An Automotive Disaster/Adventure and Proof Positive Why Smart Phones Rock.
It wasn't a dark and stormy night, but if what follows starred Bruce Campbell in the days before cell phones I'm sure Sam Rami could have ordered up a couple of rain towers. So here we are, stopped at an isolated fuel stop on, I-shit-you-not, "Ghost Town Road" not far from the Mojave Desert, automatic transmission fluid slowing dripping out of the Taurus and onto the still-warm-from-the-sun cracked asphalt. And I forgot to pack the Scooby-Snacks.
It's midnight and I carefully lift the suit I plan to wear to the wedding on Saturday out of the way to get to my bag. This is either the start of a bad horror film or a bad romantic comedy. I find my second power cable and return to the car, the view of the passing interstate traffic somewhat impaired by the hood standing open. Not that opening the hood does anything, it's just Man Law; when the machine stops working you open the hood and stare thoughtfully at the innards, occasionally poking at something and making thoughtful noises. The fact that you have no idea what witchcraft goes on under the assortment of plastic covers doesn't matter, they are only there by much smarter people to keep you from poking something and injuring yourself or your car.
So here we sit, bored and reflecting on the events of the previous hour.
Shortly before we hit the Agricultural Inspection Checkpoint in California, a cryptic warning light came on the dash, a small orange wrench. This is not the hysteria-inducing and even more enigmatic "Check Engine" light, which can mean anything from "You didn't put the fuel filler cap on all the way" to "Consider buying a new car, because your motor is five minutes from grenading." I dug the manual out of the glove box to see if I could decipher the meaning of the light from the catalog of lawyer's warnings of what not to do with a vehicle and page after page of informative pictures depicting how to sit appropriately. "Problem with AWD System, see Authorized Ford Dealer." Well, that helps. I knew that one of the seals on the front diff had been seeping a bit recently, it probably just needs a top-up; we can get it done in the morning since we are almost to Barstow.
Did I mention that we are sitting in an island of light in a sea of darkness just outside of Barstow? Because if I didn't this is a good time to bring it up.
Time for a change of drivers, we pull over and down the ramp, the car still seems just fine. As we try to pull away from the stop and into the service station the engine revs but very little power seems to be getting to the wheels. Shit. Kiki limps the Taurus into the gas station and I dig out the flashlight to take a look.
Flashlight
: Metal cylinder used to store depleted batteries.
Fortunately the 24 hour snack shop had some AAA batteries I could buy for a small fortune.
Under the hood looks fine, no obvious signs of fire, fluid leaks, explosions, or nesting animals. Check under the car. *drip* Crap. *drip* Sonofabitch *drip* Yup, that's roughly where the diff is located. We're not going anywhere.
Unleash the fury of the smart phone! Within 20 minutes Kiki and I had three quotes for hotel rooms for the night from the hotels with the highest customer reviews online (and knew which ones gave me a AAA discount), two quotes for an early-morning rental car (USAA discount), one tow-truck en-route (free from AAA), and a partridge in a pear tree.
Now we were bored. We did everything we could do. The room was lined up, a midsize car was reserved for 8 AM the next morning, and the truck was on the way. What to do... update Facebook, of course. Yay! Everyone will be so interested that we are stuck in the middle of no where! ... ok, that killed about 30 seconds, what now?
We wait.
The tow truck arrives, takes the car to a shop that is infested with CHP and local cops looking for some free coffee, but at least no one will mess with it tonight. The tow driver was kind enough to let us pile some of our bags into the cab and drop us at our motel for the night. The Rodeway Inn in Barstow is run by a wonderful and accommodating family who live on-site and allowed us to check in after midnight and go straight to bed, "Don't worry, we can settle up in the morning, go get some sleep." These are some of the sweetest words I could here all night.
The next morning we got up and walked a couple of miles to the car rental agency, which apparently thinks a Civic is a "midsize" now.
So here we are, finally in LA, getting ready for this wedding for a couple of people I don't know at all, driving a rental Civic and wondering if the car can be fixed by Monday when we pass back through Barstow.