Wiper Linkage Chronicles Vol. II: Revenge of the Cooling System

Foreword:
This has nothing to do with the wiper linkage. That is all.


Chapter I

Storm clouds gathered in the sky over Memphis as I packed my bags. I knew this was going to be a long trip. A four-day tour of two satellite offices in Little Rock, AR and Monroe, LA. A road trip, because these cities are too close to justify flying. Normally I would be looking forward to this chance to unwind. This would be easy work, just some server upgrades and minor PC reconfigurations. I would have none of the airport stress that usually comes with these trips. No computer while I’m driving. Spotty cell phone coverage and beautiful weather because the aforementioned storm clouds were only a figurative literary device designed to bring foreshadowing to another one of my damn stories.

Yes, this should have been a morning I greeted with enthusiasm. But I was still reeling from a word fired from the mouth of a co-worker into the core of my soul. An ignorant, hurtful word. Maybe she thought it was a funny word. I was not amused.

Days before this trip was to take place, it was decided she should accompany me for training. I agreed and we began to make plans. She wanted to choose the hotels, having apparently heard stories that I like to crash in questionable slums, and as she indicated to me, she likes to be comfortable. Truth is I really don’t care much about my accommodations as long as the place is clean, the price is reasonable and it’s close to where I’m working. And since I don’t care, I happily let her make that decision.

With the reservations set, it was time to sign out a company Suburban for the week. But they were already signed out, all of them. I immediately dismissed the idea of renting a car. The company I work for is a non-profit, and I respect that. I try to travel economically, within reason of course. I’m not stupidly cheap, but I am frugal and I think my boss appreciates that. Before being promoted to my current position, I recalled that my predecessor never rented cars when driving the short distance to one of these offices, and so I wouldn’t either.

“I’ve got a car,” I said. “And don’t worry, we’ll take the ’04, not the seventy-one—“

“The hooptie?” she interrupted.

Uncomfortable silence ensued. I then kicked her out of my office. In disbelief, I resolved that she simply did not know what that word meant, so I assembled and sent this email to set the record straight.

The morning of the appointed day had arrived. I had my gear assembled. I walked out into the garage, hit the button and let the fresh air of a beautiful early spring morning fill my lungs as the door rose. I cast my eyes on the faithful, reliable and comfortable ’04 Dodge Stratus, then looked away in disgust as I slung my bags into the trunk of the Maverick and rumbled out.

That’s right, folks. Speak ill of my Maverick and earn yourself twelve hours in the passenger seat.

No, I didn’t just do it out of spite. I couldn’t leave my wife and baby boy for four days with only the Maverick, as she’s never driven it. I couldn’t help but smile a little at how that worked out, but now I had something to prove. The Maverick could not fail.

Once at the office, I got a few boxes of equipment together and set them down at the sidewalk adjacent to the parking lot. As I backed the Maverick up to the sidewalk my boss happened to be walking by and he guided me in. I shut it down and opened the door, then he said:

“So you’re taking the Maverick? You know you could have rented a car, right? Hate to see you put the wear and tear on your personal vehicle.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the miles.” I responded, “Cheaper this way, and besides a car is for driving, right?”

Briefly I wondered if I’d made a mistake. This car is 37 years old. But it’s solid, and the engine only has 7,000 miles on the clock. I was confident that I had shaken out all the bugs. We’ll make it just fine. Too late to change my mind anyway.

We rolled out and made it to Little Rock without incident. Got the job done, hung out with good people, ate some good food, and got back on the road to Monroe. This was a far cry from the only other time I’d driven the car this kind of distance. When I first brought it home it ran horribly. The carb was dumping gas, the ignition system was terrible, wiring was a mess. It wouldn’t do 65 MPH and it broke down so much that the three hour drive from Jackson, MS to Memphis took six. But this time it hummed a long like a car should. It ran like a dream. And on this two-lane highway I had more than one chance to horrify my passenger with the sudden acceleration that’s called for when passing someone on such a road. It was glorious. It ran a little hot, but it never reached an unsafe temperature. I attributed that to the change in weather.

And then came the first night in Monroe.

We stopped at a barbecue restaurant. I think it was called “Hawg Wild.” I may live in the barbecue capital of the world, but that doesn’t mean I’m tired of the stuff. This place was good. I ordered a full rack of the Memphis style dry-rub ribs, which I consider to be the true measure of any barbecue restaurant, and they were excellent. In fact, the whole place could have easily made me forget I was out of town. The décor, the flavor, everything in the building could have been in any Memphis barbecue place. Only one detail betrayed the ambience and made me remember I was in Louisiana – a container of Tony Chachere’s was on my table next to the salt and pepper, just as you will find in any properly equipped Louisiana dining facility. And I made use of it too. God bless you, Tony.

