Filed by NinjaDoll on June 27th, 2007
Since my sister has recounted her side of our misadventure, I won’t go into those details again. But I was really looking forward to the road trip even though the Police aren’t one of my favorite bands. I’d rather have seen any number of artists who’ve been to L.A. since I moved here. Sting…seen him. Andy Summers…not wild about him. The other guy…can’t even remember his name. So, yeah.
Seeing a show at Dodger Stadium…ok, I can get into that. Seeing it with my sister…mondo fun. So much for a smooth segue…
This is my second Saturn VUE, my first having been purchased back in 2002 when the model debuted. The original was also a stick, and I drove it for three years before trading it in for my 2006 onyx beauty. Since my first one had served me so well, why would I worry about the newer, improved version?
I should’ve known there’d be trouble when it took four days for the dealer to fix the stupid stereo.
After we’d lunched at Oggi’s, and as we were getting really close to our destination, I noticed the clutch was kind of soft. Not soft in the “I’m leaking” sort of way, but a soft, “this is different” kind of way. I’m a clutch-rider, always have been. Yet as we were inching our way toward Dodger, I couldn’t help but flash back on decades of driving sticks, never having quite felt anything like this. The ’ster chided me for riding the clutch. That was fine, as long as it wasn’t the clutch. Can’t drive a stick without a clutch…
What worried me most was getting them home after the concert, because if I were stranded in L.A. by myself it wouldn’t be a big deal. But there were guests in my car. I was responsible for getting them home.
We were part of that painful crush of last-minute commuters angling for a parking space in the crowded stadium. As the clutch kept softening I kept thinking that the car was too new to be gasping its last breath, too new to be giving me any kind of trouble at all. We made our way up the final hill to Dodger, through the main gate – the one that roams around the hill to the parking area above the stadium. I paid the $20 parking fee, and suddenly there was no clutch. Push, stomp, STOMP…no clutch. My car was still rolling forward UP the hill, but it wasn’t in any gear. This was so monstrously bizarre.
Archonix had mentioned smoke. I didn’t see any. It was kind of hard to tell if it was my cigarette (ahem) or my engine. But as the car came to a stop, huge billows of white smoke erupted from under the hood. My sister beat a hasty exit from the car. And all I could think was, “It’s a good thing I started the Zoloft this week.”
Fortunately, I’d had the presence of mind (which is truly rare) to continue my On-Star subscription past the trial period. I dismissed the sister and Archonix so they could go to the show, hit the emergency button on my On-Star dashboard, and got a tow truck on its way. I then called my buddy Keala, who helped with shuttles, rental car arrangements, and hotel names. The rest of the story is pretty much what the ’ster has chronicled, with me waiting at the Bonaventure Hotel, sipping soda and watching CNN until they finally caught up with me hours later.
Ah, well. I didn’t really want to see the Police anyway. But wouldn’t you know it, my car was stalled in just the right spot for me to not have seen Dodger Stadium, either.
Dammit!