Danger, Will Robinson

Dashboard warning lights. They're there to help. But hell, if one of my vehicles didn't have the check engine light on it wouldn't feel right.

Oil lights are another thing entirely. Mine came on my new old van this morning. I turned off the car to check the oil level. It was full and clean.

I turned the new old van back on. No oil pressure light. I've driven several miles now and everything appears fine.

I call that problem solved, and am going about my day.

Engine, Engine

I was sitting with an old friend last night, I'll call him Ron just to give him a name, who was lamenting his recent car repairs. $2300 for this and $8000 for that. Expensive stuff.

Then I did the math. His engine repairs cost more than five times, yes, five times what I paid in 2019 for my new old van.

Actually, it would be a bit more than five times his repairs. My new old van only cost me $1700.

Dang.

In the Numbers

My new old van, in contrast to my newer older van, on Tuesday hit a milestone I've never seen before. In all the history of my personal Cosgriff cars, it hit 234,567 miles. Yep. 2-3-4-5-6-7, all in a row.

I wanted to get a picture of the odometer to capture the moment. But I was in heavy traffic, in what is known in the Detroit area as the 'mixing bowl' where several major highway arteries junction, and simply couldn't manage it. As I was driving in heavy traffic I probably shouldn't have been all that enamored of the odometer reading at all. 

Yet I was. It's exciting to crease the danger envelope every now and then.

Winter Storm Marty

I don't know exactly how much snow fell overnight in the D. The weathercasters were saying 4 to 8 inches were expected; my guess is 2 or 3 actual accumulation in my part of town. But I realize numbers will vary when you're making predictions over large areas such as southeast Michigan.

One thing though which shocks even me: I was looking forward to clearing it. Indeed, I was almost anxious. That was never as issue, oh, not so far back in Marty history. Yet yesterday before the first flake arrived, I found myself plotting my attack on the winter storm demon. I was almost relishing it.

I figured to get out and get started at 6:30. I was actually out and started at 6. Shoveling a path to the first of our three cars, I fired it up, cleared the windows, and made a wide path all around the car for easy access. Returning to the walks, I pushed and tossed the snow cover off of them, taking great pride in forming nice, solid lines at the edges. Add a layer of salt, and they were ready to be safely trod upon.

Now to the other cars, my new old van and my newer older van. Firing them up, I watched with delight as the ice melted off the windows. I soon drove both of them around the neighborhood (one at a time) to allow what bits of snow were still on them to blow off, driving through the alleys around the old barn so that they would be open for myself and my customers. 

Looking back upon that work, I can honestly say it didn't feel like a chore. I was, I am, rather too pleased with myself. This adulting thing isn't so bad if you just embrace it.

Protesting What?

As I stood pumping gas into my new old van (as opposed to my newer older van you might recall) I noticed a home made sticker on the pump. It was very home made: they were the rectangular stickers we used to use to mark VHS tapes. There's no other employment for them these days I suppose.

Anyway, the sticker proclaimed 'philanthropy is not justice'. 

Hmm. Well, maybe not, but I think so. I mean, as philanthropy, which is what any one of us do when we contribute to a worthwhile cause, is a good thing, I'd call it justice in the sense that we should help those people and righteous causes in need. It's a kind of justice anyway.

What I can't figure out is what the author of the sticker is protesting. I mean, even if it's not justice, philanthropy is good, isn't it? So why appear to knock it at all?

I'm flabbergasted. But it's not like that hasn't happened before.

Serendipity, Maybe

I try to stay on top of the oil changes in my vans. It's only common sense, of course, and why burn out a motor even in an old yet otherwise good vehicle for the want of staying on top of the fluids?

Yet how many of us are ever actually smack dab right on time when seeing to the chore? We'll be within a few miles typically, right? While I knew that my newer old van needed service somewhere in 214,000 mile bracket I wasn't sure of the precise mileage when that would be. As I pulled into the oil change place I frequent I was at 214,444 miles. And I was exactly at the recommended change spot.

That'll never happen again. It surely never happened before either.

