After about a year owning The Tan Sedan, I started browsing.
I told myself I was just looking. But I had been thinking about one vehicle since I was seven years old. Ever since I saw Teri Hatcher driving a silver Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo on Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, that shape had been burned into my brain. Boxy but modern. The fog lights mounted on top of the bumper. Leather seats. The V8 badge on the liftgate. Something about it always hit the right note for me. I had told my dad several years earlier that I wanted a Jeep Grand Cherokee. He told me I had expensive taste.
Winter in the Accord in Central Oregon wasn’t for the faint of heart. My grandparents had generously gifted me a set of studded snow tires for my sixteenth birthday, and they helped. But the Accord still found ways to get stuck — parking lots after school, side streets during heavy snow, the occasional humiliating moment of spinning while someone in an SUV idled patiently behind me. Front-wheel drive and good intentions only go so far when there’s eight inches of fresh powder.
And then there was Sisters itself.
Sisters is an affluent little town. Many of my classmates showed up in brand-new luxury SUVs, Audis, and lifted diesel pickups with wheels worth more than my entire Honda. Meanwhile, I was rolling into the parking lot in a beige 1986 Accord with 260,000 miles and sun-faded paint on the roof.
It just wasn’t the image I was looking to project.
I had found a few Jeeps online in Salem to look at, and my dad agreed to go shopping with me. This felt like a big step. I wasn’t just scrolling listings anymore — I was actually going to buy something.
Technically, the first Jeep we saw that day was a white 1995 Grand Cherokee Limited sitting on a tiny gravel lot with cars packed in tight. No one was there when we arrived, so we moved on to the next one on my list.
That Jeep was a green 1994 Grand Cherokee Laredo. Inline-six. Selec-Trac 4×4. The all-important fog lights mounted on top of the bumper. It was in good shape, with about 140,000 miles and an asking price somewhere around $5,000. It didn’t have leather, which was something I had always imagined, but it was clean and solid. Probably the smarter choice.
My dad handled most of the negotiating while I stood there trying to look older than seventeen. At one point he told the salesman we were going to walk. I remember thinking we were about to lose the Jeep entirely, but he’d already taught me the rule: if they let you walk away, they’re at their bottom price. We made it all the way out to the car before the salesman came jogging after us and brought us back inside.
We agreed on a price for the green Laredo. It felt like a done deal. But the white Limited was still sitting in the back of my mind.
Back when I was seven watching Lois & Clark, I didn’t know what a “Limited” was. I just knew I liked the shape. But somewhere along the way I had learned about trim levels, and once I discovered the Limited — leather seats, wood trim, full-time four-wheel drive — it hit differently. The small “Limited” badge on the fender meant something. And the “V8” emblem on the liftgate carried a certain weight.
The Laredo was sensible. Probably smarter long term.
The Limited felt more SHS approved.
The timing complicated things. The Laredo dealer was closing soon, and if I waited for the Limited dealer to return and didn’t like it, we would have to come back the next day and hope the Laredo was still there. But leather, a V8, and the higher trim level were hard to ignore. Ya boy likes nice things.
We returned to the tiny lot once the Limited dealer got back into town. I walked up and pulled the door open before the dealer even finished his pitch. The smell hit first — old leather, but good leather. The quilted seats weren’t new, but they weren’t trashed either. The wood trim across the dash caught the light in a way that made the whole interior feel far more upscale than anything I had owned before.
The dealer handed us the keys and let us take it out by ourselves. No salesman riding along — just my dad and me in a white Grand Cherokee Limited with a V8. I slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirrors, and turned the key.
The V8 pulled with authority. Not fast by modern standards, but compared to a 260,000-mile Accord it felt strong and effortless. The overhead trip computer, the vehicle information center near the shifter, and the automatic climate control all felt like high technology to me. And the air conditioning worked — really worked. Cold air poured out of the vents without hesitation.
