As the daughter of a mechanic, schooled by my father in his ongoing mantras on the geneology of torque, independent suspension and combustion, I should have known better.
You know that slow, sluggish can't even get the chug finished sound that a car makes when it barely has a hope in hell of starting and then, miraculously, it does start, tentatively... you know the sound I mean? that sound that a sane person pays attention to? I should have known when I heard that sound that the trip was doomed. But, hey, the car started, so who was I to argue with karma like that?
I should have known that even though the car started just fine after I filled it up with gas not a block from my house that this was just a tease, a way to lull me into an even deeper sense of false security. I should have been alerted by the prayers and appeals to any deity who would listen that I was not quite as confident in this mission as I was pretending.
I should have known when I got to the highway outside the city and saw the wait times posted for going over the bridge to the U.S that now is the time to turn around, no harm no foul. It is definitely too late to turn around when one is on the bridge.
I should have known that sitting at a stop and go idle for over 45 minutes on the bridge on a day with 100% humidity and blazing heat would place undue stress on an already diagnosed terminally ill alternator ... and did I mention that this same alternator had been sounding like a vacuum cleaner for about a week or so??
I should have known that even though I made it over the border and got the must have them now items at our US mailbox that the awful sound the car made when it ( finally ) started up again was simply a harbinger of the death throes of an electrical system long since exhausted by time, miles and (apparently) abject stupidity.
I should have known that the 40 minute wait on the way back was the last straw and that the moment when every light on my dash board was flashing was the beginning of the end. The surge of panic I felt was matched only by the adrenalin rush accompanying my mind's eye vision of my pathetic self attempting to steer with my arms wrapped around the airbag ( yes, that light was flashing too....).
I should have known that when the speedometer needle and the odometer needle did a tandem swift last gasp sweep to maximum and then a fall to zero that the next thing I felt would be .... nothing. Nothing. Eerie as hell, feeling the life of a thing go out while one is enclosed in the belly of the beast that is dying.
I should have known that even though the momentum was enough to get me to the side of the road so I could pull over safely, that thanks to the marvels of the car's touch of a button seat adjustment, that no one taller than a dwarf would be able to get into the driver's side of this car if I ever had the good fortune to be rescued.
I should have known that the person on the other end of the line at my C.A.A. 1800 save my ass phone call would have no idea how to describe my location to the fella in the tow truck that they sent to get me, and I should have known that my cell phone would run out of battery juice as soon as my save my ass phone call was made.
so, yeah, I should have known better.
Upshot is, the fella in the tow truck was a mechanic who knew how to keep his eyes peeled for stranded vehicles and he found me after not too long a wait. I had a good book to keep me company, and a cool breeze appeared out of nowhere while I was waiting, and the tow truck had air conditioning and the drive to the shop was painless, one might even say pleasant.
and the moral?
well, the devil is in the details, and you've already read the moral.
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My mother used to call it "cock-eyed optimism"
ReplyDelete...
ongoing mantras on the geneology of torque ~ a title to die for, love it.
I must begin with saying that I always enjoy reading your blog when you update. I don't always have a comment or insight to leave, but I read.
ReplyDeleteToday, I must take issue with your Phrase, too often used these days, of 'the devil is in the details'. I first heard that expression from Ross Perot, a piss of a man that was running for prez of the US, at that time. Before hearing of him, I had been schooled in Architecture (note big A) which at that time included Mies Van der Roe. Who taught me, "God (god) is in the details." All great Architecture, when the details are closely viewed, reveal god (God).
I will leave it to you and your bright wisdom to figure out where all this is headed.
The up side is that Adrenalin rush, is a pip. Now you know how F1 drivers feel on the last lap to the podium.
This post was a trip (pun) and a gas (oh come on now.) more please.
There's a genealogical undertow here, I know. *Who* is in the details whenever anything is written?
ReplyDeleteNicely done -- through all the torque and combustion!
I do know where this is coming from. I once drove an old Volvo from Cincinnati, Ohio to NYC one summer. It too was speaking to me right from the first stop light, but did I listen, no. Of course it gave up the ghost on Fifth Avenue during rush hour traffic. Now there is a BVD wrinkling experience, given the patience level of most New Yorkers in rush hour traffic. A kind New York Policeman helped me push it over to the curb and out of horn's way. I think the man actually did this to prevent the loss of his own life by the horn honkers.
ReplyDeleteNow an then in our lives we all enter that zone of shoulda, not to mention, woulda and coulda...just try not to do it in NYC.
BTW-the only gas in this post is coming from that second commenter. Just saying.
Pisces-- thanks for the connection to cockeyed optimism, and glad you liked that torque thing....
ReplyDeletePunch-- I get your drift.... and agree with the aesthetic testimony to grand design; and I also agree that Perot was a piss of a man... when did it become ok for convulsive predatory capitalism to be a qualification for the presidency of the US?
Aporia-- great undertow yourself, especially on the "who" under so much of written and spoken word
Jadedj-- I've only driven into NYC once and swore never to do it again; I imagine your trauma was a great teacher.... and your last line was a pip
:))