A quick trip out to run errands on a Saturday afternoon turned into a long, car-towing odessy. I did meet some nice people along the way, though, which is a rarity for my introverted nature.
My last stop was a Lowe’s, where I didn’t find what I was looking for. Instead, as soon as I pulled out of the parking spot, I found the clutch on my Maxima just sunk to the floor. Using instincts finely honed from using computers every day, I restarted with no gain. After some tinkering and grumbling, I found the clutch fluid reservoir under the hood, which was bone dry.
Luckily, across the barren expanse of two big box parking lots was a Target. Two engineering degress came in handy in a staredown with bottles of brake fluid that made no mention of also being good for the clutch. I finally reasoned that both were hydraulic and covered in the same section of the manual, and that if it didn’t work, the system would have to be flushed anyway.
Back under the hood, the grimy reservoir cover confirmed my assumption before taking a paltry amount of fluid that didn’t do anything to solve the problem. With my cell phone safely at home, I trekked into Lowe’s to find a phone. Pay phones have become extinct in our cell phone culture, but the folks at the service desk were nice enough to provide a phone and deliciously dead tree phone book.
My luck wasn’t so good with the complimentary Firestone MasterCare road service. After providing all the details of my situation, just shy of smart bomb worthy geographic precision, they came back from a long hold to offer me an hour wait and a $250 bill for a 5-mile tow. I must’ve dialed the sucker hotline. The first local place recommended another one (usually a good sign), who in turn offered me a similar wait but a much more reasonable $55 + $3/mile.
With time to kill, I pulled up a barstool with anthropomorphic legs at nearby Max & Erma’s and ended up chatting with a guy who restores older cars. Discussing cable versus hydraulic clutch activation was much more entertaining than the golf tournament that was on TV.
Steve showed up a little early with his tow truck and placid dog Gracie in the back seat. The truck was quite the marvel of modern technology: the rear view camera and wireless controller were only reined in by the paper note pads carpeting the dash. We discussed the relative durability of the Maxima on the way to Firestone, which was surprisingly still open.
The local Firestone, despite being a large chain, has earned my trust over the years. One of the early times I took my car in for a mystery problem, they spent all day swapping parts that didn’t fix the problem and charged me nothing for the effort. They earned extra points today; one of the mechanics, Chad, was kind enough to offer me a lift home after they closed.
Which leads me to the final twist in this little vignette: while waiting, the TV was tuned to an ungarage-like choice: Alton Brown road tripping on the Food Network.
