Last Saturday, my car reached and surpassed a milestone – 200,000 miles.

I actually pulled over and shot a picture of the odometer. I missed it when the Honda rolled over 100K but paid heed the day I stopped to fill up and the odometer read 111,111.

Thinking back, it seems like just last week that I took possession of the car, with a mere 3 miles on the odometer. But it was actually December 2004. It started me thinking about how little effort it takes these days to maintain a car. I change the oil every 5,000 miles. Other than replacing tires and windshield wipers, I’ve done very little to the car.

It’s the same way with my 1996 Dodge pickup. Mechanically, the Dakota has been bulletproof. But cars haven’t always been that way.

My early days of driving involved three 1971 Volkswagens – two Super Beetles and a big orange and white van. They required a bit of wrench turning. Oil changes were much more frequent. Spark plugs fouled and had to be changed on a regular basis. One of the biggest problems was the starter. I kept an old pair of pliers handy. If it wouldn’t start, you could crawl up under the rear and use the pliers to short out the solenoid and get the starter spinning. If that didn’t work, you had to push it off.

That was the case one August in the Mississippi Delta. My sister and I were visiting our grandparents and preparing to head back to college, a 90-minute drive. It was hot and humid. The Beetle wouldn’t start. Pushing off a VW by yourself is not that hard, but it is easier with a partner. My sister has never been mechanically-inclined, so I had to explain the whole process – you sit in driver’s seat, put in gear, hold the clutch down, I push, you pop the clutch and it will crank.

Since the car was in the driveway, I had her put it in reverse. I pushed it backwards and got it rolling and told her OK. The engine didn’t make a sound. So I pushed it into the road. She stuck it in first. I pushed again. She let out the clutch. Again, no vroom, vroom. So I kept pushing and forced the engine through several cycles. Still, it refused to fire. Dripping sweat, I slowly stood up, straightened my now sore back. Not knowing what could be wrong, I started toward the front of the car, preparing to try pushing one more time.

As I walked past the driver’s window, my sister asked innocently, “Would it help if I turned the key on?” Somehow, I resisted the urge to strangle her. Biting my tongue, I said, “Yes, turn it on.”

I started pushing. The car was barely moving when I said “OK.” She popped the clutch and the engine promptly roared to life. Somewhat relieved, I got behind the wheel and we headed down the road. The wind whipping in the windows (no air conditioning in VWs) helped dry the sweat and cool me off, but I was hot for most of the trip back to school.

William Moore is the Senior Editor at Gulf Coast Newspapers. He can be reached at wmoore@gulfcoastnewspapers.com