Steel Dust crosses the Continental Divide In 1985, my father and I, in search of my first car, happened upon two used Hondas--a burgundy Accord and a silver (metallic grey) Prelude. After test-driving both, we pursued the Prelude. Dad lassoed a deal for $5,000, and I drove home a 1981 Honda Prelude, complete with sunroof and burgundy interior. That Prelude quickly stole my heart, although I later married. He took me across America (twice), through snow drifts (safely, with the help of angels), and added many sun and star streaks in my hair, through the automatic sun-moon roof. At some point in our relationship, I dubbed him "Steel Dust." My ten-speed bike (with quick-release front wheel) fit conveniently in the back seat. Steel Dust is the only car that I've ever bought vanity plates for: STL DST. Only once did he wander: I was awakened by a phone call about midnight, with a police dispatcher asking me if I owned a silver Prelude, license plate blah blah blah . . . After mumbling assent, she told me Steel Dust was sitting out in the middle of the street, and could I please move my car? Steel Dust was parked on a hill, but I hadn't forgotten to use the brake that night. He showed no signs of a break-in. Was Steel Dust trying to escape, and if so, from what? It remains part of the mystery of our relationship. When we recently moved out of state, I sold Steel Dust, after a 13-year relationship. I was happy to learn that the new owner lives in the same subdivision where Steel Dust wandered, and in some respects, it was like sending a loveable horse to green, familiar pastures. In the photograph, Steel Dust is parked at the Continental Divide, driving (with me) to California in January, 1989. Garfield(r) rides on the rear window, with a napkin banner fiercely proclaiming "Go Bengals!" for SuperBowl XXIII. I watched the game on the rim of my chair, in Grand Canyon National Park's famous El Tovar hotel. For all you sports fans, it was "the most dramatic finish in SuperBowl history," to quote a Niner Faithful.