I recently posted a blog about the impending death of the Camaro, entitled Alas, Poor Camaro.
What can I tell you? It died. Yesterday it began overheating again, and I didn’t even have the option of driving it a few blocks to Jeff the Mechanic, because he doesn’t work on Mondays.
Not that he would have worked on it..it isn’t like he didn’t warn me at the end of July that the car was not going to make it. If I had even been able to get it to him I suspect he would have refused. He does have a reputation to uphold.
I opted for the plan to take the Camaro home to its driveway.
It took me 1 1/2 hours to go 6 miles. I would drive it a few yards, then pull over into some parking lot to let it cool off before driving it a few more yards and repeating the process. The irritating part of this was that by the time I reached Stopoff #4 or so, it was dark, so I couldn’t read. I was almost forced to go inside a Red Lobster to wait.
By the time of my final stop, at the Wal-Mart perhaps 1/2 mile from my house, the Camaro did not want to start. I guess that would not be the worst possible outcome..I at least could have walked home from there. But at last it did start, and made an ominously knocking noise for its last half mile. I’m not even going to insult it by trying to start it again.
But I needed it to be home. I needed to empty it of its library books, unopened mail, jackets and sweaters. “green” canvas totes for groceries, various files I can’t keep at work because they are too sensitive, and back issues of Smithsonian Magazine that I haven’t read.
The trunk of the 1995 Camaro is a surprising place. It will hold a “rack” of wood—my understanding is that that is 1/5 of a cord. Not sure that is an official measure. But whatever! I loved it that it could be sleek one day, and a workhorse the next. (Possibly, a metaphor for Fakename herself.)
But good job, Camaro. You have no idea how much I will miss you.