Tag Archives: van repair

Oct1

Ghost Town

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The problem had begun months before.

One day when I turned the key in my van’s ignition, I got a click instead of a start. That was weird, I thought.  I turned the key again, and this time the van roared to life. I thought it had must been a glitch and didn’t worry.

Over time, the problem happened more often. Sometimes the van started right up, and sometimes I got a click. Eventually the click was normal, and sometimes I had to turn the key two or three times before the van started. The situation was definitely getting worse.

The Man was pretty sure the problem was the starter. He could replace it, he said, He’d only have to remove two bolts. He wouldn’t even need to jack up the van; he could just crawl under it. I was glad he was willing and able to do the work, but at the moment I didn’t have the money to buy the starter. I just hoped the part wouldn’t give out completely before I could afford the new one.

After three weeks of work on the mountain, I had the money I needed. In AutoZone, I told the young man at the counter the make and model and year of my van and he told me my options. One starter only cost $35, but he didn’t recommend it. Another had a lifetime warranty, he said.

I’d bought a starter at AutoZone in 2014, a couple days after I’d purchased my van. I asked him to look at my purchase history and see if the starter I’d bought four years ago had a lifetime warranty. Good news: it did! I had to pay for the new starter, but when I returned the old starter, I’d get a full refund. That sounded good to me.

The new starter sat in the tent for a week while my van’s situation got worse. Every time I sat it the driver’s seat, I wondered if this would be the time it wouldn’t start at all. I didn’t expect The Man to work on my van after a long day at his job; I figured he’d do the repair in a week when we had two days off in a row.

On our Wednesday off, we went on a long, hard, ridiculous hike which wore us both out. On Thursday we were still tired, and I didn’t push the issue of the starter. I hoped the old one would hang in for another week until our days off rolled around again.

On Friday, The Man left the mountain. He was frustrated by the paperwork and having to account for the money he’d collected during the week, and he really wanted to do something else with his life. I wasn’t mad at him for going, but I did wish he’d changed my starter before he left.

On Monday I began making calls to mechanics in civilization. Les Schwab didn’t do that kind of work.  When I asked the office manager if they recommended anyone in town to do the job, she mentioned a place whose name she was unsure of. I figured it was a suggestion more than a recommendation, and I didn’t bother trying to find that shop’s phone number.

I’d had some work done on my van in 2015 when the battery was giving me trouble. I’d liked the guy who’d done that work well enough. I had the receipt from the previous repair in the folder where I keep information about the van, otherwise I would have never remembered the place’s name.

I found the phone number via Google and called the shop. I explained my situation to the man who answered the phone. When I said I worked up on the mountain and needed to make an appointment so the repair could be completed in one day, the guy on the phone said he remembered me. I was speaking to the mechanic himself! He said he could replace the starter for $76. He said I should come in at nine o’clock on Wednesday morning. I moved, he warned me before we hung up and told me his new address, which matched the information given by Google.

On Wednesday morning, I moved the van from where I’d slept in the parking lot of a 24-hour supermarket across town to the discount grocery store. I went in to use the restroom and pick up a few things. When it was time to leave, I put the key in the ignition and turned. Click!  I turned again. Click! I must have turned the key five times before the engine engaged. It looked as if I was getting the repair done in the nick of time.

When I’d used this mechanic before, his shop had been on a busy street in the heart of town. This time I had to drive to the outskirts. For a few minutes, I thought Google Maps had sent me off on a wild google chase. Just when I was beginning to wonder if I should pull off and investigate further, the Google Maps lady told me I’d arrived.

The shop was much bigger than the one I’d been to before, and I thought the mechanic had come up. The shop was farther away from the action, but had plenty of space now.

I parked the van and went to the front door. Locked. There was no open sign either. I was no more than five minutes early. Had none of the workers arrived yet?

The gate on the side of the building was open, so I walked through. I found the mechanic sitting behind a cluttered counter, eating a grocery store pastry.

