2002 Chevrolet Monte Carlo - Of Cars and Dogs

 

One Sunday long ago our delightful family dog, a Scottish Terrier I called Fred and my mother called Lassie, wandered into the dining room while we were having Sunday dinner. He sat down near my father, his tail wagging and with that that heart warming beam in his eye that I adored.

 

 

He then threw up all over our black and white linoleum tile floor. "Ah geez chrise...," my father bellowed, "now what??".

 

I bought my 2002 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, going on three years ago, as a way to try and stem the bleeding of green that comes with a owning, operating and maintaining an automobile. It was, at the time, a fairly pricey proposition with the hopes that I would "save money". Ten Grand was a lot of   money for an 8 year old used car; albeit one with only 14,000 miles on it. An older car with low miles for well less than half of what a decent new car would cost? Sign me up.

Speed bump. No bank would loan me what the dealership wanted for a car that old. If they were going to finance any part of it they wanted a large down payment first and the loan they would give me had  an APR that was ridiculously high. Hrmph. So, the wife and I made a withdrawal from the Good Bank of Connolly and paid ourselves back with diligent, aggressive monthly payments. Now, if a tree fell on the old girl or I wrecked it, I'd get perhaps half of what I paid for the car since "The Book" on the car was significantly less on it than I paid for it. Risky. But what the heck. I went for it.

 

 

So far, so good. "The Dale", as silly as I think the decals on the car are, has been a model of rock solid reliability. Well, for the most part.

 

Fred was a great dog, so much fun. I used to play football with him in our small yard back on Long Island where he was both the ball and the opposing team. Don't ask. He was also ferociously loyal to myself and my family and he was tough as nails too. So, when "little things" like his letting go at Sunday dinner happened we got him right to the vet to get him checked out. When the vet came back with only, "how old is he?", we realized that it was "the beginning of the end". Indeed, Fred was getting older. That was that. I think it was less than a year later that he passed away.

 

 

There are inherent risks with driving a car that is pushing 12 years in age (it was built in July of 2001) as a daily driver. Regardless of how gently it's been driven throughout its life or how low the mileage is. Cars today are spectacularly complicated beasts and when they start acting up, it's a sign that it's "the beginning of the end".

 

For example, on the way to the office last week the radio stopped playing and a pleasant, female computer voice popped on the speakers in the car asking me if I wanted to make a phone call. Heh? The car has a primitive cell phone system that was the all the rage back in 2001. Problem is, I didn't press any button prompting the car to ask me if I wanted to make a call. It proceeded to ask me the same question every thirty seconds until I got to the office. No, turning the radio off didn't solve the problem.

 

That said, a couple of weeks ago "The Dale" was as dead as a door nail in the parking lot of a JC Penny near where we live leaving my son and I stranded. Much like Fred letting go, there was not a hint of a sign of a problem what so ever beforehand. I called the wife to come give me a jump from our trusty, aging as well, 2006 Tahoe. No sooner did she pull up beside me that I was able to turn "The Dale" over.

This is on top of the myriad "idiot lights" that won't go off every now and then on the dash board. Some blinking sentinel is always telling me that a seat belt is unbuckled or tire is about to explode from a lack of pressure. It's the car that cries wolf. Constantly.

"Ah geez chrise...," I bellow, "now what??". 

 

I took "The Dale" to our mechanic had them take a look at it. The only thing they said to me was, "how old is the car?"