First my car had a small marsh under the passenger
seat. Really. I dropped something and in my search
for it, made a splash through the carpet.
This happens in older Passat’s when the windshield drain gets clogged by
leaves, causing the water to back up into the pollen filter that lives under the
passenger side seat.
…Visit # 1 to Elliot my mechanic.
Then my check oil light came on when I was almost to
Edinburgh (a three hour drive). I stopped at a local
garage, because the manual in my car had more details on how to clean the
interior than anything mechanical or actually useful, like, say, the
viscosity of the oil. Nice
mechanic tops off my oil, which was a bit low, and sends me on my way, saying
if the light (which was amber) did not turn red, I should be okay.
When I got home, I paid a visit to Elliot, informally, to
ask if he needed to reset the computer to make the light go out. NOPE, the light should have gone out
itself. We discuss that there
maybe something wrong with the sensor, and again, if the red light does not
come on, I should be in no real trouble. I am reminded that driving an older car can be quirky and so I cannot be too worried.
…Visit #2 to Elliot my responsive mechanic.
Two days later, a red light appears, but only briefly. It says something about an oil
pressure workshop! I
called Elliot. He said to bring it
in. So I arranged with my brand
new colleagues for someone to pick me up to take me to school. My car went into
the shop.
The day started out pretty well, with my car safely
delivered, I went to the pre-arranged location for my pickup. And waited. And waited. And
waited, 45 minutes. Until it was clear that my ride was not coming and that I
would be late to school. So I
walked back home, put on warmer clothes and gloves, Googled how to get to school via bus,
then began my nearly two-hour commute via public transport. Of course, I called school to let them
know of my late arrival.
There is nothing like a crisis to make you figure out the
local transportation system. I
arrived to school with no further hitches and felt like a super star! Public
transport is no match for me. But
what about my car?
My ride, who did forget about me completely, drove me from
school to the garage. My car was
“fixed.” Elliot replaced the oil
pressure sensor AND the oil level sensor—and for good measure, drained and
replace the oil.
…Visit #3 to Elliot my gracious mechanic.
One day later,
in stop-and-go traffic during rush hour, my car is spewing great white clouds
of smoke from the exhaust every time I shift into first or second gears. Good news, the oil lights did not
come one, but I had to wonder, what is up? Of course, on the open highway, the car cooled down, I was
shifting less, and by the time I got to my town, I could not replicate the
smoke, so I did not take the car into the garage.
Today, in the lower gears, the car sounded and drove like a
go-cart running on an old lawn mower engine. The smoke was less, but the smell was worse. Still the car was not running too hot
and the oil light is not on. That
is at least something. J
When at idle stand-still, the car rumbled and shook, so I took the car to my new best
friend.
Visit #4 to Elliot my chivalrous mechanic...
I get plugged into the computer and the right chip is found
to read the codes (this part is totally fascinating to me as I never get to see
the behind-the-scenes of car repair).
I have a cylinder problem (#4 to be exact). Under the hood the cylinder is removed and taken into the
shop. Out comes Elliot with
another mechanic and goes back under the hood.
Many safety ties later,
(YES, safety ties), he has replace the cylinder with an old one he had
in the shop—and sends me on my way.
Upon leaving, I said to Elliot that I hoped to not see him
in a long time—for weeks and weeks even.
He said he was thinking that he might not see me again until I am ready
to sell the car (in July 2013).
If I knew any Scottish blessings, I would wish them upon Elliot.
I hope the safety ties hold.
