1989 Honda Accord: Rest In Peace
1989 Honda Accord: Rest In Peace
For over a decade Iíve been taking my cars to Augie The Honest Car Mechanic. Heís a local guy running a unique sort of establishment; yes he runs a repair shop where one actually gets honest quotes, no bullshit, where small jobs are just that, and large jobs are clearly explained, including cost, before going ahead.
In this space I have often waxed poetically about my 1989 Honda Accord. That stick-shift wonder, the car with over 300,000 miles on it, a wondrous machine. Augie The Honest Car Mechanic kept that car running. I brought it to him regularly and exclusively for service, and he was part of the key to the longevity of the car.
Monday night, driving into NYC for a dinner with a friend, the car began to act oddly. Improper acceleration, trouble with the steering, and when in neutral while downshifting the battery/power indicator light would shine.
Moving along at approximately 55-60 mph, in pretty heavy traffic (all of which was going faster than yours truly), it became apparent that I was losing control of the car. A loud clicking noise, then a chopping noise began, sounding like it was coming from the chassis, and the steering became more than a challenge.
I tried to exit off the highway. Funny how the mind can work, a zillion thoughts in the space of what seems like a millisecond.
Uh-oh, this is a big problem.
Whatís that clicking noise?
Now it is a chopping noise?
Wow, a ton of traffic all around me and behind me.
Did I hit something, am I dragging something?
Get off the road.
Get off the highway.
Damn, gotta exit, AAA isnít authorized to tow on this highway.
Is the car going to fall apart while Iím driving it?
Get to a safe place.
Get to where I can coast to a stop.
Oh, shit, Iím losing control of the car.
Make sure thereís ample room to slow down using the hand brake.
Get out of the way of traffic at all costs.
Oh shit, the steering is gone.
How fast am I going? Hey, it shows zero mph. Why is the tachometer down to zero?
Uh-oh, canít make the exit ramp turnoff, better put the car in neutral.
Oh shit! That turns off the power.
Damn, I missed the exit ramp.
Wow, the powerís back (after downshifting) but the acceleration is off.
Doesnít matter if I give it gas or not, and the clutch is dead.
Whoa, wow, thereís a ton of traffic behind me at high speed.
Put it in neutral, try to steer.
Oh look thereís a small shoulder area ahead, lemme get it over there.
Egad, past that shoulder spot it is only guard rails, no shoulder.
Better turn off the ignition maybe can have some maneuverability with the steering wheel.
Oh I better get this thing to a stop before it goes too far and the car tumbles down that incline.
Oh, fuck, this is scary.
Guess I wonít be making to dinner in the City.
I wonder if this is one of those dead cell spots on the PIP.
Okay, slowing down, man this is hard to control.
Whew, got it to a safe place just off the road to the right of the right lane.
Damn, how I am going to get out on that side without getting killed?
Gee, which exit number was this I just missed?
I better call for help.
Hey, Iím alive and in one piece.
Phew, I got through that unscathed.
WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?
I wonder whatís wrong with the car.
Oh, good, thereís decent cell phone reception here.
Time to call AAA, call the PIP Police, start to handle this mess.
All of that took place in less than five seconds.
Is this what EMS, Triage and ER people endure on a regular basis?
Iíd had car trouble on the Palisades Parkway before, and AAA is not an authorized towing agent on that road. So I had to get off the highway. I also had to maneuver the off ramp to get off the highway, but without being able to steer, that had become an impossibility.
I knew I was not going to die as the above was taking place. As it was taking place I saw the car's life flashing before my eyes, not my own.
So there I was, stuck just a stoneís throw past the exit, the car completely out of whack, unable to start it up again.
Just about then the sun set, night began to fall. There are no lights on the Palisades Parkway. The overhead lamp in the car was barely giving off any light, and it became clear that the hazards and the headlights were also out of commission.
It dawned on me (perhaps thatís not the best wording, given the moment) that this might be the carís final trip to Augie.
For some reason or another, I was compelled to take out a small pad (there for writing notes while talking on the cell phone and driving my car with a stick shift ñ multitasking in the modern world) and began to keep a log of the events of the evening. I recorded each time and event.
- ∙ When the car died.
∙ When I reached the AAA on the cell phone.
∙ When I reached the Palisades Parkway Police on the cell phone.
∙ When I called to inform my friend Iíd be missing our dinner.
The time each and every event occurred.
There was some comfort in this logging of the events as they unfolded. It seemed to provide a certain balance, sanity during a nightmarish, insane incident.
There was also a major sense of relief. How often does one lose control of a car on a crowded highway, all the traffic moving at high speed, and manage to get the car to the one and only safe spot, and come away unharmed? In a losing situation, this seemed a winning sort of circumstance.
Five or so long hours later I was home. Unhurt, unfed, unsettled, and uncomfortably uncertain of just how I would manage to make it to the many appointments on my schedule for the rest of the week.
Fast forward to the next day.
A call to Augieís service station to inquire as to the condition of the car. Augie declared it dead: the engine appears to have seized, a number of other parts went in the process, and the cost of fixing it, he says, makes no sense. After 330,000 or so miles, the 1989 Honda Accord has no more miles in it.
The Yanks lose to Boston.
My car perishes.
The end of the world --at least as once we knew it-- is apparently near.
