Surly, I sorely half-eavesdropped on the success story’s parting instructions. Let the car run for x-amount of time to recharge, and it will be fine. Seemed like standard advice.
After sliding the truck back a few feet so fixed guy and his happy car could drive away from our odd little coincidental group, the AAA car-whisperer came back to me. Contemplative, he decided to jump aboard my unrealistic optimism train. As evidenced, the jump box wasn’t the problem. So, we tried again. Cranked, the car weakly sneezed and let out a light aluminum wheeze.
Towman theorized I had an ignition problem or a faulty starter that was de-juicing my battery.
He headed for his rig in search of what I thought would be some other sort of stronger hook-up jumper.
My mind immediately flitted to those pesky ignition-recall postcards I’ve been receiving for about 5 years. The alert cautioned my 2007 ignition could malfunction if the cumulative weight of many keys and an abundance of dangler/flash on a keyring were too heavy. My own personal and very wise car advisor told me not to worry about it years ago, too. He’s super smart and logical, and cares about cars, so I always listen to his vehicular wisdom.
Once my geriatric Pontiac was cabled to the heavy-duty truck’s engine, it slowly woke up and chugged itself into a running engine. Revivification and relief!
After unhooking and putting away equipment, the fixer came back with a clipboard. I’d seen him check the VIN on the car next to me, so I asked if I should get out so he could get in. “Nah,” he replied, going on to infer that it was unlikely after all this time spent together that I was stealing the oldie and someone else’s cat in the back-seat.
“Didja hear what I told that guy?” he asked me. “Sort of,” I said.
“Well, that doesn’t apply to you.”
He advised I go straight home without stopping anywhere, without turning it off. Additional recommendation included backing the car into my driveway or garage, because it’d be easier to hook up if I needed a tow somewhere, later.
I decided it’d be smarter just to take my car straight to Ron’s Garage.
I called, explained my recent car odyssey and asked if I could drop it off. As usual, they gave me an easy ‘yes.’
Incident behind me, conclusion in front of me, I set out on my HBlu-barking trek home. 10 miles later I dropped the little struggler off.
The car. Not the cat.
Quote for the week: