB state, which meant it still contained all transferable warranties.

I called Lia Hyundai. Even if I had to put up with their godawful “puppies and babies not included” salespeople, I could hold my nose if it meant getting that Volt.

“Hi, I’d like to visit your dealership and test drive your Chevrolet Volt.”

“We sold that yesterday,” was the cold response.

“But it’s still on your website as being available,” I pleaded.

“By law, we have to keep it on the website until the car is claimed,” the salesperson said.

Strike one.

Okay. There’s an ’18 Premier at Basile Toyota in West Springfield, Massachusetts. Low mileage. No accidents. A nice ice blue color. I could do this.

“Hi, I’d like to visit your dealership and test drive your Chevrolet Volt.”

“We can’t sell that to you,” said the salesperson.

“Why not?” I asked.

“The caller ID on your phone says you’re from New York. By law, we’re only allowed to sell cars that can be registered in Massachusetts or Connecticut. If you’re able to register the car in Massachusetts, we could consider you giving us a test drive. But it has to be registered in those two states. Not in New York.”

Bullshit. Strike two. Ugh.

A third dealership. They had a black ’18 Volt LT, the base model. I arrived at their lot. I test drove the car. Despite it being an ’18 model, it felt like whoever originally purchased it had added some dealer upgrades. The CARFAX report said there was a minor accident to the car, but the damage was cosmetic and repaired. And it’s within my price.

I had to wait until I had confirmation from the insurance company that Lightning’s Girl was completely dead, and that I could contact my bank for financing.

Yesterday, I arrived at the dealership, ready to put down a deposit on this brand new Lightning’s Girl.

I found the salesperson. “I want the car. I don’t care, I’ll put a deposit down on it right now.”

He looked at me. “The car was sold two hours ago.”

FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

That’s it. I can’t drive a Volt any more. One fucking dead deer in the middle of the fucking highway just fucking destroyed my car.

Life sucks.

The dealer then said, “I’m sorry. Someone else came in and put a deposit down on the car, and they’re picking it up tomorrow.”

That’s it. Somewhere in the world, someone who hates my guts got their prayers answered. I’m not allowed to have happiness in my life.

Then I saw it. A jet-black ’17 Chevrolet Malibu. “Please show me that one,” I said.

It’s a hybrid car, in that the gasoline engine powers an auxiliary electric motor inside it. Mileage is reported as 49 highway, 45 city. I looked at the CARFAX. One owner, no accidents.

I took it for a test run. The steering column and dashboard all resembled Lightning’s Girl. There’s an Onster connection. The car has SiriusXM satellite radio. It has navigation. The ride is smooth. The controls are responsive.

It’s not Lightning’s Girl … but it feels like it wants to be.

I drove the car back to the dealership. Met with the salesperson.

“I’m putting a deposit on this car right now,” I said. “Before someone else claims it.”

And there it is. Now all I need to do is get a bank loan to pay for this car, and deal with another several years of car payments. But at least I have a car. And it’s still a Chevrolet. And it’s a sedan. I don’t need an SUV or a crossover or a pickup truck. And I don’t need a Ford or a Dodge or a Toyota or a Tesla.

I need what I need.

And this morning, I’m headed to the body shop to remove all my personal items – and the license plates – from Lightning’s Girl. And to say goodbye one last time to arguably the best car I’ve ever owned.

It’s very hard for me to say goodbye.

I hate goodbyes.

And I hate losing Lightning’s Girl. I just hate it.

And maybe … just maybe … and I mean maybe … I’ll find some solace in this jet-black Malibu.

We shall see.