You know what I hate? I hate when you're driving along in your 1998 Subaru Legacy Outback, running errands with your son, and suddenly the temperature gauge goes all goofy on you, and you don't know whether it's an emergency situation (i.e. the car is about to blow up), or the gauge is just having a bad day.
You know what I mean?
The worst part is that everything was going along so nicely; we (father and son) were getting things accomplished, we were checking off the errands, we were buying the things that needed to get bought (e.g. guitar strings, clarinet reed cases), we were heading off to do some serious birthday-gift shopping for Adam, and we were smelling radiator fluid inside the car.
Why were we smelling radiator fluid inside the car? I mean, really, it was like we were being gassed by the Radiator Skunk. Ick.
Naturally, my eyes were drawn to the instrument panel where the little gauges sit, with their little needles pointing half-way between the zero (car off) position and the Max Value (car on fire) position. Well, they're supposed to point half-way. Right at the point when I looked at the instrument panel, the little needle on the water temperature gauge was pointing right at the 'H' - which stands for "Hoo-boy!" or something similar - and it dawned on me that There Was Trouble in River City.
Luckily, we were just about to turn into the parking lot of the music store, so the needle didn't have a chance to leap out of the instrument panel and onto the floor before I was able to shut off the motor (but not the radiator fan!) and let the car cool down a bit.
We walked into the store and made our purchases. Slowly. And tried to forget the vision we'd seen on the way in: steam rolling from the front of the car and onto the ground.
When we came out, we crossed our fingers, started the car, and drove quickly to our next destination. We almost made it. Half a mile, and the needle was back up at the 'H', and we were forced to stop. And wait. And wait.
Another mad dash, another parking lot, another lull in a store while the steam dissipated. And then -
It was time to go home.
We knew what was ahead. A long, stuttery kind of trip. A collection of short hops, separated by moments of sheer boredom (and impatient waiting). We drove. We stopped. We drove again. We stopped again. Repeat, ad infinitum.
When the car finally reached the driveway, we were relieved. We were ecstatic. We were angry and frustrated at the car. Yet also grateful and happy that it was not sitting beside the road waiting for a tow truck.
I can't wait to tear it all apart and figure out what's wrong with it.
Tomorrow.
(Didn't want to go to work anyway.)
You know what I mean?
The worst part is that everything was going along so nicely; we (father and son) were getting things accomplished, we were checking off the errands, we were buying the things that needed to get bought (e.g. guitar strings, clarinet reed cases), we were heading off to do some serious birthday-gift shopping for Adam, and we were smelling radiator fluid inside the car.
Why were we smelling radiator fluid inside the car? I mean, really, it was like we were being gassed by the Radiator Skunk. Ick.
Naturally, my eyes were drawn to the instrument panel where the little gauges sit, with their little needles pointing half-way between the zero (car off) position and the Max Value (car on fire) position. Well, they're supposed to point half-way. Right at the point when I looked at the instrument panel, the little needle on the water temperature gauge was pointing right at the 'H' - which stands for "Hoo-boy!" or something similar - and it dawned on me that There Was Trouble in River City.
Luckily, we were just about to turn into the parking lot of the music store, so the needle didn't have a chance to leap out of the instrument panel and onto the floor before I was able to shut off the motor (but not the radiator fan!) and let the car cool down a bit.
We walked into the store and made our purchases. Slowly. And tried to forget the vision we'd seen on the way in: steam rolling from the front of the car and onto the ground.
When we came out, we crossed our fingers, started the car, and drove quickly to our next destination. We almost made it. Half a mile, and the needle was back up at the 'H', and we were forced to stop. And wait. And wait.
Another mad dash, another parking lot, another lull in a store while the steam dissipated. And then -
It was time to go home.
We knew what was ahead. A long, stuttery kind of trip. A collection of short hops, separated by moments of sheer boredom (and impatient waiting). We drove. We stopped. We drove again. We stopped again. Repeat, ad infinitum.
When the car finally reached the driveway, we were relieved. We were ecstatic. We were angry and frustrated at the car. Yet also grateful and happy that it was not sitting beside the road waiting for a tow truck.
I can't wait to tear it all apart and figure out what's wrong with it.
Tomorrow.
(Didn't want to go to work anyway.)
1 comment:
At least you have a car you can work on yourself-even if you don't have time to. Have fun working on it and I hope you can make it last a few more years.
Post a Comment