#i explained the term fridging to my very old english teacher for this. he thought it was cool i was using jargon the intended audience

[tylerhourman-remaking]

confession: in senior year of high school i wrote an essay comparing heroes in crisis (it was fairly new then iirc) and identity crisis and i was and am very proud of it. however. im not proud of how i super hadnt read heroes in crisis in full at the point i did write it. i read it after i turned it in. not sure what was going on in my mind to choose to do that.

[hijaysunray-blog]

Irene, Myself, and Me.

There is something like a feeling of betrayal when your vehicle gives out on you.  We tend to humanize our vehicles. Anthropomorphize them. Give them names. Pat the dashboard when struggling up that monumental hill. Talk them into giving us just a couple more miles when the gas line indicator starts inching into the dreaded “E” territory. 

Ask anyone who’s left a city, a lover, a bad situation, your vehicle is not just a means to get from point A to point B, but a savior. You learn to love their quirks and forgive their faults. They hold your high-school mix-tapes, your morning cups of joe, and the intangible memories of first dates, unplanned road trips, and your daily commute. Like it or not, admit it or not, there is something about your vehicle that creates a relationship and when they fail you, it’s hard not to take it personal. 

You’re supposed to be in this together. 

I met Irene like most modern relationships. I had been looking for awhile--had even gone on some dates to try things out with others but when I saw Irene I knew she was the one. She had so much going on--so many qualities that made me think, yeah, this is the one. The heart just knows. 

Irene lived in Baltimore. She had more experience with travel then I did. It wasn’t her first time around the block, if you know what I mean. She’d been to so many National Parks and she had the badges to prove it. She proudly displayed them for all to see. She had some flaws...needed some work--but they were forgivable. After all, nobody’s perfect. 

Yes, a 2002 Eurovan with a pop-up camper top, a table, a mini-fridge, curtains. Her miles weren’t low but she was solid beast. Mechanics were called to check things out, to assure that she was good-to-go...

Yes, Irene was the van for me. 

I left home with Irene on July 2nd. I spent the first days of my trip traveling across county visiting friends and family. With a destination of San Diego, eventually, I wanted to take time to see familiar faces, reconnect with those that I somehow had gotten disconnected from, and revisit old stomping grounds. I couldn’t leave the East coast without knowing I had tried and made the effort. Adventure is important but the histories and memories with true friends is equally important. 

So I ping-ponged from Western Maryland to New Jersey to Connecticut to Massachusetts to New York. My last stop on the friends and family tour was in Ballston Lakes, NY with my friends Adam and Maggy, their son Nick. Maggy, due with their second baby the following week, was kind to have a guest visit so close to her due date. With Adam at work, Maggy and Nick sent me off for my solo venture, waving to me as I pulled away from the driveway. 

And there I was. 

This was it. 

Solo time. First stop, Niagara Falls. Just me, myself, and Irene.  

There are certain levels of betrayal when it comes to a vehicle. There are the slight infractions that are easily fixable--a broken windshield wiper, for instance--is met with frustration, a shake of the head, a trip to the auto shop. Even larger issues such as a flat tire can be forgiven. 

What happened with Irene was a panic-stricken-why-have-you-forsaken-me moment. I had only known Irene for a short time, we were building trust, and she had so quickly done me wrong. 

About an hour into my drive, I was listening to the Lore podcast, enjoying the scenery, when Irene suddenly flashed the red thermometer light. Seconds later--white smoke streamed from the dashboard, the vents, everywhere...like my engine disappeared and a dry ice machine had taken it’s place. 

I manage to get Irene off of I-90. Popped the hood expecting...what? What was I going to do? I had no fire extinguisher. More importantly my automotive skills were lacking. So I opened the hood, looking over an engine that was equal parts spilled gatorade-green coolant and smoke. I knew this was more than just a simple overheating. I knew that Irene was badly hurt and my plans to make it to Niagara would be delayed. At the time, I didn’t know how bad. 

In a weird way, I feel like I’d feel better about the whole breaking down thing if I had done something wrong. Like this was some sort of retribution for some mistreatment. But I had done my best to show Irene respect and kindness and so this sudden and complete shutdown was so confusing to me. 

As a teacher who earned a master in teaching English to non-English speakers, I’m very self aware about word usage, vocabulary, and lingo when I’m teaching. I try to make sure that I keep my message simple so students don’t get confused. Speaking to a mechanic, I take on the role of those students I taught. There is an assumption that I know how an engine works and so while the mechanic explains things, I nod my head and think of all the things I need him to dumb down for me once he’s finished. I don’t know a water pumps from the radio nob. 

Essentially, this is my non-mechanic brain’s explanation of what happened to Irene: 

The bolts that held the water pump weren’t fastened tight enough and over the past few weeks/months they became loose, fell off, and caused the water pump to jump from it’s spot and reek havoc across the engine--destroying the drive belt and pulley and overheating the engine to hellish proportions. After replacing these parts, the bottom 3 cylinders still had no pressure and the car kept bumping and hitching. The head gasket was then assumed to be cracked. You all know, the head gasket, duh. It’s what connect the upper and lower portion of the engine. Because there is an upper and lower portion of an engine, right? 

The front desk attendant at the mechanics office said Irene was dead. 

“Do you want me to take you the bus station?” he asked. 

Yes, he basically said, you’re screwed, do you want to pack your tail in a bag or place it between your legs on your bus back home? 

I panicked in my mind for a moment. Was this it? Was Irene gone? Was this really the end?

The mechanic who worked on Irene said we could look for a new engine at the junk yard. Perhaps some Irene-clone died nearby and we could cannibalize her corpse for a new engine. 

“It’s expensive, but let’s do it,” I said.

The front desk attendant nodded. “But it’s Saturday afternoon. Nobody will be open until Monday.”

In my new zen like mentality I nodded my head. 

“Totally cool,” I said with clenched teeth. “Monday’s great.”

So I’ve decided that if I ever write a book about my adventures, It’ll be titled “Stranded in Syracuse.” I mean, in truth, it’s kind of hilarious to be stuck in this town. I have several friends who went to college here. I had considered to stop by the university to take some pictures--a funny jab that said, “Hey, you never thought this was going to happen?” Perhaps Irene knew this. Perhaps she wanted in on the joke.  

What do you do when your home is broken? Where do you sleep. I checked the hotels in the area and they wanted hundreds of dollars per night for a room. With a big bill looming, I didn’t want to stay in a hotel. So I just asked if I could stay in the mechanics parking lot while I waited. Surprisingly they said, “yes.” So for several days, as I waited for Irene to get repaired, I camped out in a mechanic’s parking lot, falling asleep to the sound of traffic on the on-ramp next door to the shop. It wasn’t so terrible. A parking lot is just a campsite without trees, right?

I filled my days the best I could. Thankfully I had brought a bike so I managed to bike around Syracuse. I went to the movies at a run-down mall, I went to the Erie Canal museum, I went to a show at a venue across the street from the mechanics. I even found a Gold’s Gym where I could work out and finally shower. So I kept myself busy. I decided that despite my betrayal, I wasn’t going to take this setback lying down--I would make the best of what I’d been given. 

After fretting all weekend--but playing it cool--an engine was found for Irene. Yes, a new engine. Well a new used engine.  Yes, it’s expensive. Yes, it’s crazy to buy it..Yes, yes, yes...I know.  But it’s too soon to cut this short. There are hopefully more than two weeks of memories to be made. Too many miles left to travel. Even though Irene gave up on me, I’m not ready to give up on her.