Good morning one and all. I hope this day finds you well. After posting Sacky Christi's blog address yesterday, I went there are realized I was a few posts behind. One of them talked about problems that she's had with her car. There have been enough of these occurrences that she now believes her car is cursed. I immediately thought of my friend Rockabye and a car he had while we were in college. Let's call this the May Day Special.
First though, I'm not immune to car problems. I had a Bronco 2 for the first four years or so that I was driving. Correct me if I'm wrong, but normally you're not supposed to average one transmission per year, right? I loved the car when it was running well, but that happened less and less frequently, so it eventually was time to part.
Despite the several transmissions (or 'quite a few' if you prefer), belts breaking, and a passenger window that needed human plus electrical help to go back up, my Bronco 2's problems were nowhere near as memorable as Rockabye's run-ins. He named his car "Qwaku," after a gentleman he met playing pick-up basketball at a park. He was so enamored by that name that he bestowed it upon his sedan. He'd greet the car as we'd approach it with "Hey, what's up, Quak?" Then he'd push the button on his alarm remote, and it would reply back with its own salutation.
(Random side note here: I once asked Dusty, "If there were no birds, would be still have the word 'chirp?'" "Yes," he said, "because my alarm clock chirps. It says so in the manual." "Come on," I argued, "you're telling me the manual writer would've made that word up specifically to address the sound the clock makes? You don't think he's saying it sounds like a bird?" "My alarm clock chirps," he replied, satisfied that he'd successfully made his point. Man I hate that guy sometimes.)
So back to Rockabye and Qwaku. During our sophomore year, he and I lived together with our friends Greg and Jon on the bottom half of a duplex. There was a little parking lot for our two units behind the place, which was visible from a window in the room I shared with Greg. One afternoon, Greg and I were just chilling in our room, listening to music and most likely talking about stupid shit. Out of nowhere, we heard a loud crash coming from the direction of the little parking lot. Greg ran over to the window and pulled the blinds up. There was Qwaku. More precisely, a little more than half of Qwaku. The front of the car had busted through the wooden fence that divided our place from our neighbor's place. Big planks laid across the windshield and a cloud of dust hovered above. Through the window, we could see Rockabye's face, looking at us, stunned in surprise, with a half smile and a look that said, "I have no idea what happened but I have a feeling it was kinda funny."
We ran out to the lot and asked the most obvious question in that situation: "What the hell did you do?" He told us that he was pulling in just like he always did, but when he hit the brakes, nothing happened. Well, more appropriately, hitting the fence happened. I asked how he stopped the car then, and he said that the brakes were working again. Qwaku fell asleep on the job, and now we had a car, a fence, and neighbor relations to repair. Neither Greg nor I will ever forget that look on Rockabye's face, and it makes me laugh almost every time I think of it. (I just laughed. Do you believe me now?)
The following year, Rock and Qwak were on the freeway, and a big truck in front of them made a decision. "I'm tired of hauling all of this crap," it thought to itself. "I would be much better off tossing some of it and lightening my load. I'm not a kid anymore, and I need to set limits for myself. Take this big block of concrete, for example. I don't need this anymore, yet I've had the hardest time parting with it. Starting today, I'm going to treat myself better. Farwell, big block of concrete, and good luck finding your way in this world." Unfortunately the concrete didn't find his way, but rather Qwaku's hood. A little while later, Rockabye walked in to our apartment and told us what happened. We came out and looked at the big dent and scrapes from the liberated slab. It could've been very bad if it had been a couple of feet higher and hit the windshield, but it didn't and my friend was fine. That made it easier to laugh at. We were starting to wonder if Qwaku was a magnet for trouble.
That same school year, we got our answer. Even in sunny, beachy, and beautiful Santa Barbara, we were prone to occasional storms. One particular day, we had a doozy of one. My buddies and I all stayed dry inside (a different place than the year before, by the way), playing video games and arguing over who did the better impression of Mario. Later on, after everything cleared up, we went to the lot behind the complex. I'm not sure if I have this quote exactly correct or not, but Rockabye said something very close to, "Dude, where's my car?" He pointed to the farthest spot from where we were standing, and he was right, there wasn't a car there. Instead, there was about half of a tree that had fallen in the storm. "Are you serious?" I asked. He couldn't help but smile a little as he nodded, knowing that this was another chapter in Qwaku's lore. We couldn't see even an inch of the car, so we expected the worst as we walked over. Sure enough, there was a car under there. Somehow, though, it was totally fine. A tree fell on his car and it was fine.
We will always remember Qwaku, even though he hasn't been Rockabye's chariot for a while now. The car that broke through fences, was a concrete magnet, and survived an act of God with nary a scratch. Maybe it wasn't cursed at all, come to think of it. Maybe it took the brunt of these things to prevent others from having to. Or maybe I've just been watching too much Lost.
Have a great day, gentle readers. Drive carefully out there, and look out for stationary fences. (Not stationery fences, because there's no reason to be afraid of paper. Oh homophones, you get me every time.) Please remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with your thoughts and observations. There's plenty of room in the next Follow Up Friday, so keep a look out for Car Watch items and anything I might find interesting.
First though, I'm not immune to car problems. I had a Bronco 2 for the first four years or so that I was driving. Correct me if I'm wrong, but normally you're not supposed to average one transmission per year, right? I loved the car when it was running well, but that happened less and less frequently, so it eventually was time to part.
