Equipment is supposed to work perfectly, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter what kind of equipment—computers, kitchen appliances, our bodies, or in the case of my most recent skirmish with disaster, automobiles.
One evening last week I attended a meeting that ended after dark. It wasn’t late, but the sun was definitely gone. I started home along a route I’ve traveled several times, even though it’s only been six weeks since we moved to a new neighborhood. After exiting the highway, I drove along a narrow country road, no shoulders on either side and no streetlights, toward our subdivision.
I was about a mile from home when a change on my dashboard caught my eye. I glanced down. Several warning lights glared back at me. Red lights. Yellow lights. Some indicator lights I recognized, and some I didn’t.
One of the lights was the low oil warning. I’ve always been told not to drive when the low oil light is on. Bad things can happen, including destruction of the engine. Other lights can be ignored, or can await attention at convenient times, but not the oil light.
So I pulled over, as far as I could with no shoulder. My Mazda 5 still blocked the northbound lane of traffic. On my side of the road was an open grassy field near a school. On the other side was dense woodland. I didn’t want to get out of the car in the dark, but I didn’t like staying in it while I was stopped in the traffic lane.
I put on my flashing hazard lights, hoping no one would hit me, and peered at the dash.
Yep, low oil light. Also the battery light. And a brake system light. And some light that looked like a wrench. Maybe another light or two also.
Hazards still flashing, I called my husband. “I’m stopped with half a dozen warning lights all lit up on the dash. What do I do?”
“You’re not too far away,” he said. “Why don’t you come on home?”
With him still on the line, I put the car in gear. It was sluggish as if I’d lost power steering. I checked to be sure it was in gear. Still sluggish. “I don’t think I can,” I said. “I don’t have any power.”
I didn’t hear him sigh, but he probably did. “Okay, I’ll come get you.”
I turned off the engine, leaving only the hazards as a sign to other drivers of my predicament.
I waited. In the dark. Cars slowed and passed me in both directions. I was more worried about getting rear-ended than attacked, but it is never a comfortable feeling for a woman to be alone on a dark road.
One nice lady stopped and asked if I needed help. “My husband is on the way,” I told her. “I’ll be fine.”
More cars dodged around me.
Another woman stopped. “Do you need any help?”
“My husband should be here any minute,” I said. But she pulled in front of me and stopped, turning her hazards on as well.
About five minutes later, my husband arrived. I got out of the car, profusely thanked the Good Samaritan who had stopped, and sent her on her way. (I wish I could thank her again, but all I know is her license plate number.)
When she had departed, I turned to my husband. “Let me turn on the engine and show you all the warning lights,” I said. Though as I spoke, I wondered if the car would even start.
I turned the key. It started.
I looked at the dash. No warning lights. Poof! All the lights I’d seen earlier had vanished.
“They were there!” I insisted. I think my husband believed me, but I’m not sure.
“Well, drive on home,” he said. “I’ll follow you.”
No problems as we caravaned home. The next morning, we checked the oil level. It was fine.
Nevertheless, I didn’t feel comfortable driving the car after seeing all those lights. I called the nearest Mazda dealer. They couldn’t check it out for three days. I called the GoodYear facility where I’ve taken my cars for years. They couldn’t service it until the next day, but they told me to bring it in and leave it and they’d look at it as soon as they could. So that’s what we did.
The next afternoon, after GoodYear had had time to check it out, I called them for a status report.
“Our guy has it out now,” I was told. “But we can’t make it show any warning lights.” An hour later, they called to confirm—they hadn’t found any problem.
I went to GoodYear and paid for my oil and filter change. “We won’t charge you for the diagnostic, because we can’t find anything,” the manager told me. “There’s no history of any errors in your electrical system, and the vehicle checks out fine mechanically.”
“I suppose you think I’m crazy,” I said as the manager ran my credit card.
“I’d never say that,” he responded. “I’ve seen too many weird things happen over the years.”
So now I am left with a car that GoodYear assures me functions fine. But I know there’s a gremlin in there somewhere. The question is, when will it pop out again?
I really don’t want to buy a new car now. This one was my father’s, and I think of him every time I drive it. Plus, we just bought a new house, and I’d rather not spend more money this year. Still, I need to at least think about what I will do the next time the Mazda has a problem. And hope it doesn’t happen on another dark night on a narrow road. But then, there is never a good time for a car to break down.
When have you had inexplicable car trouble?