The Limited had around 160,000 miles on it — more than the Laredo. On paper, that should have mattered more than it did. The dealer was relaxed and straightforward. It was listed at about $4,800. My dad offered $4,000. The dealer countered at $4,400. That was it.
My dad handed over the cash, and just like that, it was mine. It wasn’t a hand-me-down or the practical family car; it was something I had chosen. A dream, at least to a seventeen-year-old version of me, fulfilled.
The drive home is still clear in my mind. It was a warm Central Oregon afternoon. I set the automatic climate control and let the air conditioning blast. Real cold air. At one point I called my dad to ask whether using the A/C a lot would make it “run out.” He laughed and told me no — it would just use a little more gas. That seemed like a completely fair trade.
Somewhere along the highway I found a passing lane and pressed the throttle harder than I probably needed to. The Jeep surged forward with far less drama than the Accord ever had. I went past my dad’s Volvo with more enthusiasm than subtlety. When we got home, he told me I would need to keep the V8 in check.
I didn’t always follow that advice.
I felt proud pulling that white Limited into the SHS parking lot for the first time. It wasn’t a brand-new Audi or Acura, but it was nice. A noticeable upgrade, I quickly became the one who drove us to Subway for lunch on school days.
Owning the Jeep meant the Accord had to go. My dad co-signed a loan with me at U.S. Bank so I could start building credit. He said I would pay for half of the Jeep and he would pay for the other half, using the proceeds from the Accord to cover his share. It was more than fair.
Before selling the Accord, I cleaned it up and took it on one last drive. I remember how tight and low it felt compared to the Jeep. I sold it to a classmate who lived in my neighborhood for $1,100 — nearly triple what my dad had paid for it. Profit.
For the rest of my time at SHS, I would see it parked in the lot. Years later, I heard that when she was in college, it was stolen, stripped for parts, and its carcass was found in a river. She replaced it with a white Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited.
By my senior year, I had come into my own a bit. I had been a quiet kid when I first moved to Sisters. It took time to find my footing and even longer to find my people. But by seventeen, I had a small but great group of friends, and I was more confident than I had been freshman year.
I was managing the student store at SHS — the Outlaw Outpost — which felt like a big deal at the time. I had also moved up at Ray’s from courtesy clerk to working in the video rental department, which was infinitely more fun than pushing carts in the snow. SHS also had a class called Outlawnet, where students learned how to work on and repair computers. That class changed everything for me. I had always loved computers, but Outlawnet gave it structure. We fixed machines for the district. We learned networking basics. We solved real problems. For the first time, it felt like more than a hobby.
My first accident in the Jeep happened on the road to Subway during senior year. We had just left campus for lunch — a caravan of high schoolers heading toward town like we did most days. I was driving, which meant I was talking. I was mid-story, trying to land a joke with my friend Matt in the passenger seat, and I turned to look at him just a little too long to see his reaction.
He didn’t laugh.
He yelled, “Tyler!” and pointed straight ahead.
I snapped my head forward and saw brake lights filling the windshield. A classmate in a Honda Prelude had stopped for a car waiting to turn, and I hadn’t noticed. I slammed on the brake and instinctively nudged the wheel to the right. I can still remember the feeling of the ABS hammering under my foot — that rapid pulsing — and the Jeep’s nose diving hard.
I missed the Prelude. Barely.
The classmate behind me in an Isuzu Trooper wasn’t as lucky. He had a big bull bar on the front, and when I braked hard and swerved slightly, he clipped the left rear corner of the Jeep. Then he slammed into the back of the Prelude.
And then it was quiet.
We all just sat there for a second, stunned. Hearts pounding. That weird hollow silence after something almost worse happens.
Everyone was shaken but okay. No airbags. No injuries. Just bent metal and adrenaline. The police were called. Even though I knew I hadn’t been paying attention and told the police that, he had rear-ended me and then the Prelude, so his insurance covered everything. The Jeep needed a new rear bumper, a taillight, and some bodywork on the driver’s side rear quarter panel. It came back looking good as new. When I got back behind the wheel, I was a more cautious driver.
