What a Kicker

This week started off a little bumpy. A little bumpy and a little jerky and grindy-as in CAR TROUBLE.

The fiance jaunted out the door Monday morning only to jaunt right back in a few minutes later with the news that the van would not back up.

Put 'er in reverse and give it a little gas and next thing you know there is a jerking halt and she won't move no more. He was able to nose the van forward back into the parking spot (not that he got that far out of it to begin with) and took my car instead.

After some research we figured out that the van probably has a transmission problem. In fact, the fiance has had a gnawing gut feeling the past few months that the van was going to have this type of problem. He had just had the coolant flushed and replenished to try and head off heating problems with the vehicle as well-guess we couldn't out run trouble.

Transmission. Broken tranny. Bad news. Expensive news and we're not in a place to deal with it right now and the other problems with the van might just mean laying ole Bessie to rest instead of beating her senseless with more and more repairs til her final death throes kick in (which could be within a couple of years anywho!).

So, we're one car down and figure we will be until we can replace Bessie with a new car. We go to bed a little discouraged but figure we're doing a good thing by driving less and employing more environmentally sound commuting/traveling practices.

Tuesday dawns and the fiance takes off for work in my car. Shortly after his departure I get a call.

"Forget something?"

"Uhhh.... No."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm stuck on the side of I-5."

"What!?"

Yep. The car gave out Tuesday morning. The fiance found himself on I-5 with a floppy gas pedal and no oompf. He got towed home for no less than $120 and spent the rest of the day working from home and joining me in car frets and self-pity.

That night, he signed us up for AAA and announced that he officially felt OLD.

After some calls and research we discovered that the car problem was probably a broken throttle cable and a reasonably priced fix compared to the van's tranny problem. Wednesday morning we had Mable hauled to a local mechanic and the fiance hitched a bus ride to work.

That afternoon I hoofed it three miles to the mechanic's to pick up Mable and experienced such gratitude for the bubble butted Sable I must've looked a fool to passerby as I grinned at my ole car like a love struck kindergartner.

And yes, we have names for our cars. His was Bessie and mine is Mable the Sable. Looks like we'll be adding a new buddy to the bunch as soon as we can afford it (as soon as I sell a kidney).