Free Puppies!!!

We've all seen the signs. "Free Puppies".

Free indeed. Free to pick up, but then there's the (fill in the blank). When those of us who have been beaten up by life see such signs now we grab our wallets and run away.

So ... my mother gave me a Corvette the other day.

For free.

A 1976 Corvette Stingray. Pretty cool. Last year of the Stingray.

I'm honored to own it. My mother, never a car guy, bought the car in 1981. Surprised us all. A CORVETTE?!?! Wow, cool Mom!

She drove it for 26 years (!). Even picked up a speeding ticket about ten years ago. The story slowly came out over time. Seems that when she was 75 years young she was following some old people going slow on a two lane road. Pokin' along, holding up traffic, irritating the heck out of my Mom. There was finally a break in traffic so she tromped on the go peddle and dusted them. Actually, she let the car ramp up a little bit more that necessary just to let the engine cool off. My Mother's engine, not the car's. Cops got her when she was slowing down. Took an airplane to do it. Clocked her at ten over. Good thing they got her on the down side. When the police car pulled her over I suspect the cop was expecting to greet some punk in a 'Vette, but instead met up with the Little Old Lady from Pasadena. Wrote the ticket anyway, the creep. When we (finally) learned about the ticket we asked her if she framed it and put it on the wall. Oh no, she says, you had to send it in with the check. What? You couldn't have made a copy first? Come on! Your kids would have been proud!

So anyway, I got the 'Vette. Flew down to visit my Mom and my wife suggested it would be a good time to bring it back. My brother thought it would be a good time to have it shipped back. The excellent tech guy with whom I work thought the same thing. My mother tells me three times she's a little worried about the condition of the tires. They look fine.

Wimps.

It's a Corvette for crying out loud! It's supposed to be driven!

And that's when this free puppy started getting expensive.

But you saw that coming, didn't you?

My Mother took it into the local shop near where she lives and asked the mechanic to ensure it was road worthy. The mechanic, at guy named Dave, was great. Very cautious. In fact, when he first called me after taking a look at the car he said "What are your intentions with this car?". I said, "Drive it to Virginia, and then make it my Sunday car". Dave said he would do what he could, but would not make any guaranteed. In fact, if pressed for an opinion he would advise against driving it that far. Probably should ship it.

Whatever, Dave. Join the growing line of wimps.

I suppose the first sign of trouble was when the radiator blew. Sitting in the shop. At night. Not doing anything. Since my main concerns were the cooling system and the rear axle bearings, this was fine with me. Drop a new radiator in that baby, Dave. And so he did.

The free puppy cost about $1,400 to get it out of Dave's shop. Visa actually called my wife questioning my sanity. Can you believe that?!? Wimps! WIMPS! WIMPS!

Dave says that the rear end is a little loose. The bushings are shot. (The car does squiggle a little bit on the on/exit ramps. I take it easy and end up being flipped off by soccer moms in minivans because I'm holding them up.)

I'm ready to go! Bring on the adventure!! Told my boss the trip home would take somewhere between 14 hours and five days. I was right. That's probably the most accurate forecast I've given my sales boss all year.

Tuesday morning, July 3rd, right after breakfast I hit the road. Since the Corvette is a heat pump and the air conditioning was not working, I had a case of water keeping me company on the passenger seat . Hi Yo Silver, awaaaaaay!

We blew through Florida!

We blew through Georgia!!

We blew through South Carolina!!!

We blew a tire in North Carolina!!!!! And I mean it blew. The left front tire literally exploded. All the way down to the rim. Steel belted shrapnel all over the place. I was probably going between 50 and 55 mph when the tire detonated. The car tried to swerve left into the center guard rail, taking me to whatever awaits us all on the other side of life. Although I'm an old fart I still have some fast reactions left, ("Growing old is not for sissies"), and was able to take the car to the right shoulder, tire parts leaving a trail of destruction behind me. I can't believe I didn't hit anybody with either rubber or fiberglass. I get out of the car and find that the exploding tire took out part of the fender and rocker panel under the door. It also nuked the charcoal canister and I have windshield washer fluid running out of the car like green snot.

Darn.

My Mother drove that car for 26 years and never bent it. I drive it for 10 hours and blow it up.

It's 6:00 the evening before a national holiday and I'm sitting beside the road one mile from the exit for the metropolis of Lumberton, NC.

Time to try out that towing service to which we subscribe.