A Not So Subtle Message

So, you think that Marty drives old cars? Well, he does, yes. But something happened to me brother Phil which has never happened to me. It's entirely true. He'll back me up.

Several years ago Phil was driving an old Pontiac Sunfire. I don't recall exactly how old, but it had some years (and rough driving) on it. I mean, people had begun to notice.

One day he stepped out onto his front porch and noticed that there was a flyer under the windshield wiper of the Sunfire. That wasn't unusual; we routinely have flyers placed on cars around the neighborhood for this or that reason. Yet me brother saw that no other car had a flyer. He stepped out to the street to see what the it might advertise.

The flyer proclaimed - I am not making this up (and it happened to him, not me) - that 'We buy junk cars!' and had a prominent phone number across the bottom. 

Apparently my new old cars aren't as new/old as his. Did I mention, BTW, that he had a second flyer put on that same vehicle a few months later?

Older New Car

My new old car, so to speak, is a 2007 Chrysler Town and Country. But I've picked up a newer older car. I bought my brother in law's 1996 Chevrolet Sport Van.

As a rule, even when I buy another vehicle it tends to be more a recent model even if still a decade or more older than the current day. Now here I am, potentially replacing a new old van with something 11 years older than it. So I'm replacing a new old van with a newer older van. Make sense?

I'm regressing. The older I get, the older my cars get. That counts as serendipity, doesn't it? Or maybe it's just plain old irony. 

Whatever. I like it.

Christmas Morning

It was an unusual sight. As I came home from Midnight Mass in the wee hours of Christmas morning, the snow falling lightly to the ground, the moon shadowing the landscape, something appeared which I never expected to see even on such a glorious day of the year. 

It made its way across Forest Avenue as I approached. I could tell by how it moved that it was uncommon for this day and age. Yet I had to follow it as it trod gently down an alley.

As I crept the new old van forward, the object stopped to stare at me. I had found the legendary Coyote of Christmas, right in Detroit. It looked at me curiously before darting into the trees which have taken over a vacant lot.

You didn't expect a miracle, did you?

Ear Blind

Perhaps I am a little slow, just a tad, mind you, to do, well, I won't call it necessary repairs to my new old van, because it wasn't absolutely necessary. The old girl runs and had been running just fine. Still, I will admit that maybe, just maybe, I had become ear blind. It didn't sound particularly bad to me. Any way you slice it, I broke down yesterday and had the exhaust system repaired.

The first effect was that upon getting the van from the muffler shop, I ground on the starter after I had fired up the engine. You see, it was then so quiet that I honestly thought the engine hadn't started. So I tried starting it again. But since it had started yet was so quiet I thought it had not started, in turning the key again to the on position all that happened was that loud grinding of the spinning gear in the starter engaging an already spinning flywheel. Metal on metal is an annoying sound; a least three heads in the parking lot of the mechanic turned to stare angrily, hands tightly held upon their ears. Sorry about that, folks.

Twice on the way home red lights caught me. Twice I thought the engine had died. Only once though did I grind the gears. The second time I remembered what I had just had done. It was an odd sensation as well to accelerate away from traffic signals and not actually hear the motor roar as the van gained speed.

So now my new old van is quiet. Too quiet, it seems. I'm sure I'll get used to it. I just hope I don't burn out the starter in the meantime. 

Clear Orders from Headquarters

I took me Mom out shopping yesterday, and when we were finished and back in the new old van she blurted, "Are we gonna eat?"

"Sure," I answered. "We're about 45 minutes from home. We can make sandwiches when we get there," I continued, joshing her.

Immediately, I knew I had crossed a line. Stepped on toes. Creased the envelope. Went a bridge too far. She was giving me the Mom stare.

I returned the glare, melting all the while just the same, because you better not turn away either. Being a Mom, she had to let it burn into me for a few seconds. Finally she said with certainty, "We will go to McDonald's, or maybe Burger King, and get cheeseburgers."

"Yes ma'am. Absolutely, ma'am. Right away, ma'am. We'll go to McDonald's..."

