Sit and kill some time in your car every once and a while–it builds a bond between the two of you. Builds character in the machine and a dent in the seat unique to your bottom–and this is the only way you’re ever going to get to know her well enough to name her, you know.
Beetles often go by the name of Daisy or Jane, Beamers go by Jenny or Vikki; some like Sandra for Lexuses, and alternately some pick Tara for a Mercedes. This is frequently related to the first girl that got in their car, or their best friend in grade school. I call my car Rabbit or Jackie (for Jackalope). Doesn’t really relate to anything except the hindquarters of the vehicle–looks like a rabbit’s.
I have a cache of books in my trunk–books for every type of mood I might find myself in should I take off down the road for Vegas or Mexico one day. Come to think of it, I ought to add some more fiction and a quart of tequila for this purpose. Eh, maybe when I get closer to feeling like leaving for the dusty road…
The problem with leaving anything in your vehicle is the goddamned heat. Can’t leave deodorant, can’t leave sticky liquids or foods, can’t leave anything that can’t withstand 120 degree weather. Books can handle it, but not the direct sunlight; that’s why I keep them in the trunk, along with several liters of water, a flashlight, and a small box of tools. Wish I could keep some deodorant in the car. And beef jerkey.
You begin to realize after the 2nd hour that you really need tinted windows. If you had tinted windows you’d just about have yourself a home. Tinted windows and a bathroom, of course. That’s one thing, however, I’m content to use a reststop for.