When the first winter came with the Jeep, it was everything I hoped it would be in the snow. It felt like an unstoppable beast. And yes, I did some cookies in the school parking lot on a snow day.
Graduation came quickly. As part of my work running the student store, the school awarded me a 12-inch PowerBook G4 as a scholarship at graduation. It felt enormous — not physically, but symbolically. A serious machine. A big upgrade from my old setup, it felt like a vote of confidence in where I was headed.
I enrolled at Central Oregon Community College in their CIS program and kept working at Ray’s while taking one or two classes per term. Around that same time, my mom gave me a high school graduation present that would stick with me far longer than any vehicle ever has — a Welsh Corgi mix Puppy I named Dakota. He was all oversized ears and stubby legs and zero understanding of personal space.
The Grand Cherokee was everything I hoped it would be. A dream realized. However, there is a season for everything, and my needs were about to change.
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Thanks for the story. These were a Big Deal in the 90s. Quite the cool factor regardless of trim, but if you happened to have the 5.9 liter…that was the apex predator. Had a few chances to drive a 4.0 I-6 version back then, and the torque of that engine made the Jeep feel very powerful. Looking back now I can see it was something like a 10 seconds to 60, which wasn’t quick even back then. But it felt effortless. I also remember the cabin being very badly constructed, with shiny plasticky materials everywhere with poor fit, and a LOT of squeaks and rattles even though it was only about 5 years old.
I was much more of a 3rd-gen 4Runner fan, which felt like a Lexus in comparison, and this kind of explains a lot of things about my vehicle preferences even now. Ironically, when the GC moved onto the WK2 platform the refinement went through the roof and it felt like a Mercedes compared to the 4Runner I currently own, which certainly doesn’t feel like a Lexus anymore.
These Jeeps haven’t been common for a long time now, but every once in a while when I do see one I am struck by how compact they are.
I still see them fairly often in my neck of the woods, but unfortunately they have mostly been turned into off-roaders and are pretty beat up. If I saw a silver Laredo with leather interior in decent shape, you can bet I’d snap that up!
Remember that one-year-only (1993) Grand Wagoneer that was based on the Grand Cherokee? The Limited inherited its fancy leather-and-woodgrain interior, with a black rather than color-keyed steering wheel being the only obvious difference.
Even more so than the XJ Cherokee and Explorer, the Grand Cherokee feels to me like the vehicle that really kicked the SUV boom into overdrive. It was less trucklike to drive than the Explorer and roomier and more modern than the Cherokee, and more upscale than just about any 4×4 save maybe the Range Rover, which was still based on the 1970 body when the GC was introduced. The Grand Cherokee looked great, was practical, wasn’t saddled with a boring kid-hauler image, and was posh inside – a winning combination then or now.
I do remember that one! I still wouldn’t mind having one. I also REALLY liked the Orvis edition. That green exterior was stunning, and the green interior I thought was pretty cool at the time.
Back in 1998 or so, the local ski hill decided to host a snow hill climb. Lots of vehicles registered, including an old Subaru pre-outback wagon which immediately got buried, old military truck, jacked up S10… But there were a lot of Grand Cherokees. And the way they all raced up that hill effortlessly in stock form, that event could have been a commercial for Grand Cherokees.
That was definitely an upgrade!
These were significant cars in their time, and I remember the Europeans being particular impressed, especially the manufacturers. This generation GC had a big influence on Mercedes to build their M Class on BWN their first X5.
Unfortunately the quality control was lacking; My SIL and her husband owned one and it was a shop queen. Endless little (and not so little) Issues.