Despite the several transmissions (or 'quite a few' if you prefer), belts breaking, and a passenger window that needed human plus electrical help to go back up, my Bronco 2's problems were nowhere near as memorable as Rockabye's run-ins. He named his car "Qwaku," after a gentleman he met playing pick-up basketball at a park. He was so enamored by that name that he bestowed it upon his sedan. He'd greet the car as we'd approach it with "Hey, what's up, Quak?" Then he'd push the button on his alarm remote, and it would reply back with its own salutation.
(Random side note here: I once asked Dusty, "If there were no birds, would be still have the word 'chirp?'" "Yes," he said, "because my alarm clock chirps. It says so in the manual." "Come on," I argued, "you're telling me the manual writer would've made that word up specifically to address the sound the clock makes? You don't think he's saying it sounds like a bird?" "My alarm clock chirps," he replied, satisfied that he'd successfully made his point. Man I hate that guy sometimes.)
So back to Rockabye and Qwaku. During our sophomore year, he and I lived together with our friends Greg and Jon on the bottom half of a duplex. There was a little parking lot for our two units behind the place, which was visible from a window in the room I shared with Greg. One afternoon, Greg and I were just chilling in our room, listening to music and most likely talking about stupid shit. Out of nowhere, we heard a loud crash coming from the direction of the little parking lot. Greg ran over to the window and pulled the blinds up. There was Qwaku. More precisely, a little more than half of Qwaku. The front of the car had busted through the wooden fence that divided our place from our neighbor's place. Big planks laid across the windshield and a cloud of dust hovered above. Through the window, we could see Rockabye's face, looking at us, stunned in surprise, with a half smile and a look that said, "I have no idea what happened but I have a feeling it was kinda funny."
We ran out to the lot and asked the most obvious question in that situation: "What the hell did you do?" He told us that he was pulling in just like he always did, but when he hit the brakes, nothing happened. Well, more appropriately, hitting the fence happened. I asked how he stopped the car then, and he said that the brakes were working again. Qwaku fell asleep on the job, and now we had a car, a fence, and neighbor relations to repair. Neither Greg nor I will ever forget that look on Rockabye's face, and it makes me laugh almost every time I think of it. (I just laughed. Do you believe me now?)
The following year, Rock and Qwak were on the freeway, and a big truck in front of them made a decision. "I'm tired of hauling all of this crap," it thought to itself. "I would be much better off tossing some of it and lightening my load. I'm not a kid anymore, and I need to set limits for myself. Take this big block of concrete, for example. I don't need this anymore, yet I've had the hardest time parting with it. Starting today, I'm going to treat myself better. Farwell, big block of concrete, and good luck finding your way in this world." Unfortunately the concrete didn't find his way, but rather Qwaku's hood. A little while later, Rockabye walked in to our apartment and told us what happened. We came out and looked at the big dent and scrapes from the liberated slab. It could've been very bad if it had been a couple of feet higher and hit the windshield, but it didn't and my friend was fine. That made it easier to laugh at. We were starting to wonder if Qwaku was a magnet for trouble.
That same school year, we got our answer. Even in sunny, beachy, and beautiful Santa Barbara, we were prone to occasional storms. One particular day, we had a doozy of one. My buddies and I all stayed dry inside (a different place than the year before, by the way), playing video games and arguing over who did the better impression of Mario. Later on, after everything cleared up, we went to the lot behind the complex. I'm not sure if I have this quote exactly correct or not, but Rockabye said something very close to, "Dude, where's my car?" He pointed to the farthest spot from where we were standing, and he was right, there wasn't a car there. Instead, there was about half of a tree that had fallen in the storm. "Are you serious?" I asked. He couldn't help but smile a little as he nodded, knowing that this was another chapter in Qwaku's lore. We couldn't see even an inch of the car, so we expected the worst as we walked over. Sure enough, there was a car under there. Somehow, though, it was totally fine. A tree fell on his car and it was fine.
We will always remember Qwaku, even though he hasn't been Rockabye's chariot for a while now. The car that broke through fences, was a concrete magnet, and survived an act of God with nary a scratch. Maybe it wasn't cursed at all, come to think of it. Maybe it took the brunt of these things to prevent others from having to. Or maybe I've just been watching too much Lost.
Have a great day, gentle readers. Drive carefully out there, and look out for stationary fences. (Not stationery fences, because there's no reason to be afraid of paper. Oh homophones, you get me every time.) Please remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with your thoughts and observations. There's plenty of room in the next Follow Up Friday, so keep a look out for Car Watch items and anything I might find interesting.
2 comments:
I've been driving for over 40 years and I've owned some clunkers and lemons in my day. I could write a long, long, long, long blog about those masses of metal. But I won't.
I will share one incident with your gentle readers.
I pulled into the family driveway (in a beautiful, new 1964 Chevy Impala) while my mother was talking to my dad on the phone and waving out the kitchen window to me. The brakes failed and I ran into the house. The look on her face was priceless. I'm not sure how to describe the look on my dad's face when she told him what the crashing sound was. Priceless might not be word.
I had a truck like that...when the transmission failed, I got to learn what the emergency brake was for along with knowing exactly how much damage a concrete barriered light post will do to a mini-truck rolling approx. 6 mph in a downhill parking lot.
My dad was kind enough to explain that if the e-brake was set, the truck would not roll away.
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