A short while ago, a memory popped up on my Facebook newstream from 16 years ago: a photo of the day I sold my beloved 2000 VW Jetta VR6. It is a day and event I have long regretted. I wasn’t just saying goodbye to an old friend, I felt like I was betraying that friend. It was like sending my dog to the pound. How could I possibly walk away from a friend that went everywhere with me through my most formative years? It was my companion through the last two years of high school, all four years of college and several cross-country journeys along the way. That includes being with me in three of the places most associated with my youth: Indianapolis where I went to high school, Malibu where I went to college, and two summers visiting Toronto, where I grew up. When you live a rather migratory existence, it’s probably not surprising that a car becomes like a friend.