It was supposed to be a funtastic, first-of-its-kind experience at a place we've never been before (even though the place has been around for-ev-er).
You know what a Sonic drive-in is, right? The one where they have the curbside service with the bus[persons] who bring the trays full of food right up to your window on roller skates? And the food is mouth-watering good (or at least that's what everyone says), although with that kind of ambience, the quality of the food is not the priority.
As a special bonus, Friday nights at the Sonic are a bit of a tradition around here for the motorhead set. The place promised to be packed to the gills with muscle cars and beefy guys and admiring babes, which is quite a show for those of us who used to cruise up and down Broad Street in Richmond when we were young and not quite as jaded as we are now.
It was also supposed to be an opportunity to shop at the hardware store (conveniently sharing the same parking lot as the Sonic) where we would be checking out the bathroom fixtures as we are hoping to prep the basement for the eventuality of dual residents (kind of like a college apartment).
We selected one of the few unoccupied stalls and pulled up to the curb past the big plastic menu panel. We ordered our food. We slid our debit card through the slot and paid our bill. Our food was brought out to us, as promised, by a young man on roller skates. We ate our food -- and it was very, very good. Then we prepared to leave.
And the car wouldn't start.
You have to picture this in your head to get the full impact. We're in a mini-van, the antithesis of every car surrounding us. We are parked next to a huge Ford monster truck. The parking lot surrounding the Sonic is packed with hot, throaty cars bursting with testosterone, all of them revving engines and popping hoods and bathed in oohs and aahs from the admiring crowd.
And we are sitting in a 15-year old minivan. Which won't start.
I'm not sure what caused it. I had the key in the ignition and perhaps the lights were on and they were draining the battery quickly. We were only there about ten or fifteen minutes. Regardless, it was enough to drain the battery to the point where it would not start the car. At first, I suspected that the solenoid wasn't kicking the starter gearing to mesh completely with the flywheel. The starter turned fast, not even straining. It didn't sound like it was engaging, though. I tried and re-tried it a few times, even rocking the car back and forth to see if I could somehow get the gears to mesh. But to no avail.
Cheryl suggested enlisting the help of some friends. When I balked at that, she whipped out the Auto Club towing card. I hesitated. Sent them to the hardware store to shop for awhile so I could think things over. While they were gone, I popped the hood and played around with it the starter. Cleaned the battery contacts. That sort of thing. No dice.
So then a quick call to Cheryl and said, OK, let's call our friends. She did. They came and picked up Cheryl and James. I gave James a list of things to bring back, which he did (after half an hour or so). Number one on the list was the fully-charged spare battery I keep in the shop for just such a situation. We swapped batteries, the car started, and we went home.
Luckily for me, none of the musclemen (and their babes) noticed the car troubles of an insignificant little minivan in the Sonic stall. They were too enthralled with the roar of the engines, the squeal of the tires, the basso profundo of the exhaust systems of all those other amazing cars.
I was just glad to get ours back in the garage, safe and sound. And tomorrow, I'll try to figure out what went wrong with the battery.
You know what a Sonic drive-in is, right? The one where they have the curbside service with the bus[persons] who bring the trays full of food right up to your window on roller skates? And the food is mouth-watering good (or at least that's what everyone says), although with that kind of ambience, the quality of the food is not the priority.
As a special bonus, Friday nights at the Sonic are a bit of a tradition around here for the motorhead set. The place promised to be packed to the gills with muscle cars and beefy guys and admiring babes, which is quite a show for those of us who used to cruise up and down Broad Street in Richmond when we were young and not quite as jaded as we are now.
It was also supposed to be an opportunity to shop at the hardware store (conveniently sharing the same parking lot as the Sonic) where we would be checking out the bathroom fixtures as we are hoping to prep the basement for the eventuality of dual residents (kind of like a college apartment).
We selected one of the few unoccupied stalls and pulled up to the curb past the big plastic menu panel. We ordered our food. We slid our debit card through the slot and paid our bill. Our food was brought out to us, as promised, by a young man on roller skates. We ate our food -- and it was very, very good. Then we prepared to leave.
And the car wouldn't start.
You have to picture this in your head to get the full impact. We're in a mini-van, the antithesis of every car surrounding us. We are parked next to a huge Ford monster truck. The parking lot surrounding the Sonic is packed with hot, throaty cars bursting with testosterone, all of them revving engines and popping hoods and bathed in oohs and aahs from the admiring crowd.
And we are sitting in a 15-year old minivan. Which won't start.
I'm not sure what caused it. I had the key in the ignition and perhaps the lights were on and they were draining the battery quickly. We were only there about ten or fifteen minutes. Regardless, it was enough to drain the battery to the point where it would not start the car. At first, I suspected that the solenoid wasn't kicking the starter gearing to mesh completely with the flywheel. The starter turned fast, not even straining. It didn't sound like it was engaging, though. I tried and re-tried it a few times, even rocking the car back and forth to see if I could somehow get the gears to mesh. But to no avail.
Cheryl suggested enlisting the help of some friends. When I balked at that, she whipped out the Auto Club towing card. I hesitated. Sent them to the hardware store to shop for awhile so I could think things over. While they were gone, I popped the hood and played around with it the starter. Cleaned the battery contacts. That sort of thing. No dice.
So then a quick call to Cheryl and said, OK, let's call our friends. She did. They came and picked up Cheryl and James. I gave James a list of things to bring back, which he did (after half an hour or so). Number one on the list was the fully-charged spare battery I keep in the shop for just such a situation. We swapped batteries, the car started, and we went home.
Luckily for me, none of the musclemen (and their babes) noticed the car troubles of an insignificant little minivan in the Sonic stall. They were too enthralled with the roar of the engines, the squeal of the tires, the basso profundo of the exhaust systems of all those other amazing cars.
I was just glad to get ours back in the garage, safe and sound. And tomorrow, I'll try to figure out what went wrong with the battery.
1 comment:
Bummer! But super sad that in a crowded drive in there was not someone who would see the situation and offer to jump the battery. I mean really, it's kind of hard to miss someone having car trouble, let alone changing out a battery.
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