When I’d been to the mechanic’s other shop, it was a bustling place. The bays were filled, and vehicles waited their turn in the large parking area. Several other mechanics worked for this guy whose surname was on the sign in front of the shop, and everyone moved briskly about their business of car repair. The shop I was currently standing in seemed lonely. My van was the only vehicle parked in front of the shop and the mechanic seemed to have no employees.

I have an appointment at nine, I told the mechanic.

You have the van? He asked hopefully. He seemed relieved when I said yes. Maybe he thought I wasn’t going to show.

He asked me to give him a few minutes, then he’d come to collect the van. I went back to the van and gathered the things I’d need while I waited for him to complete the repair.

At the other shop, he’d had a clean waiting room larger than most independently owned auto repair shops offer. An office manager greeted customers and answered the phone. I think I’d even been able to charge my phone while I waited. I was prepared for a similar place to hang out while the mechanic did his magic.

As promised, the mechanic joined me in a few minutes. He asked me again about the problem the van was having. I explained I’d often turn the key and just get a click. The problem is intermittent, I said, and the mechanic interrupted to say, What does that mean?

I felt bad about using a word he didn’t know. I wasn’t trying to show off. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of another way to explain the problem. I don’t know why my brain couldn’t come up with it doesn’t happen every time. I stood there blankly.

Let me try it, the mechanic said, and I handed him my keys.

He leaned into the van, put the key into the ignition, and turned it. Click! He turned the key again. Click! Turn. Click! Turn. Click! Finally the van started and he said he’d take it to the back.

I looked around the parking area. There wasn’t a tree to sit under or a lick of shade anywhere. There was no way I could sit in the direct sunlight for the hour it was going to take to replace the starter.

Do you have a place where I can wait? I asked the mechanic.

I have a waiting room, but it’s dusty and full of cobwebs, he said discouragingly.

It would be ok, I assured him. I just needed to be out of the sun.

He unlocked the front door and led me into a ghost town of a waiting room. To the left was a big office area with a counter and a window behind which the office manager would have sat, had there been an office manager. To the right was the area where waiting customers were meant to sit. Three plastic chairs lined the wall and in the corner a coffee table held magazine covered in an eighth of an inch of dust. Everything in the room was covered in an eighth of an inch of dust. Everything was so filthy, I didn’t want to sit or set my backpack down.

When the mechanic said the waiting room was dusty and full of cobwebs, I thought he meant no one had run a vacuum in a couple of weeks. What he actually meant was that he’d taken possession of an abandoned automotive repair shop and hadn’t done a single thing to make the waiting room decent for his clients.

Where does his expect his customers to wait? I wondered.

By the time I was ready to leave, I was wondering where his customers were. No one arrived after me. No one came in to ask about a repair or to pick up a vehicle that the mechanic had finished with late the day before or to bring a vehicle in for the ten o’clock appointment. The phone rang once—once!—in the hour I was there. Never before in my life had I sat in an auto repair shop for an hour and only heard the phone ring once. What in the world was going on here?

I heard the beautiful sound of my van’s engine turn over. Finally, this was done.

The mechanic stuck his head out of the door between the bay and the waiting room. He was finished, he said. I could come with him.

I followed him through the bay to the counter in the corner. The top of the counter was littered with greasy car parts and the over crispy ends of fried convenience store snacks.  That will be $68, the mechanic said.

I was pleased that the final price was less than what he’d quoted me over the phone. I pulled out four twenty dollar bills and handed them over. He started pulling money out of his pockets to make change. That’s right…out of his pockets. There was no cash register, no lockbox, no zipper bag from the bank. He was going to make change out of his personal pockets. The last time I’d seen this man, he’d been running an auto repair business; now he might as well have been running a lemonade stand.

He pulled from the pocket of his pants a few crumpled ones and a wad of twenties he rummaged through looking for a smaller bill. He didn’t seem to have any fives or tens on him.

I picked up the two ones he’s dropped on the counter and said, It’s ok. Don’t worry about it.

I’d planned to pay $76 anyway. Why get uptight over two extra dollars?

Are you sure? He asked.

