We departed early on Friday--I took a half-day vacation, and we rescued Aaron from his last class of the day at middle school--hoping to beat rush-hour traffic, and were able to get out of town without incident. We left a partially sunny Portland only to run into rain falling through the coast range. Driving through rain usually isn't a problem, but when your van can no longer stay in gear, it just adds fuel to the frustration fire. Meg had been complaining about the slow-driving cars in front of us, but we soon became even slower than them all--karma unveiled its ugly head. She pulled over to the side of the road, and I exited the vehicle carefully and ensured that all four tires were properly inflated and had traction. Unfortunately, the problem wasn't something that simple and observable. Meg asked that I try driving--perhaps the Michael-effect would magically fix the problem. I was able to pull back on the highway, but after accelerating to second gear, the transmission crapped out again, and I had to pull over and shut off the engine. I repeated this one more time (resetting the engine appeared to give us life for a brief time) until I was able to pull off onto a gravel road that merged onto HWY 26. We decided at this point that the camping trip (with stops planned at Fort Stevens and Cape Lookout (where we were also meeting up with some friends who live in our neighborhood)) was officially cancelled. The announcement was met with some resistance from the children, but throughout the trial they stayed calm and did not show much worry. But how would we get help? Both of our phones had zero service, the sky was quickly darkening, and we were 60 miles from home. But we were halfway up a mountain, and I know how to coast a vehicle like nobody else. I was able to coax the van around in the opposite direction before the transmission died again, but I had built up enough momentum to coast down the hill 2.2 miles to
Camp 18--a real-life oasis--at least into the middle of the gravel parking lot. I got out and pushed the van out of harm's way before we exited it one final time and began the next segment of our rescue mission.
The clock probably read 5:00 at this time, and I had no idea how long we would be stranded. Meg sought out help inside the restaurant, while I monitored the boys running around the grounds, which included permanent attractions like old tractors and harvesters. The site lay along Humbug Creek, which attracted the little boys' attention long enough to distract their imminent hunger pangs. Meg had borrowed a phone from one of the workers at Camp 18 and began trying to figure out how to get us and our van home--not an easy task when stuck in the middle of nowhere on a Friday after normal business hours. I took the kids inside the restaurant and ordered meals for all, while Meg kept our position outside trying to hammer out the details for our rescue. After about 90 minutes of calling around, she had a plan in place: her friend Susan would drive out and take Meg and kids home, and a tow truck was coming from Hillsboro to transport our van (and me) to a repair shop in our neighborhood. Seemed simple enough, except one of the middle men failed to explain properly to the driver of the tow truck where we actually were, and they didn't get word until they had driven by us and arrived in Seaside. But both drivers arrived at nearly the same time, so all worked out. I even got to ride in the cab of the two truck with the whole towing family (whose evening meal we had interrupted). After we arrived in Westmoreland past 10:00 p.m., I ported the most essential things from the van to our house, then Meg and I called it a night, not quite sure what exactly we were going to do. She had thrown out ideas all along the spectrum, such as trying to live without a car and just renting or using zipcar when needed; buying another mini-van; or just fixing Bernice and seeing how much longer she could last.
Meg left the house early Saturday morning to talk to the repair shop before heading to the gym and working out some of the angst that had been building up. I forwent my usual long run on Saturday morning so I could be available when Meg called to say that the repair shop couldn't tell what was wrong with the transmission and would have to take it out ($350 to start) to find out the specifics. Based on my limited knowledge of cars and experiencing the problem first-hand, I figured the transmission was probably dead and would need to be re-built or replaced--worst-case scenario that we didn't really want to pursue. As soon as Meg returned from the gym, we started looking at options for a new vehicle. I don't recall the complete genesis of how we decided on looking at Mazda5's, but I know that I've never really cared for mini-vans (too big and expensive) or SUV's (too stupid and truck-like). Although the Mazda5 is a popular choice in Japan and Europe (where family size is smaller, methinks), it has no competitor in the States and is the total niche vehicle--it has two sliding doors, three rows for passengers (but only for six), a smaller, 4-cylinder engine, and has an option for a manual transmission. Mazda plans to kill the model for North America after this model year, so it seemed like perfect timing for a good deal, as they are trying to get rid of them. Meg called all of the Mazda dealerships in the tri-county area (and Vancouver) to see what they could offer us. She worked the phone like a pro, having the dealerships compete for our business, and we had a verbal agreement on a price for a new Mazda5 in Gladstone. I encouraged Meg to consider the 6-speed manual transmission, although they didn't have any new ones in their inventory--but they did have a 2-year old model that we could test out (as well as a couple of new, automatics). We left Aaron in charge of his brothers and hopped on the 33 bus south for a 25-minute ride to Gladstone.
Meg was a bit unsure about driving a stickshift again--she hadn't done so regularly in nearly a decade, and with three crazy, combative kids on board frequently, would that even be a feasible option? Well, after testing out the used car they had on the lot, she was sold! Meg really, really wanted red for the color (I also thought it was the best option), and luckily we were able to work out a deal where Gladstone traded with a dealership in Seattle for the only red, 6-speed manual in the Northwest. We just had to wait a day for them to drive it down and detail it. So after signing away our lives for the next few years, we took a loaner Mazda6 from their lot and drove back home, stopping at the repair shop to grab all of our camping supplies and other stuff still in the van--and to say goodbye, as we sold it to the dealership for peanuts so we wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.
The next day probably seemed longer for Meg, as we had to wait until 5:00 p.m. to pick up the space wagon (that's how the Japanese refer to it--it's not a mini-van! At most, it's a mini-mini-van). I appreciated how the dealership played up our arrival by having our vehicle staged right in the middle of the showroom floor for us to admire and then drive off triumphantly. They gave the kids each a huge balloon, which they enjoyed and kept them quiet momentarily while we completed some final paperwork. And then we drove home, parked it in the garage, and moved on with our lives. It's been over a week now since we've had it, and I've yet to sit behind the wheel and take Scarlett for a spin. But I'm sure I'll love it when Meg let's me drive her car for the first time.
Comments
Post a Comment