Car Trouble

Larry is the youngest of five boys, and as many of you already know, his brother Bill died earlier this summer. Yesterday we drove down to Garden City, a Detroit suburb, to sign some papers with the attorney who is handling his estate and pick up Bill's car, which we had been thinking might work for our youngest son, Nick. We had gotten the title transferred, but hadn't bought new plates for the car yet since we didn't know if we were going to keep it or not. But Bill's plates were expired so Larry brought the plate from his car just so we wouldn't get pulled over on the way home. This is an older Mercury sedan and although it has 140,000 plus miles on it is in pretty good shape. Or so we thought.

The attorney's office was tucked into an old fashioned strip mall along one of the more major streets and after we had taken care of our business with him (he smokes 4 packs a day in his office, so he told us) we were pulling out of the tight parking area and heading toward the nearby florist when Larry spotted an Italian bakery at the far end. Not being one who lets an opportunity to purchase and ingest unnecessary calories pass, I said, "of course I want to stop in the bakery!" and so we did. I had been thinking at that point that a nice loaf of crusty bread would be great with some soup since autumn had officially arrived. Needless to say, we finally left the bakery with the aforementioned loaf of bread, two boxes of cookies, two canolis, and four meat pasties. My sister-in-law, Bobbie (the wife of George, one of the other brothers) had lost her father earlier that morning, and since the car in question was parked in her driveway, we thought some food might be helpful, along with the flowers we purchased next.

We didn't stay long and soon we were on our way home, Larry driving the Mercury, and me following in my Honda. Detroit is a kind of labyrinth of highways and since summer is just wrapping up, that means lots of construction along the way. (In Michigan we call summer, orange cone season since that is what appears each year.) We had just pulled onto I-96, the major artery from Detroit to Lansing, with four lanes of traffic weaving around construction sites when Larry signaled me that he was pulling over. We successfully dodged the cones and made it over to the shoulder. The car was over-heating. We had to wait for the car to cool down enough so that Larry could open the water reservoir, but he was worried that the police might come along and we would get in trouble for having his car's plates on this one, so switched it back with me being look-out as he did so. Once that task was accomplished, he put in the single bottle of water I had stashed in my car. The car protested a bit, but finally restarted and we headed to the next exit to get more water and some gas.

The term "gas station" used to be "service station". I remember this well, they would pump your gas, clean your windshield, and check your fluid levels for you. And gas cost about $. 39 a gallon. (Yes, I started to drive when I was very young.) These are very rare in the 21st century. Larry pulled in to the first place he could find, a modern and fancy Speedway. While Larry pumped the gas I went in search of water. This Speedway was more like a huge convenience store with gas pumps out front. After pulling a couple of sodas out of the large bank of coolers I approached the counter where two young women we both talking on their cell phones. I had to wait for them to finish their conversations with... whoever.... and finally I was able to make my purchases and asked, "Where is the water?" only to be told that I had to either buy a gallon of water for $1.49, or a 48oz cup for $.39 which I could fill and refill at the conveniently located sink in the middle of the store. I opted for the gallon, which I then refilled in their sink twice before we left. Again the old Mercury protested mightily at starting, but Larry finally got it going and headed back to the highway so we could get this car home and see if it would be worth getting up to par so we could give it to Nick, or possibly just use it as a trade-in for something better.

Back onto the highway we headed, once again in four lanes weaving our way through the construction. We had just gotten to an area of the highway where they had put up huge concrete barriers to protect the workers from the traffic when huge clouds of white smoke poured from the Mercury in front of me, blocking my view completely. I quickly dialed Larry on my cell phone, and he said he could see that there was a problem, but there was no where we could pull over at that point. So I put on my emergency flashers and we crept onward to the next available exit ramp. The engine died just as we got to the top of the exit and Larry pulled off the road in some woods. We were in the middle of nowhere - the bridge to civilization, over the highway in the opposite direction, was closed, as was the ramp back onto the highway. Since the construction on the highway had removed or blocked all the signs, we weren't even sure which exit ramp we had taken, or what road we were on.

By this time it was getting very dark, and in short order swarms of mosquitoes began to circle, waiting to come in for the kill. While Larry poured the refilled bottle of water into the Mercury I got back in my car and called Nick in Tucson. Fortunately he was at home and could get on the computer and help us figure out a) where we were and b) gave me the numbers to three towing companies in the area. I then called the towing companies and got answering machines saying they were on the other line and would call right back if I would leave my number, which I did. It is now 10 hours later and I still haven't gotten a return call so I can have the car towed! We left George and Bobbie's with the Mercury at 6:00pm and arrived home at 9:40 without it. But we had fresh Italian pasties, which I heated up in the oven and dessert, crusty Italian bread and the knowledge that this car will not work for Nick.