Yes, I said. I appreciate your help.

He got a smile on his face that made it seem as if my not insisting on change was the nicest thing that had happened to him in a very long time.

 

 

May22

Van Problems (Part 2)

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I shared the beginning of my story of van problems yesterday. Today I’ll tell you the rest of the story.

It was four o’clock when we finally arrived at the shop. When I’d originally talked to the owner of the shop, he said he’d start the job that day and finish it the next, which seemed reasonable to me. Of course, that had been at 11am. Now it was 4pm. I figured he wouldn’t get started until the next day.

That was Monday. On Tuesday, I waited all day for a call. At 4:15 that afternnon, I called the shop and asked about the status of my van. The guy who answered the phone said he didn’t know anything about my van, but would find out. He took my phone number and said he would call back. He never did.

At 4:35, The Man and I decided to go to the garage to check on the van. The Man was opposed, but I was determined. The Man thinks mechanics get tired of people calling to find out if their vehicles are ready. He thinks mechanics get pissed when they’re bothered. I believe I’m in a business transaction with the mechanic who owes me basic communication about the status of my vehicle. He should have told me my place in the repair lineup when I dropped off the van. If the repair (which he originally said would take about four hours) was going to take more than one business day, someone should have called and let me know. And if the shop policy is that no information about the status of a vehicle is given over the phone, the fellow who took my call should have explained that to me. It’s not right for someone to say they’re going to call back but never do so!

I walked up to the counter of the parts store adjacent to the repair shop moments before closing time. When I asked about my van, no one behind the counter knew anything. The boss was in the office, one of the guys told me. He was busy, but I could wait.

I waited. I waited some more. I waited silently and looked at mysterious auto parts while I waited. I saw mechanics punch out and go home for the day.

Finally, the boss came out of the office. He looked at me and said, Ma’am, your truck is not ready.

Might it be ready tomorrow? I asked

I’ll call you when it’s ready, he told me.

I thanked him and left without another word.

That was Tuesday.

On Wednesday I waited. I waited and waited and waited. The Man was sure the van wold be ready by noon or 1:30 at the latest. I waited and waited and waited. There was no phone call from the repair shop.

On Thursday I asked The Man how late I should wait to call the repair shop and ask them if I should cancel my (only partially imaginary) appointment that afternoon in the city. The Man was adament I should not call and ask about the progress of the van. The man said he’d call you when it’s ready, he reminded me. You probably already pissed him off when you went in on Tuesday. I maintained the mechanic should communicate with me so I could make plans and organize my life. The Man and I agreed we should not discuss the situation any further.

The Man said the Universe was trying to teach me patience and acceptance. Maybe so, but I have to say, I’m a pretty lousy student.

By 1:30, on Thursday afternoon, I’d heard nothing from the mechanic, and even The Man thought the whole situation had gotten ridiculous. They’d had my van a really long time to do what I’d been told was a four hour job.

At 3:55, I couldn’t wait any longer. I’m calling them, I told The Man grimly. I’ll just say I need to know if I should cancel my plans for the weekend.

I called the shop. I told the guy who answered the phone the make and model of my van and said I wanted to check on it.

Oh yeah, he said. Your van is ready. He didn’t say they had finished the repair two minutes ago and were just about to call me. He didn’t apologize for the delay. He didn’t explain anything, but by then all I really cared about was picking up the van and hitting the road.

I didn’t talk to a mechanic when I picked up the van. I paid the young woman working in the parts store adjacent to the garage. On my receipt was a list of the parts used and their prices, but no indication that the back brakes had been adjusted as I requested when I’d dropped off the van. At The Man’s insistance, I went back in and asked the young guy working in the parts store if the brakes had actually been adjusted, and he assured me they had. He said he’d actually seen a mechanic doing the adjusting.

I got my things out of The Man’s vehicle and threw everything into my van. I was ready to go!

About 10 miles into my drive, The Man called me and suggested I stop the van and check for smoke or a burning smell coming from the brakes. I pulled over and hopped out of the van. I went to the rear tire on the drivers side. I saw no smoke. Sniff! Sniff! I didn’t smell anything weird. The drivers side seemed good.

