California Cursed

     Okay. I guess I knew better. 

    It's not that I don't trust the owner's son, it's that he hadn't been with my car from day one. So when he said it should only take a couple of days to break in the transmission, and when Alex said I should be fine if I followed the rules he gave me, I took both pieces of information as a green light.

    ROOOOOAAAD TRIIIIIIP

    I swear to God, I took those hills slowly, like he said. I went into the truck lane for every single hill and slowed down. Dani went to 80mph twice and both times were on a downgrade and on accident. I kept her at 70mph like the whole drive.

    When I was leaving the California tollbooth, where I stopped, I accidentally punched the accelerator like I would have in the old days. Her transmission flooded, and I lost acceleration while the RPMs shot the fuck up. Okay, okay. No big deal. I pulled over. I waited. I tried again.

    She worked fine, so I kept going. I chalked it up to my rough acceleration, promised Dani it wouldn't happen again, and we kept going.

    It happened again. Not the hard acceleration, but the flooding. I pulled over, and called my mechanic.

    Alex said that it was just a hiccup, and while it was weird, it wasn't entirely unexpected and I was safe to drive and then come back to have them look at it. It was the transmission, currently at default, trying to cooperate with the set-in-its-ways computer.

    It happened again. And again. And again. I couldn't go more than ten feet without having to pull over and wait for a break in traffic. 

    I was eighty miles from Ventura, when I decided to turn around and trek back the 230 miles back home. I was too worried, though, so I called Triple A. I had, after all, 350 miles of a tow.

    No the fuck I did not. Triple A informed me I had SEVEN miles. What the fuck? Dude said they could tow me back, at $10 a mile. So $2300. 

    You are fucking shitting me. He was not.

    It wasn't my finest moment to Dani. I slammed a hand on the steering wheel, got out, looked her dead in the headlights and said, "I cannot afford $2200. I swear to God you are going to the shop as soon as I get to Vegas, but you are not quitting on me. That’s not how we go out."

    I almost fucking cried. I was so scared and shaky. I called my sister, who was busy and gave me approximately five minutes of her time. Then I called my friend Steph, who is always available to talk and let me talk to her the entire four hours home, the only reason I wasn't full on having a panic attack.

    It was a goddamn nightmare. The last thing anyone wants is their car breaking shortly after a massive repair. Every time my car went beyond 30mph or 2 RPMs, she flooded, and I'd have to let up on the gas pedal, not that I was exactly hitting it hard to begin with. It got to the point where I was illegally driving on the shoulder because I was so slow that even California truck drivers were getting annoyed. I worried about my car, my transmission, the drive, and my tires.

    Mostly I worried because the route I had taken, the fastest route, was a dirt highway. Again, Pearblossom Highway was dirt. Dirt and everyone drove fast, and mountains were everywhere. No civilization for stretches at a time. Driving that at 30mph, flooding every so often, was terrifying. Driving on the shoulder, with so many blown out tires everywhere? No, no, no. But Dani wouldn't quit. Wouldn't die and leave me stranded, refusing to drive an inch without flooding. No, she told me. She would work, but I had to work with her. We had to become the engine and rebuilt transmission: learning how to cooperate with each other once again.

    The only reason I got up to 60mph was because of the downgrades, but the HILLS. My God. Those were absolute killer. I was terrified I wouldn't have enough momentum to make it up them.

    I'll say one positive thing about these last three California experiences: it's never boring with Dani, at least.

    Her gas light got weird, and I was watching it especially because it had gotten kind of wonky yesterday, but not in an overly concerning way. I was also watching the thermostat, because I was worried about eleven hours of driving doing some serious overheating, but her new radiator cap held up like a motherfucking CHAMP. She didn't overheat at all. 

    ELEVEN HOURS AND NO OVERHEATING.

    I made it to Primm, and Steph met me there to drive behind me with her hazards on, because haha, mine don't work, and so I could stop driving on the shoulder.

    Guess what, y'all? I made it back.

    It was fucking rough. I pulled her in to the shop, and the relief on their faces. The absolute goddamn relief.

    Anyone wanna guess what happened next?

    Anyone?

    Solid guesses?

    SHE MADE ME A GODDAMN LIAR.

    They took her on a test drive. No fucking flooding. No fucking kickbacks. No fucking problems, at all. They got her up to 90mph on the freeway. Fucking FINE.

    I was so mad.

    Alex said that they believed me, but again, they had to experience it, and the only thing they couldn't exactly replicate was the amount of time I had driven her. So they're going to run her for two hours tomorrow, and then take her on a loooooong test drive, and that bitch better kick and flood.

    I explained literally every weird thing that has ever happened since I got her, but specifically the stuff that happened recently, even if it was a quick blink-and-you'll-miss-it: the gas light, the flooding, even the weird idling when I would start her and have her in park but hadn't started driving yet.

    It's a con-fucking-fusing situation. Part of me wants to chalk it up to me pressing my luck. These mechanics have never failed me before. They've never given me a reason not to trust them. The relief on Alex's face when I came in told me everything I needed to know: that I was someone to worry about, and that they were just glad I was there safely. My car wasn't their priority in that moment, stranded in California yet again. I was. As soon as they saw I was safe, my car became number one again.

    Honestly, this could be a life lesson in letting go. I choose not to see it that way. It was annoying, and inconvenient, but every California adventure with Dani teaches me something new about endurance, and perseverance, and the lengths I'm willing to go to for my loved ones. She teaches me something new about my own inner strength.

And really. The transmission is under warranty. Why wouldn't I have it looked over and checked while I can still get it fixed for free?

    There are some people who would prefer me to let go. Who say it's not worth it. I already paid for the transmission though. Why not try it while I have it covered?

    When I'm older, I might look back, at my memories, at this blog, and regret it. Regret spending so much time and money on a car when I could've put all that into a newer car. But I don't think so. Present Me is kind of annoyed at not making it to the beach. Present Me is very proud that I have made it through so much shit. Maxed out my credit cards and paid them off. Maxed them out again and paid them off. Dani and I have endured so much.

    I might regret it, but I doubt it. I will look back and see a version of myself that refused to give up. That loved something so much I couldn't stand the thought of not even trying. That loved it past the point of stupidity. I will retain all the car knowledge. And I might regret the way I had to learn about my car: the pain, the trips, the hot sweaty five hour car ride being careful.

    I think all I will remember the most is the pride I feel every time something bad happens, and I have to take care of Dani. I will remember the endurance. I will remember my love. I will remember the way we loved each other.

    I will not regret that feeling one bit.

    And so, once again, we soldier on.