The odometer is just shy of 300,000 miles, a testament not just to Honda engineering, but to a life well lived. Twenty-two years have passed since the shiny silver Pilot first rolled into our driveway. Back then, it was a choice of necessity – not all vehicles were designed for a family of five, with three little ones buckled into car seats, and two exuberant dogs. Child No. 1, about to turn 6 years old, was delighted to inhabit the third row by himself. This distance from the driver was impractical for both the toddler and the infant, but perfect for a kindergartner looking to make a little mischief. The cassette deck reeled Raffi tunes, the cupholders held sippy cups, and we rolled along.
From the outset, “Bertha” was more than just transport; she was the family’s mobile command center. Every summer, she faithfully embarked on the 800-mile pilgrimage from Virginia to Lake Michigan, our annual escape from reality and humidity. Dog crates were loaded in, a rooftop cargo box was installed, and a rear bike rack was mounted. This beast could carry a heavy load.
Bertha was a time capsule of childhood craziness. Surfaces were sticky, crevices cradled crumbs, seats sported dog fur, and together we all endured the Great Milk Spill of ’07. Oh, how that smell lingered!
Why We Wrote This
From tailgate diapering to college drop-offs, one car has seen a family of five through the miles – and milestones.
The car seats were eventually removed, replaced by booster seats, and then just seat belts. Bertha facilitated countless school pickups, soccer practices, car pools, grocery runs, and trips to the vet. Scratches and dents cropped up, but her engine hummed on, steady and reliable.
Around the 100,000-mile mark, we considered replacing her, having never owned a car that reliably exceeded this milestone. During a routine maintenance visit, a mechanic recommended replacing the timing belt. The estimate was steep and I was reluctant, unsure of Bertha’s tenure with us. “Make the investment now, and she’s good for another 100,000 miles,” was his sales pitch. I was stunned, but easily swayed.
Fresh off the replacement, we rolled into the teenage years. Sibling rivalries escalated from simple squabbles to intense negotiations for the right to ride in Bertha’s front passenger seat. Family dinners became drive-thru meals on the way home from practices and rehearsals. And then, one by one, each of the teens proudly took the wheel for the first time, earning their independence in the driver’s seat. Bertha patiently endured learner’s-permit jitters and parallel-parking attempts, bearing witness to the transformation from novice to confident driver.
Her journey didn’t end with high school. As each child left for college, Bertha became the trusty coach for the next chapter. Graduate No. 1 – the mischief-maker from the third row – moved 450 miles away in Bertha, loaded with dorm essentials, dreams, and a mini-fridge.
Soon, Teen No. 2 was packing the cargo bay for her own transition to university life, as the mirrors reflected every mile marker of childhood fading behind us.
Finally, the Baby took Bertha to college and claimed her for himself, collecting his birth-order winnings. Each departure was bittersweet, a quiet acknowledgment of time passing.
Two decades on, all three children are adults, charting their own courses and driving their own cars. Bertha has been returned to me with an odometer reading of 296,292 miles. She has nearly exhausted her third timing belt, and, frankly, our girl has some issues.
Though her future is uncertain, her legacy is immense. This extraordinary vehicle has shepherded us through a generation – from tailgate diapering, travel potties, and toys, to backpacks, sports gear, and adolescent escapades – all the ephemera of family life. Our beloved Bertha has been a persistent model of resilience and the silent hero of a remarkable journey.