"Or Burger King."

"Yes, ma'am, or Burger King, ma'am. For cheeseburgers, ma'am."

She nodded regally. 

I think she was only teasing. But I was glad we quickly came upon a BK.

They'll do it every time

Until yesterday when I had it fixed I was having the oddest trouble with my new old van. I could only fill the gas tank slowly. The flow would cut off almost immediately if I tried to fill up at regular speed. It wasn't a huge problem; it required simply putting the gas in slow. But it was annoying, especially in the cold.

After dealing with it for about a month I decided to get it checked. It turns out that it wasn't venting correctly, a tiny pipe of some sort being plugged. The vent pipe allowed air to escape from the tank as it filled. With it blocked the air couldn't go anywhere unless the gas flow was slow enough to let it go out the larger tube where gas is added.

That perhaps inadequate explanation aside, I had resolved that, it not being the worst trouble in the world, I didn't want to spend too much. Mentally I settled on $200. More than that and I would just deal with it.

Within a couple hours my mechanic called me with an estimate of $202.57.

Of course I had him do it. But my shoulders actually slumped and I let out a sigh when he gave me that figure. It was like, really, forces of nature? Do you have to tease like that?

On the other hand I am rather anxious to gas up later today.

Car warning lights

I fully admit that I tend to ignore the idiot lights on my dashboard. Check engine? Why? It's running fine but a mechanic will surely find something wrong which be a harbinger of an impending nuclear explosion in your engine if you don't get it fixed now! Oil pressure light on? Check the oil; if it's okay  and again, the car is running fine, ignore the warning. The dashboard warnings are there at best as clues to the vague chance that something is wrong, not omens of dire consequences.

Yet I must concede that I was, well, not exactly taken aback this morning as intrigued. My eyes saw the warning, and I'm sure my head went to side to side as a dog's might when contemplating an unknown. Where my odometer, mileage reading, should have been was instead the word gascap.

My first thought was that I have one of those, yes. It fits over the end of the gas tank tube. But still, when I got to the Shop I checked it. It was secured tightly.

The warning came back on when I restarted the car awhile later. Hell, I thought. Another thing I gotta learn to ignore. About the worst thing is I won't know when to get my oil changed now.

Two things about a Marty car

This morning, I saw my son off as he drove my old Chevy Venture to his home in Ohio. As he and my daughter-in-law were wanting a vehicle and as I had bought a new old car in June, I did the Dad thing and simply gave them the old van. For their use, doing nothing more than tooling around town where they live, it really should be good for awhile yet.

But it got me to thinking, specifically about the age of the old van but also in general. It was made in 2000: as I remarked to my son before he left, that meant it rolled off the assembly line when he was still in high  school. Now that's putting perspective on things.

Further, I think that it may well be the first time in my life that I passed on a car for continued use rather than selling it for scrap value. As a rule I run my cars into the ground, replacing them only because abject necessity demanded it. I feel okay about the deal though. I took reasonably good care of it. The old Venture truly ought to be all right indefinitely, especially with the relatively limited miles of only driving it in the local environs.

So I've set a new standard for Marty cars. Let's see how long that lasts; probably only until I get rid of my new old van, if I were to, ahem, venture a guess.

Modern conveniences

As regular readers know, and irregular readers will know in a minute, I bought a new old car recently. I've been liking it too; it was certainly a good move on my part.

And get this: it has a feature where you can cool down the interior as you drive! Yes it does! I believe that the scientists call it 'air' conditioning. You push a button and nice cool air comes out of the slots where heat comes from in the winter (when you push a different button of course).

I am duly impressed. I drove all around northeast Indiana and northwest Ohio this past Thursday, and while it was hot and muggy outside I was perfectly comfortable driving. Indeed I could not wait to get back in my van after stops simply to be comfortable while all the walkers moved about in hot sweat. I even saw a couple cars go by with their windows open, clearly lacking this modern marvel, this 'air' conditioning, and I truly felt bad for them.

I should have bought a twelve year old van a lot sooner than I did.