I figured when going into this trip that there would be troubles along the way; that the metaphorical road would be bumpy and littered with obstacles (the literal road would be too; looking at you Mississippi). Van problems in particular seemed like a likely bridge to cross. I’ve mentioned the van’s age a few times already, but let me expand on that subject a bit. It’s twenty-four years old with over 100,000 miles on it (and more everyday). I was three when it was born out of whatever spare parts and industrial glue GMC could find. Yup, 24 years old; which in ‘car years’ is ,like, seven times that or something. What I’m getting at here is this thing is no spring chicken, but anyway, like I said, I figured there would be trouble…I just didn't figure they’d occur in the first week.
The first incident was actually on the Blue Ridge Parkway, I spotted a sign for a random view point, which was a 20 minute walk away. I pulled over to check it out.It was a decent little excursion, but I didn’t hang around too long. I quickly made my way down to where the van awaited, ready to explore the Parkway. I hopped in, threw it in reverse, and listened as the engine roared to life…before puttering, clearing it’s throat and promptly dying. The van rolled another two feet backwards until I put my foot on the brake and exclaimed a stream of expletives that I won’t bother listing here just in case my grandmother reads this. I shut the van off completely, took a deep breath then tried again. It roared alive once more..and this time settled into it’s usual engine noise: a sickly purr. A sound could possibly be a walrus’s mating cry or perhaps the car version of bronchitis. I hit the road, content to pretend that whole event never happened and agreeing with the van that we would never speak of that again.
The next day I was cruising through Tennessee listening to classic rock and pondering what the three stars on Tennessee’s flag represent (just looked it up they represent East, Middle, and West Tennessee, that fact wasn’t as fun as I hoped it would be). I had been driving for hours already. All I had done that day was drive, eat, and curse myself for not putting sunblock on my left arm, which is currently significantly darker than my right. [I can’t think of a metaphor to describe the state of my arms so I’ll just attach a picture below.] I’ve found I have a real knack for driving in whatever direction required for the blast the left side of my body with its rays.
An actual picture of my arms from early in the trip.
The destination that day was Chattanooga, Tennessee which has to be the two word phrase with the most sets of double letters (5!). Things had been fine all day until all of a sudden they weren’t. Traffic materialized in front of me as if a magician had a pulled a (really) large tablecloth away to make it appear. I slowed down until I was moving along at a crawl with the rest of the cars in this now one lane highway. I came to a complete stop when the van took a couple last breaths and kicked the bucket. I frantically turned it off and on again and was able to get it to accelerate which it did with a jump/lunge forward (just like a normal functioning car would). Luckily traffic let up and we managed to reach cruising speeds.
Chattanooga wasn’t far off at this point, but according to my odometer it was about time to find gas. My fuel gauge is broken so I keep track of how many miles I’ve driven after filling it to determine when to get gas. Like I said, this van should probably be in a retired community in Florida, if it had a favorite sport it would be a tie between shuffle board and bingo. I pulled over to get gas, slowed down, stopped, and was immediately confused because the van was already off before I turned the key…dead, again.
It was time to actually confront this problem, not just sweep it under the rug. I loathe confrontation every form of it, even facing down a problem can make me anxious; it’s kinda like a super power, but, y’know the opposite.
After consulting with my mechanic as well as my lord and savior: Sandra Hickey, I had a bit of knowledge about what exactly the mechanics needed to check out. The hypothesis was it was most likely the IAC or fuel filter, two parts I had no idea existed until that day.
There was a metaphorical storm cloud over my head putting me in a dark mood; so I figured I’d treat myself to a shower. I plugged Planet Fitness into Waze (found out Chattanooga has like 12 of them) and headed off.
I wasn’t on the road long before I hit more traffic, far more this time. I slowed way down as I approached the car in-front of me, coming to a complete stop, it was then that the van decided to take another one of its inconvenient naps. Safe to say it was the longest I have been stationary in the middle of a highway. It may have literally been under thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity. I was sweating as if I had just ran a 1k (I’m being realistic with my running abilities here) or like I have been every waking moment I have been in Florida (the humidifier state). Thankfully, after a couple tries the van triumphantly whimpered to life. I don’t know if there are statistics to back this, but I bet driving anxious and panic makes your driving IQ combust. I was hesitant switching lanes, I left my blinker on when I wasn’t switching; basically it would have been a great time to have a “Caution: Student Driver” sticker on the van. Nothing bad happened, but people weren’t happy with me as they let me know with their car horns and, just in case I didn’t get the message, their hands. Side note: I swear I had been honked at at least once a day for the first week, there’s a learning curve with driving that tin can, damn it!
I moved on. I tried to catch the sunset at a nice lake area I had read about and drove up a mountain road which felt like it was modeled after a curly straw. Maybe it was the van but that road felt ridiculous, the grade was probably like %8! (i actually don’t understand grades at all so, but from what I’ve seen they only go from like %3-8 and I wanted to sound cool). You can imagine how fun going up and then back down those roads was in a giant metal lunchbox with wheels. The situation was made that much sweeter when I pulled up outside the entrance to the lake-area to find it closed for the season. I made it down off the mountain begging the van not to stall the entire way. Mercifully it complied. I rolled into the parking lot for the gym and parked near a building that i realized (probably a little slower than I should have) was an auto repair shop. I made an appointment for the next day and smugly strode back to the van with “that whole situation taken care of”.
When I was back at the van getting ready for the gym (aka covering myself in deodorant so I wouldn’t torture the other gym-goers) a man walked by, stopped, and turned to me, asking if I had had my brakes checked recently. I replied no, but that I had just made an appointment to get it checked out tomorrow. He said: well you may want to have them checked out, when they start making that smell it means that they aren’t long for this world (can you tell I’m paraphrasing?). My immediate thought was one giant, sarcastic “GREAT”.
After the gym I went to cook myself dinner and found the the interior battery, the one that I use for cooking and charging various electronics, was nearly dead. I managed to finish cooking, but it died again during the night while I was cooling myself with my small fan.
I brought the van into the shop the next morning after I gave the inside a thorough cleaning. I didn’t want them to think I was living out of it or something. A quick six hours and 200 hundred dollars later and I was ready to hit the road. I called the car-electrician guys who helped install the battery (and helped with nearly all the interior too) and was happy to hear that the battery just needed to charge. I just had to drive it for a bit and I’d be good to go. I hung up and began to decide what Walmart in Alabama I would be calling home that night, my good mood manifesting itself in a smirk. Things were finally looking up.
Fast forward to a few days later, I’m cruising through the south blaring music on a beautiful day. I hadn’t had a hot meal since Chattanooga because the battery was still dead, but that was all right. I was feeling fine ready for the next adventure! Out of nowhere I heard a noise. I looked over at the central dashboard area between the driver and passenger seats, which is comprised of a large slab of wood, with two too-small cupholders, random storage places and switches for the interior lights of the van. It had fallen forward and there was a notable crack between the top of wooden slab and the dashboard above. I looked over at it, and shoved it back in place. A few minutes later it fell open again…shit.
I'm no interior decorator, but i feel the duct tape really brings things together.
If you’re reading this: sorry for the language Mana!
I hope I made that story of my car breaking down and then getting fixed as entertaining as possible; back to hiking and nature pictures in the next posts, I swear.
Oh, and one final thing, I’ve been kicking around a couple (literally only thought of two) names for the van and I think I’m going to call him Bucket, Buck for short, which will save me writing “the van” 600 times like in this post.