Following this great dining experience I found myself under the hood of the Maverick with a pocket knife, MacGuyvering the damn heater hoses together in the parking lot to bypass the heater core, which had ruptured onto my nice new carpet. I guess I had to expect something. Oh well. If this is the worst thing that happens in 650 miles, then I’m still in good shape.

And it was. After another night in Monroe we had an uneventful trip back home, up until we hit heavy traffic in Memphis and I started getting hot again. I figured it’s the weather, and since my radiator is more than adequate I resolve that I need a bigger fan. No big deal, no harm done.

We get back to the office, and I leave my travel companion with a little more respect than when we got started. She leaves my car with a little more respect as well, and climbs into her Chrysler 300C with a hell of a lot more appreciation for her own ride, no doubt.

It was a good trip. I noticed many an approving look at my car which was awesome. I’ve never driven anything that turns heads the way this car does, and I got into a conversation about it just about every time we stopped. I was very glad I opted to take the Maverick and I was pleased that it had proven itself roadworthy.


Chapter II

My wife chose to go down to our home town of Jackson, MS during these four days and for the weekend. After getting back from my trip, I was to turn around and join her the following day.

Of course I was going to fix my heater core first, so I did my research and found the store that had my part for the best price was an O’Reilly which was not far from the Auto Zone in the ‘hood that I wrote about in Volume I of the Wiper Linkage Chronicles.

I set out around 5:30 PM, so traffic was heavy. My car started getting alarmingly hot, so I decided as I merged onto I-40 that I would need to get this fan situation taken care of before I left for Jackson.

Accelerating onto the Interstate, expecting to see the temperature go back down, I watched the needle on my temperature gauge go up instead. Backing down a bit, babying the throttle it continued going up while the wind in my grille should have sent it way down. I shut it off and coasted onto the shoulder.

Upon raising the hood I see that I’m boiling. A disgusting sheen of antifreeze covered my formerly clean engine compartment. The upper radiator hose is quite hot, but the lower hose is cold! This can only mean my water pump has failed, and has been dying for the past couple of days. Mercifully this happened after I got back home and before I set out again. But it still sucked. I waited on the side of the road for what felt like an eternity as the engine cooled down. It was all I could do, as I was not comfortable leaving the car unattended and it seemed ridiculous to call a tow truck when I’m this close to my destination.

Finally I felt okay about opening the radiator cap, and I see that a large amount of water has boiled out. Next thing I know I’m walking up and down the embankment with a jug, filling my radiator with ditch water! Oh, the humiliation.

I got back on the road and my temperature slowly climbed until I got to the O’Reilly, which was just about to close. I bought my heater core, antifreeze, some heater hose to replace what I cut, a water pump, and enough tools to change that pump in the parking lot, because I had none on me.

It was then that I realized despite the fact that I’ve been here for over a year and Memphis feels like home now, I am truly alone when my wife is gone. I have just not made enough friends here yet. Had I been back in Jackson I could have called on a number of people who would have brought tools, or even a trailer.

Wife calls. When she previously tried to call me I was busy watching out for snakes as I replenished my radiator, but I’ve got all kinds of time now, because I have to wait for the engine to cool before I can do anything. We talk for some time, reluctantly deciding that I should stay put for the weekend since it’s obvious I wouldn’t be leaving this night anyway, and by the time I’m off the phone the engine has cooled.

Now, most of my experience has been with Chevy engines. But the very first time I did what I would consider a significant repair on a car I was about thirteen and I was changing the water pump on my grandmother’s LTD under my uncle’s supervision. I remembered that being a real bitch, but dismissed that thought because I’ve come a long way since then. As I leaned down under the hood in that parking lot with my little flashlight on my keychain to survey the situation, it occurred to me; this is going to be a real bitch.

By now it was quite dark and the store had closed. I was in an unfamiliar part of town and something about the bars on all the windows of the pawn shops and cash advance stores around me suggested that this might not be an ideal place to be stranded. The temperature outside had dropped a good bit so I decided to see how far I could get towards home without overheating.

I actually made it into my garage without getting too hot. Had to run a red light but there was no cross traffic at the time, and the rest of the night was comparatively tame. I changed into my greasemonkey clothes, rolled down the windows and turned on the stereo. I hooked up my battery charger to keep from draining it, and started removing all the accessory brackets and such from the front of the engine. While I was at it, I scrubbed these brackets and pulleys, and painted them gloss black along with my new water pump.

After installing the pump, which took some time, I was very glad I’d talked myself out of doing it the parking lot. I could have done it on a Chevy, but this is just one of those few things that are a little more involved on a Ford. (Familiarity also has a lot to do with it.)

The heater core was refreshingly easy. My Maverick is a non-AC car, and although it was not exactly convenient, I’d say it was the easiest heater core I’ve done.

It’s about 4am at this point, and I’m spent. My battery is also spent, as the charger cannot keep up with the stereo. So I go to bed ‘cause I couldn’t crank the car if I wanted to, and I didn’t want to.

