Da JEEP...
What was wrong with the JEEP, you ask? What could have caused all the grinding, not going forward, and billowing smoke?
Well, don't ask my mechanic. Heaven knows he won't tell you.
My mechanic and I have had a long and tumultuous relationship. This relationship has mostly involved him hating me. Why do I continue to go there?
Don't ask. I couldn't tell you.
The mechanic showed up to tow away my precious JEEP while my slightly drunk cousin and my trusty Beagle looked on. It was a sad day and yes, I did cry. (Surprise!)
He said he drove it for forty minutes, he took apart the back end, he looked at the transmission, and he could find nothing.
By the time I heard this news from him I'd had a rather difficult morning with my father's truck. His truck is rather moody, and a little bit rickety, and most likely illegal to drive on the road. I got out of it on the way to a meeting with a psychologist I work with. The fine doctor asked me if the truck actually drove and when I said yes, he told me I should take the back roads home because if I got caught driving it, I would probably get arrested.
That is the shape my father's truck is in.
Upon talking with the mechanic and hearing he could find nothing wrong with the JEEP, I was so overwhelmed with the desire to drive my own vehicle again that I piled my nephew and my mother into another failing vehicle our family owns to take me to my JEEP. My nephew and I hugged my JEEP, and a few hours later a friend and I departed on a little road trip. We made it to our destination and on the way back we were at a red light.
I noticed that the intersection had filled with black smoke and I turned to my dear friend and said "Do you see that?" and he said "Yep!". At that point the light turned green and I attempted to drive and not a whole hell of a lot happened. We managed to go forward and the JEEP just wasn't having it. In second gear it started failing and so I pulled off in a cloud of smoke and a scent of burn that made my eyes water.
We then took about three hours to make a one hour drive home. It was long, windy, and rather upsetting as I wasn't sure we would actually make it and I could ill afford yet another tow call in the same week.
My friend described three thing that he thought it could be, and as he is a mechanically inclined person, I figured I would trust his judgement. I called my mechanic on the way home and he informed me that it would be several days before he could look at it again. I was under the impression that because this was clearly his fault for missing the problem, I would recieve some kind of preferenital treatment -- but wait! -- he hates me. And so, I would be relegated to driving the differing vehicles my family owns for several days. I was far from happy.
And then my friend recommended I take my vehicle to his garage. And then I did.
And then... Oh, AND THEN.
Wonders happened.
I drove my failing vehicle slowly and surely to this new place, this place where I was told the fixing of my vehicle would occur.
There was a lovely young gentleman at the garage, and I told him what my friend suspected, and he said he would take a look. And then I sat in the glory that is an air conditioned waiting room and waited for about three minutes until he told me that my brake calipers were ceased and that he would have it fixed in an hour.
And then?
OH, AND THEN.
An hour later, my JEEP was mine again, its brake calipers repaired, and I was ready to hit the open road. The music was too loud, the speed was far too fast, and for the low, low price of one hundred and eighty nine dollars, I was happily reunited with the vehicle that makes my life worth living.
PRAISE BE.
Well, don't ask my mechanic. Heaven knows he won't tell you.
My mechanic and I have had a long and tumultuous relationship. This relationship has mostly involved him hating me. Why do I continue to go there?
Don't ask. I couldn't tell you.
The mechanic showed up to tow away my precious JEEP while my slightly drunk cousin and my trusty Beagle looked on. It was a sad day and yes, I did cry. (Surprise!)
He said he drove it for forty minutes, he took apart the back end, he looked at the transmission, and he could find nothing.
By the time I heard this news from him I'd had a rather difficult morning with my father's truck. His truck is rather moody, and a little bit rickety, and most likely illegal to drive on the road. I got out of it on the way to a meeting with a psychologist I work with. The fine doctor asked me if the truck actually drove and when I said yes, he told me I should take the back roads home because if I got caught driving it, I would probably get arrested.
That is the shape my father's truck is in.
Upon talking with the mechanic and hearing he could find nothing wrong with the JEEP, I was so overwhelmed with the desire to drive my own vehicle again that I piled my nephew and my mother into another failing vehicle our family owns to take me to my JEEP. My nephew and I hugged my JEEP, and a few hours later a friend and I departed on a little road trip. We made it to our destination and on the way back we were at a red light.
I noticed that the intersection had filled with black smoke and I turned to my dear friend and said "Do you see that?" and he said "Yep!". At that point the light turned green and I attempted to drive and not a whole hell of a lot happened. We managed to go forward and the JEEP just wasn't having it. In second gear it started failing and so I pulled off in a cloud of smoke and a scent of burn that made my eyes water.
We then took about three hours to make a one hour drive home. It was long, windy, and rather upsetting as I wasn't sure we would actually make it and I could ill afford yet another tow call in the same week.
My friend described three thing that he thought it could be, and as he is a mechanically inclined person, I figured I would trust his judgement. I called my mechanic on the way home and he informed me that it would be several days before he could look at it again. I was under the impression that because this was clearly his fault for missing the problem, I would recieve some kind of preferenital treatment -- but wait! -- he hates me. And so, I would be relegated to driving the differing vehicles my family owns for several days. I was far from happy.
And then my friend recommended I take my vehicle to his garage. And then I did.
And then... Oh, AND THEN.
Wonders happened.
I drove my failing vehicle slowly and surely to this new place, this place where I was told the fixing of my vehicle would occur.
There was a lovely young gentleman at the garage, and I told him what my friend suspected, and he said he would take a look. And then I sat in the glory that is an air conditioned waiting room and waited for about three minutes until he told me that my brake calipers were ceased and that he would have it fixed in an hour.
And then?
OH, AND THEN.
An hour later, my JEEP was mine again, its brake calipers repaired, and I was ready to hit the open road. The music was too loud, the speed was far too fast, and for the low, low price of one hundred and eighty nine dollars, I was happily reunited with the vehicle that makes my life worth living.
PRAISE BE.
Labels: The Jeep
posted by Amanda at 01:35
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