I followed my own advice and bought a van.

I looked for reasons not to like the van, as Michael, the proprietor of the small used car lot on Columbia in North Portland, stood ten feet away, making small talk. As I learned from the test drive, he had moved to White Salmon in 1981 with “100 bucks in cash and a pound of pot, thinking I was going to cash in, retire, and spend the rest of his days fishing.” Instead he ended up in prison. I hadn’t asked for how long, but either in jail or shortly after, he had found Jesus and was on his current path. His car lot currently housed two cars: a maroon Subaru sedan with matching painted hubcaps for $1600 and a 2016 Ford Transit 250 Cargo Van with $10,499 hanging from the rearview mirror.

Despite having higher miles, 189k, the Carfax was about as good as it gets. 41 entries of repeated service every 5-6k miles, a few flushes of the coolant system, new brakes, tie rods, and end links within 20k miles, regular tire rotations, and fluid changes on the differential and transmission. The engine bay was spotless, the underside looked virtually new, and the seats were not worn out. The AC blew cold, the heater hot, and none of the fluids looked burnt.

As commuters headed east on Columbia towards the 205 bridge, I walked circles around the van looking for any speck of evidence to contrast the narrative that was building in my head. This is a good van, maybe even a great van for the price, and I should make an offer. Standing back, I made Michael an offer.