Cherokee never faileth

One crisp Sunday morning, about two years ago, my roommates and I were on our way to Sunday services. They always give me a hard time for the way I drive, so when I stopped at a yellow light instead of blasting through it, they started in on me about how their grandmother is a more gutsy driver than I am.

Well, I don’t take any crap from anyone… especially if they’re not willing to chip in if I ever DO drive the way they want me to and end up getting a pricy speeding ticket. So to prove that their jeers had no effect on me, I threw the gear shifter into park, shut off the engine and said, “Fine! We’ll just wait here until I feel like its absolutely safe to proceed.”

My buddy Ty’s known me long enough to know that my Jeep is seldom reliable. After my tantrum he just turned to me and said, “Very funny, Dude. You’d just better hope you can get this thing to start again.”

Half offended by his lack of faith in my car, and half lying in an effort to cover up my own doubts, I replied with an adapted scriptural quote, “Don’t worry, Dude. ‘Cherokee never faileth.’”

Traffic gave way, the left turn lane arrow turned green and I turned the ignition to get us on our way… Nothing… The engine didn’t sound like it was even making an EFFORT to turn over. I tried again… nothing. None of us said anything. We were all too shocked by the irony. The first thing to break the silence was the horns of the cars behind us, impatient to get on their way.
My roommates keeled over with laughter as I continued to try to turn over the engine. Cars were now swerving around my stalled Jeep in an effort to make it through the light before it lost its green. We sat there at the intersection of Canyon and Bulldog for two whole traffic-light cycles before the engine finally turned back on.

My heart hurt with shame from damaged pride and their sides hurt with cramps from laughing so hard. But that was just one of many experiences that taught me at no time, under no circumstances can I EVER fully depend on my car.

Well, this weekend while I was down in Provo visiting those same roommates, my car broke down on me again. I was alone this time, so at least I spared myself the ridicule of roommates, but I wasn’t any less inconvenienced by the situation. I was just driving along East Campus Drive when the engine cut out. I heard a loud whine from the back of the cabin, which made me think it was probably the fuel pump, but I really know so little about cars that I only share my hunches to make myself sound smart, but I really don’t trust them.

“Oh Doc, I tore a hole in the gas tank. We’ll have to patch it up and get gas.”
“You mean we’re out of gas?”
“Yeah, no big deal, we got Mr. Fusion, right?”
“Mr. Fusion powers the time circuits and the flux capacitor. But the internal combustion engine runs on ordinary gasoline; it always has. There’s not going to be a gas station around here until some time in the next century. Without gasoline, we can’t get the DeLorean up to 88 miles per hour.”
“So what’ll we do?”

I called AAA and they had a tow truck come pick me up within an hour. If you own a car and have any inclination that there’s a possibility it could ever unexpectedly break down on you, then you should invest in a AAA membership. It’s WAY useful because not only are you allowed a free 100 mile tow every month, but the part I like best about it is that the people they send to tow you are usually shop owners or mechanics of some kind. The benefit of that is that you can just tell them what happened during the drive to wherever they’re taking you and by the time you get there, they’ll have already given you a full diagnostic on what the problem is and what repairs you’ll need to make.

“Bartender says that’s the strongest stuff they got.”
“Try it, Marty…. Give it more gas… D@mn! It blew the fuel injection manifold. Strong stuff all right. It’ll take me a month to rebuild it.”

So, the plus side is that I was right… the AAA guy said it WAS the fuel pump that had gone out. But there’s still the matter of fixing it. I don’t know enough about cars to be able to fix stuff on my own. I have a repair manuel that takes me through things step by step, but I usually end up spending three days fixing something that a trained mechanic could do in an hour or two.

“A thousand bucks? You gotta be crazy - I'm not gonna pay that.Well, let me talk to the mechanic... Yeah, yeah - I'll hold... Five hundred dollars? Since when does an alternator cost five-hundred dollars? Well, what the h@ll does a transmission got to do with this? Look... Just don't touch my car, alright?! Leave it just like you found it! I'll be right down.”