My brother-in-law and his wife leased a ’98 Laredo and, from what I understood, it was pretty solid. They loved it. It was their first of many leased vehicles and made them feel rich and successful. My father-in-law countered with a second generation ’99 Laredo, and that car was excrement. If I remember correctly, it needed a new transmission at 5,000 miles. That was the last family Jeep until my other brother-in-law’s 2011 fourth generation, which made him feel rich and successful. There’s something about a Grand Cherokee and I’m not quite sure I can put my finger on it.
My dad always had a Jeep ever since getting a rustbucket 77 Wagoneer in the mid 80s. The 4WD always worked. We needed that where he lived at the time (and still does). Then in the late 80s he got a 85 XJ, 2 door, 4WD, 4 cyl, 4 speed, vinyl seats and not even a passenger mirror. Drove that until 98, by then it was burning oil and had well over 200k. He also got divorced from my mom a year earlier and was getting back on his feet.
So in 98 he bought a 96 Grand Cherokee Limited, black/black, gold package, V8, basically the nicest Jeep you could get in 96. Reading this story made me remember how his Jeep smelled inside. He may have been exaggerating, but he claimed he could go 0-60-0 in the driveway to the work parking lot (google maps shows it as 400-500 feet).
Ever since then he’s been sold on Grand Cherokees. His favorite is the next gen from the early 2000s. I lost track of them all, but shortly after getting the 96, he became a traveling salesman and put 200-300k on every one of them. Part of changing careers from a lifetime metal fabricator to a professional salesman was the Jeep. He changed his whole image and the Jeep was part of it, it helped him feel like a better person. He also refused many offers to drive a company vehicle, he said the GC was part of his identity and how his customers knew him. He retired last year, still drives them, and since he barely goes anywhere anymore they should last a very long time. He learned their quirks, especially the dual climate control which always strips its plastic gears, and he knows a guy who rebuilds them better.
Great story. At 63 I’m still amazed at how some vehicles tug at my heart.
In 92, the wife and I were looking for a mini van. We’d both had enough of Ford, and the local Honda dealers thought they were selling gold asking way over sticker when we thought an Accord would be an alternative. So we went to Chevrolet. I recall one of the customers that shopped in our hardware store raving about his new Grand Cherokee. In the end, Chevy didn’t have a van that we liked so we ended up with an S10 Blazer Sport. Chevy was willing to deal where Jeep was not. I’m glad you realized your dream and didn’t settle. It took 45 years for me to get my dead car-a 1978 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham d Elegance!
I agree about the fog lights. They looked great, even if that wasn’t the optimal positioning for such lights. Later models would move them lower in the bumper. And they weren’t just cosmetic “toy” fog lights, like many modern cars had. They were from the esteemed French brand, SEV Marchal, a quality OEM and aftermarket supplier. I assume the relationship with Jeep stemmed from the days when Jeep was tied to Renault. In my “junkyarding for profit” days, I obtained and sold a lot of those lights.
I think the high fog lights was good follow-thru. Advertising the vehicle is capable off-road and in deep snow, and then having the lights up where they’re not gonna get broken or buried.
At the time, I always thought these should have been a little bigger, but then that was my default for a long time. 🙂
I borrowed a GC with the V8 from a co-worker one day when I needed to tow a small trailer. I liked the way it drove a lot, and always wondered if I would eventually find a nice older one. The problem was that no popular Jeep ever got really inexpensive, and almost none was ever owned by the demographic that kept them beautifully for a dozen years and then got scared of the age and mileage. So I never got mine. Yours looks like a really nice one!
Grand Cherokees used to be everywhere and the V8 seemed to be more popular as an upgrade from the smaller XJ. Personally I’d be interested in David Tracy’s holy grail the very early base model GC with the 6 and a 5 speed. I can second the idea of the Grand Cherokee being an off road vehicle in up on a lift in the shop sense. My in-laws impulsively bought a 99 WJ Grand Cherokee that was constantly in the shop until it broke the rear axle and was impulsively replaced with a 2002 Volvo XC90, which was also troublesome until it lost drive to the rear axle, and was traded in on a Lexus RX.