Plop. Scrape. Crunch. Ping. Ping. Ping. Silence.
Hmmm. What the heck is my car trying to say to me? My car and I obviously do not speak the same language. In my language that would translate to my hip/back hurts like crazy, so I’m going to rest my weary bones…thus the sudden silence upon sitting. I am not a car doctor (mechanic), nor am I an informed operator. My extent of auto intellect rests in the ability to drive from one short distance to another. Shoot, my car contains parts I don’t even know how to pronounce, therefore I am at a loss.
I take a left turn on my street two doors from my house, and it makes all this racket. I must mention it is dark, and Dirt Man is not yet home. I go inside for a flashlight to peer beneath the car. Hmmm….there’s a pipe hanging out? Exhaust pipe? Is it supposed to be hanging that low? Did it scrape the asphalt? Was that the noise I heard?
Since I’m not sure, I decide to walk back to where I heard the sound and make sure something did not fall out from beneath my car into the road. I also want to rule out hitting anything like a small animal or running over something that could have damaged those important pieces that I don’t know the names of that live under my car.
Thankfully, I do not see any blood, guts, or otherwise evidence that I have run over any forms of life, nor do I see any tree limbs, rocks, or other debris. I do not detect any objects lying in the road or off to the sides that could have fallen from my car.
Dirt Man comes home and checks out my car. All looks fine. I ask about the “thing” hanging from the rear. Ok, it is the exhaust and it’s right where it’s supposed to be.
A few days later we take the car out in the daylight. No noise. What? So, it only likes yelling at me? Dirt Man pulls it into the neighborhood school parking lot, and we proceed to go on a nauseating “stop, go, lunge, brake, to the left as quickly as we can, and sharp right circle, and over and over” amusement park ride. Car: Small crunch. Ping. Ping. Keeps on going. Me: Trying not to throw up. Dirt Man: “Sounds like it might be in the brakes.” We go back onto the roadway. Ping. Ping. Ping. (Sounds like something is flapping.) Silence. No more noise for the rest of the day. The rain starts coming down, so therefore, Dirt Man will not be out trying to work on the “Old Smokey Oyster” as I named it last year. (It took time to find the perfect name!)
I continue on with my errands for the rest of the day. Smokey starts, stops, and does all I command of him. Silently. He is not speaking to me. I wonder if he is going to catch me off guard in some forsaken place and leave me stranded. I guess there’s no reason to be concerned since I probably will not go more than two miles from my house. Seriously, I seldom ever put more than ten miles a week on my car…usually it’s more like five.
I always find it interesting how much a car tells about a person’s personality and priorities. While I find the new models of the Outback to be seductive and alluring, it is not a necessary expense. If I worked outside my home, I’d consider the investment of a new car. I find the Old Smokey Oyster to be dependable (even though it is currently back talking me!) and fits perfectly with my needs. I like simple dependency with the capability of accomplishing small adventures(AWD). I love my Suby. I am not a flashy sports car kind of gal, nor am I a soccer mom van woman, or a big truck driving mama. I like the versatility of a car that is roomy enough to take the dog or haul hiking equipment. And though I always said I hated leather seats, now that I have them and a “bun warmer” built into them, I don’t ever want to go back to cloth or cold seats.
Smokey is getting old, but I’m not ready to say goodbye. After all, he is a member of the family. And not that I particularly like for him to make unforeseen utterances, I wish he’d let us know what his problem is before I take off and get caught in the cold or snow. Can you give a girl a break, Smokey? And not the “Plop. Scrape. Crunch. Ping. Ping. Ping.” kind of break!