Automotive Irony

The ironic thing is that Sara took my car to visit her sister because hers was due for an oil change, and she didn’t want to risk having any car-related troubles on this quick to-and-from to Connecticut.

I should start by adding a little history.  I take good care of my car, almost obsessively so.  I’m really hoping that my mechanic doesn’t read this blog, not that I have any indication he would know enough to look for it, just that the next sentence would put a wrench (see what I did there?) into future visits to the garage.  I typically take the mechanic at his word with regards to what is wrong with my vehicle, or what needs to be replaced.  The unfair stereotype that women get treated differently at the mechanics applies to me as well.  The difference is that I’ve looked up the parts on the internet and spew back device names and procedures to appear knowledgeable.  I’m as convincing as one trying to pass themselves off as ‘native’ to a country after taking a year/semester of that language in school 10 years prior.  I know enough words to seem polite, but have just asked the restaurateur in said foreign country of where it is appropriate to crap in his pool or cup of water.

So, this past summer, I had the rear brakes replaced (pads and rotors), oil changes every 5k miles and even four new tires put on the car before our trek to Maine.  Both the cabin and engine filter were changed and last week I had two belts replaced (one essential to things like power steering and brakes) as well as the front brakes replaced (pads and rotors again).  I take decent care of a car which I purchased (much to my wife’s chagrin) and intend on keeping even after I’ve paid it off.   It’s a Subaru Forrester and it should go for between 250k and 300k miles.

As mentioned, since it had just been in the garage, I felt pretty confident that Sara could take it to CT without issue.  The car has nearly 74k miles on it.  It’s not new.  It creaks a little and gets decent mileage.  So, when she called me, mid-trip, and indicated that every time she stomped on the clutch, the thing squealed like a pig (vegetarian pig, mind you), I was in semi-disbelief and figured there was a degree of exaggeration involved. 

I was wrong.  I am sorry. 

When starting the car this last Saturday morning, Sara couldn’t even get it into gear.  Apparently, the sound Sara heard was the throw-out bearing singing its swan song as it began to fail.  Now, I’ve been driving manual transmission vehicles for close to 20 years without this particular problem.  What happened was that when the bearing finally died, parts of the slave cylinder started grinding within the clutch-case and eating away at the clutch plate…so much so that it wore a hole through the plate itself.  How do I know all this?  AAA towed the car to a dealer nearby and they had the entire tranny out and on display so that Sara could take a couple of snapshots before a rental car agency was called and got her back on her way home.

Oh yeah, she had Jude with her.  TGFiPad.

Long story short (or at least shorter than it would be if I pontificated more), my purchase of the extended warranty will cover everything minus the $100 deductible.  What would likely have cost into the thousands will be solved by Benjamin Franklin and some forethought.  Good ol’ Ben.  The rental is here with us in the Jerz.  My car remains in Vernon, CT awaiting a new clutch-case…back ordered and won’t be available by the dealer’s estimate for another 2 weeks.  This isn’t really an insightful entry, but lends itself to a couple of rules:

Always buy the extended warrantee on a vehicle you intend on keeping for more than 4 years.

Pull over and stop the car dead if you hear sound coming from the clutch.

Keep a cool head through difficult automotive times.  By not yelling at either the dealer or my insurance, I eventually  got what I wanted (and they were genuinely nice and responsive about the entire incident.)

And always listen to your wife.