This was my dear Jeep Cherokee, 14 years old and 240,000 miles when it had its last explosion on the Cross Bronx Expressway one fine fall night last year . Fortunately it's not that hard to find a car service that will take you, two spinone, a semi-comatose pekingese and the cat the rest of the way home at 11:00 at night, as long as your credit card still functions.This wonderful vehicle served me well, carrying dogs and vanity plates (with the help of a bit of baling wire) in style, AND making sure that nobody among my passengers was ever gunshy. I've been driving something newer, and while I can hear the radio over the rattles, I spend much more time worrying about it that I ever did about my Jeep.