So logic would say just take it to a garage and pay some grease monkey to fix it for me, right. Well, yeah, that’s what logic says, but logic probably makes more money than I do. I really can’t afford to take my car in for every break down I have… partly because it costs so much to take it in, and partly because the breakdowns happen so frequently that half my monthly salary would go to the garage.

“Ya know, one of these days I'm just gonna get rid of the d@mn cars,
and we'll all take the d@mn bus!”

It’s kind of depressing to think about: I can’t afford a new car, so I keep this clunker, but it breaks down all the time, which also costs money to fix. But if I could figure out some way to get my car fixed WITHOUT having to pay a shop 30 bucks an hour to work on it, then I could probably make due with the jalopy that I have. After all, the only difference between a lemon and a classic is the amount of work put into preserving it.

My dad can fix anything—I cannot. Sometimes I look at him, then I look at myself and I think, "there's no WAY I'll ever make a good father... I mean, look at all the things my dad can do and fix--I don't even know the NAMES of half the stuff he knows how to FIX." But wait... I knew that it was the fuel pump that went out didn't I? And d'ya know how I knew that? Because about 4 years ago it went out and I helped my dad while he fixed it for me.

“Dad?”
“Huh?”
“When did you first learn to work on cars?”
“I don't know - it's just something I picked up along the way, I guess.”
“Well, is Grampa good at working on cars?”
“Oh, sure. I guess I learned most of it from him.”

For years, "helping Dad" has meant holding the light for him while he wedges himself under the chassie, replaces the parts and tightens all the screws. But recently I've learned to demand to do the hands on work myself and have him tell me what do to. Well that's more or less how we worked on the fuel pump the last time. And I learned enough from it that a year ago I was able to replace a separate part on the fuel pump all by myself. And that's why I was confident in replacing the pump this time: because I'd learned from Dad how to do it.

“We know that when the work is hard,

the proper response is not retreat, it is courage.”

And maybe this is how you become qualified to be a dad. It's just being brave enough to try something you're intimidated by. And as you do you aquire experience in TONS of different areas--not excelling at any one thing, but being pretty darn good at just about everything.

“Anakin, how many times have I told you?

‘Stay away from power couplings!’”

I think part of that process of learning as you go can involve a measure of danger too. While I was under the car fixing the fuel pump I managed to snap an electrical wire on the outside of the pump. I don’t really understand everything about electricity and gasoline, but I know they can both be dangerous. I felt so remorseful: "Why couldn't I have just been more careful? I'm not qualified to fix this, but I can't afford to replace the part!" The manual I was using didn’t even mention the part that I broke so I was pretty much on my own to fix it.

“Sir, I don't know where your ship learned to communicate, but it has the most peculiar dialect. I believe, sir, it says that the power coupling on the negative axis has been polarized. I'm afraid you'll have to replace it.”
“Well, of course I'll have to replace it!
…(Chewie, I think we'd better replace the negative power coupling).”

I really don’t know much about electrical workings, but I’ve heard mention before about “grounding” the negative wire. I looked at the piece I’d broken and noticed it wasn’t connected to anything, just welded to the metal frame. I broke the weld, so I couldn’t just reattach it to the same point, but I guessed that if I just connected it to something metal, that would “ground” the line and I’d be safe. So I attached it to a metal hose clamp and prayed that when I tried to start the car I wouldn’t electrify the fuel and blast myself into oblivion. Well, I must have guessed right, because I’m still here. And there you have it, I’m one step closer for qualifying to be a dad.

“This [cherokee] of yours seems a bit beat up. Do you want a new one?”
“Not on your life! That little [jeep] and I have been through a lot together...”

So, despite my many complaints about how my car is too old, that it breaks down too often, that I should just get a new one: the truth is, I’m learning a lot from this old thing. It’s a part of me and I’m a part of it. In fact, I kind of think I’d probably care a lot less about a car that ran a lot better. I’m lucky to have it.