A couple of days ago, I experienced what most people avoid and fear — an auto accident. I'll spare you the details, but the end result is this: My pride and joy, my ever loyal and faithful partner, my trusty friend, my truck is gone. As a result of the impact, my  1999 GMC Sonoma was reduced to a wretched visage of its former self, with a twisted, smashed and broken front end, and it began its journey to that Elysium Junkyard in the Sky.

I consider myself lucky. Unlike Paul's very scary and traumatic collision, I and the other drivers involved left the the scene of the accident without injury and all three of us were covered by insurance. My insurance company, in particular, has some of the best claims service I've ever experienced. Three business days after the accident, my truck has been inspected, declared a total loss, and I have a check to go toward the purchase of a new vehicle in hand. These factors will lead me to rate them highly when I fill out an Angie's List report about their services.

But as I face the prospect of buying a new vehicle, most likely another truck, I'm sentimental for all the memories I made with Mabeliene (the never-spoken name I gave her when we first met). All the moving we helped my friends with; all the furniture we hauled together; the motorcycles we picked up and transported from places like Chicago, Cincinnati and Cicero, Ind., back to Indianapolis; and the road trips to Brown County State Park, Edinburgh, Ind., and Chicago and Michigan — in all, we spent 40,000 beautiful miles together. Most of all,  I'll miss the daily drives to and from work — though she had her minor problems like a leaky power-steering unit and misaligned driver's side door, she was dependable and never let me down.

When I collected my personal possessions from the smashed and deformed shell of my beloved friend, I thanked her for doing her job of always getting where I needed to be and ultimately keeping me safe from danger.