Sure enough, within 30 minutes the tow truck driver arrives. In his car. With his family. What was he going to do, take pictures? They were on their way to South of the Border in South Carolina to buy fireworks. Bless his heart, he gets the tow truck and drags me over to the local Wal-Mart auto shop, who is getting ready to close up for the day. A young guy at Wal-Mart changes the tire for me. (My fragile male ego requires me to tell you that I DO know how to change a tire, but I couldn't get the bolt loose to lower the tire. Okay?!?).

So, $20 tip for the tow truck driver and $20 tip to the guy who changed the tire. This guy tells me to NOT drive on the spare and he's right. It looks like one of the original 1976 tires, except it's bald. I can make it across the parking lot to the local Hampton Inn, where I hole up for two days ($200) until the local tire shop opens after the holiday. I spend my July 4th holiday watching "Live Free or Die Hard" and "The Transmographiers" ($5 each). Took a taxi to the movie theater ($10). Got the business card from the taxi driver so I could call him to come pick me up. When I did call him he was apparently ready for the fireworks and I only got his voice mail. Asked the weird looking, long purple haired, Goth looking punk kid who collected the movie tickets if there was another taxi in town. There's not. I'm trying to figure out how to get back to the hotel when the kid offers to drive me. Wow. You gotta love a small town. He drops me off at the hotel and refuses gas/beer money ($0). I'm impressed. What a fine looking young man!

First thing the morning of July 5th I'm at the tire shop, trying to not look stranded. I'm treated right and they put four new tires on the car ($400) and I hit the road around noon.

I'm cruising along enjoying the ride. Since leaving my Mother's I've taken it easy on the car. It IS a 30 year old car after all.

Then this punk comes up behind me so close that I think his pickup truck is trying to mate with my 'Vette. I'm in the left lane in line of about four cars passing a semi. I guess the punk wants us all to get out of his way, even though we are all in the process of passing the big truck.

He can wait.

I'm finally first in line now and can actually squeeze in behind the semi to let this jerk pass me before I then pass the big truck. I actually empathize the driver of the pick up. When I was his age I was an asshole. So, I put my turn signal on and start to move over. But OH NO! This guy is going to teach me a lesson and pass me on the right (and there's just not all that much passing room on the right to begin with) and cut me off as he jumps back into the left lane.

I know this.

I've done it a million times.

Now he has my dander up. I've been trying to hold my temper in check, and now he's going to act like a big jerk. But, my Mother cautioned me to take it easy with the car until I got it home.

Mother ..... jerk ..... Mother ..... jerk .....

"Jack it up! Jack it up! Buddy gonna shut you down!!!".

I step on the gas and don't let him over into the left lane. Guess I'm still an asshole. He's pretty mad and comes back over behind me.

Whatever.

I finish safely passing the semi and move over to the right lane. The jerk in the pickemup passes me and we exchange pleasantries. Take that you rednecksumbitch.

Heh, heh, heh.

..........


I figure that it was about then that the water pump started to fail.

I made it to Kings Dominion amusement park in Virginia before the pump blows coolant all over the engine compartment. 100 miles from home. Soooo close!

I buy another case of bottled water (I've run through most of the first case myself. It was HOT in that car. Drank a lot of water, didn't have to pee) and started dumping it into the radiator trying to make it home. Went through 1.5 liters in about 5 miles.

Well, that's not going to work.

Found a mom & pop auto repair shop near Kings Dominion. The mechanic agrees to throw a new water pump onto the car. Tomorrow. The guy's secretary drives me to the closest motel, the Best Western next to Kings Dominion.

In July.

Rock throwing distance from the mega-amusement park.

Prime vacation season rates.

I get a smoking room for $185 for ONE NIGHT. I'm surrounded by hoards of kids climbing up or coming down from a cotton candy high. Good grief.

I put on my Bose kid canceling headphones (compliments of my lovely wife) and listen to 30 years of the Beach Boys (compliments of my youngest son and his family). Ahhhhhh. This is good. I LOVE the Beach Boys, even with the periodic whiff of stale smoke.

The next day the secretary picks me up at the motel ($20 tip for the round trip) and I'm on the road by 1:00 with a brand new gold plated water pump ($270!!!).

Northbound I-95 backs up by Quantico and I don't want to chance the engine over heating. I bail out and take back roads towards Manassas. Traveling through some kind of forest on a winding two lane road I eagerly await the failure of the fuel pump. Doesn't happen (I'm sending it to a lab to determine why not).

I make it home by 4:00 pm on Friday, July 6th.

Good grief.

$1,400 damage to the car according to my poor, unsuspecting insurance agent.

It was an adventure, maybe a little rough around the edges, but an adventure.

But you know what? I really like this free puppy! And remain honored.

Thanks, Mom:)