Just Put Brake Pads On It, He Said

So, last festival, two months ago, LuLuBelle presented us with a rather bad power steering fluid leak. As in, gushing out almost faster than we could put it in.

Hubby looked at it, but between his frustration over "not enough light to see" and actually not being able to see anyway ( and of course, he won't get glasses), he could not ascertain the problem.

Neighbor Bob was going to look at it, but he's got his own Honey-Do list and none of them are "look at neighbor's van's power steering pump."

So I put out a desperate plea to the Universe (which currently consists of my 'hood) and I got a name. The name of an honest and trustworthy automotive mechanic.

Auto mechanics are in the same class in my brain as dentists, medical doctors and lawyers. Not only do they make about the same amount of money, but they also have a reputation of padding labor and equipment charges, especially where women who have no clue what or where mechanical parts are located under the hood consist of are concerned. So, when a neighbor told me of an auto mechanic who had serviced not only their parents' cars, but theirs, and satisfaction was guaranteed...I prayed for karma to be kind.

My hubby, always looking to maximize the opportunity of not having to do any car repair, suggested that as long as I had taken LuLuBelle to the mechanic, I should have brake pads put on because the brakes were making grinding noises. "Don't have them turn the rotors, or do anything else - just front brake pads. Should cost about $35 each." I agreed with his reasoning, and, the possibility of not having it be put off for another couple of centuries and not hearing copious amounts of swearing from the front driveway, I gave the nod for brake pads.

So, LuLuBelle needed an entire new power steering pump. And, the labor was pretty steep because of the location of the pump, which required the radiator being taken out just to get to it. There were no usable salvage pumps, so a new one, all bright and shiny and ready to last another 18 years, was installed. new fluid, hoses and gaskets intact. Big smiles for both myself and LuLuBelle.

But then, the brakes. Bobby, my new best friend and car mechanic, pulled the left brake off, and the rotor was not only completely ground practically to bits, but the brake pad wasn't even there anymore because of a broken caliper. Not to mention rust. I live by the ocean. Everything rusts. Hell, I think I am rusting sometimes.

So, left brake fixed. Right front brake was just about in the same condition, only there was still a brake pad, it was just in three pieces.

Poor girl. She still stopped every single time she was asked, every single time. Even on a steep bridge, even with all the tile I've heaped on her for years.

This vehicle, with her Bondo'ed lower panel and her flaking, rusted roof....this girl with her badly painted bumpers and her insides full of screws and dents and glue...she still completed her missions from here to Tallahassee to Georgia and everywhere down South. In fact, if a vehicle could truly be said to be happy, she literally beamed with joy when she began on a new journey at 2 a.m., creaking and groaning but happy to be out of her designated parking spot in front of my house.

So, yes, a trailer would be more efficient. No insurance needed, no working parts, save tires. Easier in the long run, and certainly less expensive. Unhitch the trailer at shows and run with the freedom of the Jeep. And air conditioning would be a life saver during the hottest months.

But, her loyalty has touched me, and although it's going to take months to pay my debt back, it's worth it to me at this point. She's beautiful, she's a good storage unit for all my art stuff and she won't go down without a fight.

And, I won't let her.