When cars turn psycho

My apologies to any readers named “Christine” out there, but I just thought it was so appropriate to name a certain automotive phenomenon after the Stephen King thriller. Film buffs will remember “Christine” as the homicidal 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air with a Fatal Attraction-esque attachment to its owner, even going so far as to maim and murder any human beings who came to close to the poor guy. My own car hasn’t tried to kill me yet, but it’s beginning to display a certain set of qualities consistent with the selling-it-soon-phase.

Ever since I’ve entertained impure thoughts of trading it in for something new (or newer) it has seemingly decided to throw the automotive equivalent of a snit fit, a tantrum, stomping its feet and flaring its nostrils at my utter disregard for its feelings.

“It’s not you, babe, it’s me. We’re just not right for each other anymore...”

Thus, the trials began. First, it was a busted A/C fan signaled by rising engine temperature. Then it was the radiator cap. Then it was a radiator overhaul. A thermostat replacement. Finally, it was a re-wiring of the A/C fan motor because, curiously, the polarity out of the box was the wrong way. Ever notice how these engine cooling problems have a way of cascading from one issue to the next?

It’s been said that Experience is the best teacher, and when it comes to overheating I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. Before I bought my current car, I had a Mitsubishi Galant. Ignoring the warning signs of a leaking radiator, it finally cracked, losing all the coolant before eventually shutting the engine down. Youth can really make you cheap and stupid, eh? This, of course, necessitated a very expensive engine overhaul, not to mention having to replace the radiator, the thermostat, the water pump, and sundry other items. Which is why, with my current car, I nipped the problem in the bud by having the problem fixed right away. Or so, I think. You never know what “Christine” will cook up next.

Just last week it refused to lock its doors, which meant I couldn’t go too far away from it. I never realized it was the clingy type. And its headlamps kept fogging up. I hate it when they get all teary-eyed.

Still, as automotive problems go, I can take busted tie rods and worn bushings with equanimity, but nothing stresses me out like problems with the cooling. Any time I see the temperature needle go up, so does my heart rate. I lose all sense of time and proportion... the seconds tick by like hours as the needle goes up and up while I search desperately for a safe place to park. Or just for someone to wake me up from a bad dream.

“Please don’t blow up babe. Just a few more minutes, okay? I promise I’ll be good to you next time.”

Cooler heads will explain that such a situation is normal and to be expected over the life of a car. Radiators wear out, so expect to have it fixed or repaired as you accumulate the miles.

Nothing lasts forever, except... Love?

So, I am taking no chances. Now I make sure to check the coolant level before I drive off. I’ve got a quart of coolant and a 5-gallon jug of distilled water in the trunk at all times, just in case. And I’m keeping a wary eye on all those boring “accessories” that take up room in the engine bay. Of course, as the car steadily gets back to its former glory I also begin to have doubts about letting go of it in the first place.

“So, maybe we should give each other a second chance, you think?”.

These cars have a way of messing with our heads.