April 2, 2017
Ahh, automobiles. I don’t give mine much thought so long as they are operating properly. Keep them fueled, take them in for a regular oil change, and other than that simply expect comfortable transport from point A to point B.
Used to be easier to maintain these things yourself. I declined the oil-change franchise’s offer to replace the air filter in my wife’s Lexus. Why pay twice what the part is worth? But I’d forgotten what a pain it is to perform on a newer vehicle what used to be a simple operation. Twenty minutes later, a bolt lost in the depths of the engine compartment, much profanity, and a tool tossed in anger across the garage — job done.
Much easier in my old Durango. Two minutes from start to finish and much less swearing. Unfortunately the Durango is showing signs of age. A couple miles from home Friday evening the Durango lost the ability to reach more than twenty five or thirty miles per hour. As shifting down to low failed to produce any noticeable difference in RPMs, speed, or engine noise I fear the transmission is the culprit. I hope not. I’m woefully inexpert at all things mechanical, but I’m pretty sure anything to do with the transmission will be jaw-droppingly expensive. I’ll take it to a mechanic Monday for a diagnosis. And maybe an exorcism.
I’ve been putting off replacing the Durango. It’s been paid for since 2008. I’d really rather not acquire another car payment. One is enough. I suppose I need to sell more books. C’mon people, pick up the pace. Buy, buy, buy. Well, not those of you who’ve already bought my scribblings. Good on ya. You rock. Though it should be noted that books do make wonderful presents. Just saying.
Well, wish me luck. Here’s hoping the issue is something simple. Like replacing the sparkplugs. Or shaking the chicken bones and spitting over the left shoulder.