The next day I fire it up and go for a drive. I get on the interstate, and my temperature is stable. Get off the interstate and my transmission begins to slip. You have got to be kidding me. I stopped in a parking lot and discover that one of the previous night’s repairs had failed on me. I had relocated my transmission cooler. This involved re-routing hoses, and apparently I had not clamped one on tight enough. No big deal. I fixed that, and poured in the three quarts of Type F that I happened to have in the trunk.

Then it won’t start. Dead battery.

I have said bad things about the ‘hood previously. Now it’s time for me to say bad things about the “nice” part of town. Every time I’ve ever broken down in any car in a blue-collar area, or even a “bad” area, it has never taken long for someone to see me with my hood up holding my jumper cables and stop to assist. That was not the case here, and has never been the case any other time I’ve needed help from strangers in the lily-white suburbs. It took almost an hour of me holding my cables up and making eye contact with people before someone stopped. And the guy who stopped told me in broken English that he had about eight minutes before he had to clock in at the restaurant down the street, but he was eager to help and seemed concerned. It was clear that he was not from around this area. He was not even from around this country. Sad.

So after getting started again and graciously thanking this good Samaritan I head back to my house and start probing around with my multimeter. Turns out I have fried my voltage regulator, probably from some combination of running the stereo all night with the battery charger on it, and moving the alternator around, disturbing grounds, whatever. Yeah, I know, I should have disconnected the battery when I was doing all this, but I needed some music, damnit. The regulator is under warranty because I’ve already been through this once, so it’s back to Auto Zone as soon as my battery is charged up enough to get me there.

With all that settled, Monday rolls around and I’m back at the office. My hands are semi-permanently discolored from the automotive adventures of the weekend. The week progresses without problems until Friday.

Lunch time arrives on Friday and I opt to go home since I live very close to the office. (This is the only reason I can afford the gas to drive my Maverick every day.) I notice I’m low on gas, so I decide to refuel before I get home, but I don’t make it. I run completely out of gas, coast onto the shoulder. I get out of the car and lock it. Then I go to the trunk for my gas can intending to walk to the gas station, only I come to find out I have locked my keys inside the car.

Alright, fine. I call a co-worker who takes me to my house for a coat hanger. Fat lot of good it does me since I have no key to get into my house, but fortunately I remember my wife stashed a key so someone could feed our animals while we were gone. That was very nice and thoughtful of her. I was feeling pretty good about my sweet and intelligent wife until I remembered not long ago she went on a bizarre crusade to purge the house of all wire coat hangers and replace them with plastic. I search high and low but I find nothing. I had a spare oil dipstick in the garage so I decided to try that.

Back at the car, the dipstick does me no good. It’s surprisingly brittle. So I stuck a note on the windshield:

BACK IN 15 MINUTES
OUT OF GAS
NO VALUABLES INSIDE


Hopefully this would keep anyone from smashing my window and determining those facts on their own while I go back to the office and see what I can find to unlock my car. With some help I found a piece of metal which I guess was a homemade slim-Jim. Whatever it was, I was able get into my car with it pretty quickly. I got my gas can, filled it up, brought it back to the car and then was on my way again to refuel. When I got back to the office I was an hour late and still hadn’t eaten lunch, but overall it could have been a lot worse.

Later during the weekend I thoroughly cleaned my engine compartment and interior, all the while apologizing to my car for the abuse I’d put her through. But in the end we were both no worse off. The car had toughened up due to its weaknesses being exposed and repaired, and I came out of it with one more good story.

 

Good story! Takes me back to the days of having a project car that actually ran...

 

Good story!

 

Just like the old days! We've been spoiled by these new cars. I remember the days of using ditch water or wire from a cow fence . Thanks!!

 

I am sorry for the problems you have had. But they do make for some great stories and I enjoy reading them. Your stories could be made into an episode of a TV show.

 

Really good story, reads like a book, you should keep all this and put together a book,
life and times of a "Maverick" Car Nut..

 

Thanks for the comments, guys.

Hell at this rate there probably will be a book. I've only had the car for six months!

 

An incredible tale. I laughed, I cried, I read the trailer credits . Seriously, what an adventure! Glad it all worked out and nothing bad happened - meaning, with you personally in those areas of town.

Chris

 

I love these stories, cant wait for the next! Hate it for your trouble but ask anyone that knows me, it's old car or nothing, I know what you've been through!

 

Great story!

 

GREAT story! Reminds me a lot of some of the "adventures" I've been through with these cars.

 

Oh, don't mistake this stuff for complaining. I just share these experiences 'cause they always happen in these impossibly unlucky (and lucky) streaks. They amuse me so I figure they'll amuse you guys.

I've always driven stuff like this, always will. These minor inconveniences are way cheaper than car payments. If I was still single I wouldn't even have the '04. That car has no character.

 

Me too, way cheaper. My wife has a Saturn. Talk about character

 

AMEN!

 

Another entertaining story.

Locking your keys in the car was the desert topping.