'Kay, you asked for it.
Yesterday’s episode was better than Episode 1 in that nobody actually died, but worse in that I was personally severely inconvenienced. See, there was this huge traffic jam on I-787* towards the Patroon Island Bridge*, so my girlfriend quite sensibly looped back around and took the Dunn Memorial* (My right foot was doing the “air brake” thing the whole time too. More on this later). Unfortunately, such a course required us to take 3rd Avenue Extension* through Rensselaer*, which includes a short, but rather steep, upgrade. This is where we began to have difficulties.
In the middle of said upgrade the transmission began to wind out really badly. “Dang,” I said to myself (I try to use mild language when talking to myself so as to avoid offending my delicate sensibilities), “I can’t afford a new transmission right now.” But it got worse, my droogies. Much, much worse.
Almost immediately the oil and coolant pressure lights came on, accompanied by a near total loss of power, and what the hell… er, heck… is that smell?
Uh oh.
My girlfried pulled over and stopped at the top of the hill, and we passed a few quiet, reflective moments observing the billious clouds of stinking gray smoke emanating from under the hood. I bit the bullet and went to open her up, and then spent a few more quiet, reflective moments observing the three-foot-high flames raging up from the engine compartment. Fortunately, prudent people carry fire extinguishers in their cars.
Unfortunately, I am not a prudent person.
A passing motorist was prudent though, and also friendly, generous and helpful. After he put the fire out for me we learned that a local resident had called the fire department, so we eventually got to see the Clinton Heights station’s new engine and all the nifty firefighting equipment they drag out to extinguish a fire that’s already out. So that was nice.
Anyway, a $60 tow and a five minute consulation with Mark the Mechanic later, I can safely tell you that there is now one fewer 1995 Chevy Lumina gracing the roadways of America. It didn’t have that many miles on it and it really shouldn’t have blown up that way, but I can’t really say it was a complete surprise, because we’ve been having maintenance issues lately, and I don’t think my girlfriends driving style helps things. (I told you I’d get back to the “air brake” thing). She seems to feel that it’s imperative to have one pedal or the other mashed to the floorboards at all times, and is just generally hard on the “go” and “stop” parts of cars.
I don’t care what her birth certificate says, I think her real name is Andretti. I’m not really blaming her (the car was a lemon), but it’s a running joke between us. “You’re going to blow the engine on this thing one of these days, honey.” Yesterday, she did.
Now I have to buy a new car. Dang.
*Geographic information provide for the two or so people reading this who know or care anything about the Albany area.