I walked over to the passenger side. There was no smoke. Good. Sniff! Sniff! I smelled something artificial, plastic and hot, but it wasn’t overwhelming, so I decided to keep going. What else could I do? I was in the middle of nowhere out in the desert.

As I drove towards the small outpost of civilization that was the next town, I was paranoid (some would say hyper vigilant) about smells. Did I smell something? Was the smell coming from me or from another car on the road? How much smell from the brakes was too much smell from the brakes? The brakes seemed to be working fine, so I kept going.

When I got to the town, I pulled in at the truck stop to sniff at the tires again, then use the restroom. I went directly to the tire on the passenger side, and it definitely smelled hot and artificial. I’d never sniffed my tires before. Maybe that’s the way they always smelled?

I called The Man to confer, and as I came around the front of the van, I saw a dreaded puddle on the concrete just under my bumper. Had that come from my van, or had it been left behind by the previous occupant of the parking space? I crouched down to examine the moisture. It was very wet and seemingly fresh. Also, parts of the van’s undercarriage appeared wet too. As I watched, a few drops dripped from my van onto the ground.

I didn’t even cry. I was beyond crying. The whole mess kept going on and on and on, and it looked like I’d never go on the road trip.

After conferring with The Man and The Lady of the House, I formulated a plan. I’d sleep in my van where it was parked at the truck stop. First thing in the morning, I’d find a mechanic in the town to check everything out.

The next day, after a couple of false states, I found a shop where I could get the van checked.

The boss was probably in his 60s, pudgy with thin white hair. He had watery, red-rimmed blue eyes and a bulbous nose marked by tiny red blood vessels just below the skin. He told me where to park the van and said someone would look at it in about 45 minutes when the current job was complete.

The fellow who came out to look at the van was youmger, probably early 30s. He had a reddish brown beard and a face full of faded freckles. His unfortunate tangle of teeth seemed to make talking difficult. He slid under my van, and when I went over to give him some information, I saw he had the stub of a lit cigarette clutched between his lips. Is that a good idea? I wondered.

The mechanic found no leak, even after the van ran long enough to get the engine up to running temperature. The brake was fine too. He thought I was smelling the factory coating on the brake pads burning off. He posited the liquid on the ground had drained from the old water pump when it was removed. Ok. If he said everything was ok, I was willing to go with it.

What do I owe you? I asked the mechanic.

Ask the old man, he said, gesturing to the office where the boss had gone.

I went inside and told the boss his guy hand’t found any problems.

What do I owe you? I asked him.

Nothing, he said. We didn’t do anything.

Oh thank you! I gushed.

Finally, I could start my road trip.

Images courtesy of https://pixabay.com/en/phone-old-year-built-1955-bakelite-1644317/, https://pixabay.com/en/paper-business-document-office-3327341/, and https://pixabay.com/en/car-repair-car-workshop-repair-shop-362150/.
Oct16

Dispatch from a Cabin

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The last few weeks have been difficult.

At the end of September, I drove the van down to the mercantile so The Man and I could use the internet on our day off. As we were heading back to the campground, I noticed the oil pressure gauge was wacky, the needle bouncing around and showing the oil pressure was way, way high. The Man said an oil pressure gauge would never read high, that the gauge is there to tell the driver if the oil pressure is too low. We walked back to mercantile, used the internet again, and the man figured out the problem was more than likely the oil sending unit. Our boss was in town, so he picked up the part for us. The next day, The Man put in the new oil sending unit, and the gauge went back to normal. Disaster averted for the cost of a $28 part.

Last Tuesday was to be our final day off before we left the mountain. We decided to leave the campground to escape campers who wanted to chitchat even after politely being told we were on our day off. We parked in the woods for a while, but then The Man decided he needed to go back to the campground for a reason I can no longer remember. I turned the van around and stopped at the main road to look both ways before pulling onto the asphalt. The van died. It happens sometimes, so I wasn’t too worried, but then I couldn’t get the van to start. Then I was worried because my van always starts.

