“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” said John Pecori, scribbling words on various papers from behind the wheel of his 2004 Toyota Camry in a McDonald’s parking lot.

I was standing outside the car on the passenger side, peering through the window and smiling.

“You can’t believe it because of how much you love this thing,” I said. “I can’t believe it because if the engine blows in a week, I look like an idiot.”

I was finalizing a deal for Pecori’s beloved Camry, and Pecori was really struggling – literally struggling – with his decision to sell it.

“I wanted it to go to some kid for their first call. I was getting calls on it from all sorts of people and it was like, ‘nope,’” he said, essentially saying they didn’t deserve to drive his car.

I bought the car primarily for my oldest daughter, 17-year-old Kirsti, and to save me gas money on my hour-long drive from Queensbury to Castleton, Vt. to teach at Castleton State College.

But this deal was a little different from any car I’ve ever purchased.

You see, Pecori’s Camry had 258,600 miles at the time of the deal and virtually every one of those miles was driven by him. As a sales guy for a company that sells funeral home supplies, Pecori hopscotched the northeast in his trusty, silver Camry with routine trips to Boston, Plattsburgh and Syracuse.

“I wouldn’t hesitate to drive this across the country right now,” he said matter-of-factly days earlier when making the sales pitch.

And that’s what’s funny. Everything he told me in a phone conversation was a cliché sales pitch: “all highway miles,” “only had to change the oil,” “clean body” and “wouldn’t hesitate to let his daughters drive it” (if they were old enough). But in the next breath, he’s saying “I’m not trying to sell you on it. I don’t even want to get rid of it.”

For me, a writer and journalism professor, buying the car was a gamble – a big gamble – especially after friends in the car business and a brother-in-law who does service for a Toyota dealer advised against it.

But the car was clean – much cleaner and rode much better than other cars my wife and I tried in that price range – including two Honda Civics. Plus, I’m a story guy – and to see the anguish on Pecori’s face and his passion for this car just made it mean more to me to own.

And we both are Toyota fans.

I drove the same 1994 two-wheel drive Toyota pick-up, bought new at Glens Falls Toyota, for 14 years and sold it for $1,350 with about 135,000 on it. I then bought another. Pecori bought the Camry new as well.

He was selling it because he was getting a long-wanted Jeep. He wanted to keep the Camry too, but his wife said it was really time to go.

I told Pecori I’d keep in touch with him and give him car updates and milestones. He said he wanted to get to 400,000 miles. I said I want that too. That would make me look much smarter than I am.

As I peered into the window chatting away, Pecori interrupted and grabbed the keys and pointed to the key fob device that unlocks the doors. “You know what’s funny, this thing still works and it’s the original battery,” he said proudly, as if reassuring me I made a wise choice.

Days earlier, when my wife and I had traveled to Pecori’s Ballston Lake home to see the car for the first time and test drive it, Pecori told us he lamented even seeing us pull out of the driveway for the test drive.

When we got back from the test drive, we had a great chat with him and his wife and met his twin daughters. They reminded me a little of my wife and I a decade ago, with little girls running around.

The car had two car seats filling the back too, which I bet will be hard to remove, not physically, but emotionally.

“When your girls are done with it, sell it back to me for mine will you?” he said.
I think he was only about 30 percent kidding, based on the pleading look on his face – and the subsequent 😦 he texted after typing that the 6 p.m. time I suggested to pick it up “will work.”

Stay tuned for how this story ends.