I tried starting it again and again and again. Nothing.

Both The Man and I wondered if something had come lose after the replacement of the oil sending unit, so we removed the doghouse from front part of the van between the two seats, and The Man fiddled with some parts. I tried to start the van again. Nothing.

We figured we’d have to get the van towed. The problem was getting to a telephone. The nearest phone was twelve miles away.

We walked down the road a ways and waited for cars to come by so we could stick out our thumbs. The passing cars were few and far between, and those we did see didn’t stop.

After a couple of hours, we walked back to the van and tried hitchhiking from there. We had no luck for the longest time.

We had just decided to walk the couple miles back to the campground and try to find someone there who would help, when a pickup truck that had just passed us came back in our direction. The driver had turned around to help us! Our faith in humanity was restored.

The elderly couple in the truck drove us to the campground where our boss and his wife stay. The boss was on an errand, but the wife handed us the phone. I called my insurance company and found out my roadside assistance only coveres a tow of 15 miles. That wasn’t going to be much help, since we were sixty miles away for the repair shop The Big Boss Man recommended. The Man called AAA and arranged to have a tow truck meet us the next morning. In the meantime, the wife offered us the use of the campground’s vacant cabin. We jumped at the chance to have a shower and sleep in a queen size bed in a heated building.

We found we got internet in the cabin, so I got on Facebook while The Man looked at minivans for sale in several states. I saw I had Facebook messages from The Man’s sister and cousin, asking him to call home. He immediately knew something was wrong. I borrowed the satellite phone from the wife, and The Man called his sis and found out his mother had passed away. I don’t think he slept at all that night.

We met the tow truck driver on Wednesday morning, and The Man, Jerico the dog, and I piled into the cab of the tow truck. The driver, a nice man young enough to be our son, attached the van, and away we went. The ride into town was blissfully uneventful.

We had the van dropped off at the mechanic recommended by The Big Boss Man. The owner of the shop said he’d take a look at the van and call me in about an hour. Two hours later, as The Man and I watched the batteries in our phones lose power, I called the mechanic shop again. If we were going to have to get a motel room, I wanted to do that early enough in the day to get some enjoyement out of the money spent. The owner said he still hadn’t had a chance to look at the van, but he’d call me in half an hour.

About that time, I got a call from The Big Boss Man. He was in town. If the van wasn’t ready to go, he was willing to drive us back up the mountain and let us spend another night in the vacant cabin. He was bringing his personal truck to the same mechanic in the morning, and we could ride with him. We jumped at the chance. I called the mechanic and told him we’d see him in the morning.

In the morning, the repair shop owner was still not able to tell me what was wrong with the van. I don’t know if it had even been looked at yet, but it had been moved onto the shop’s tiny concrete lot. About two hours later, the owner of the shop called me to say the problem was the distributor modulator. I told him to go ahead and fix the problem. It wasn’t like I had a lot of choice. I needed my van to run.

I wasn’t so lucky with the expense this time. The total with parts and labor came to $226. Groan. It’s always something.

So how did we celebrate the van running again? By taking an epic five hour road trip through the greater Los Angeles traffic zone so The Man could buy a minivan…but that’s a story for a different day.

On the second-to-last day of our work season, The Big Boss Man made us a proposition. We could stay in the cabin and do some work around the campground to make up for the two and a half days we had missed during the week. We’d get a warm place to sleep, electricity, hot water, and fatter pay checks. We agreed, but an hour later, The Man couldn’t take it anymore, and decided he was out of the campground business. He packed his minivan and headed to civilization to line up insurance and jump through the hoops of getting the car registered.

Me? I decided I wanted a few days in the cabin. I finished my paperwork this morning and I’ll pack up all the items in the cabin’s kitchen this evening. Tomorrow I’ll paint picnic tables, maybe do some raking and fire ring cleaning on Wednesday and Thursday. In the meantime, I’ll schedule blog posts and enjoy the electricity and hot water.