CrazyVirgo and the art of VW maintenance

It started quite innocently. Gentleman Lover and I decided to drive our new (2003) VW Passat Wagon to our new home (Residents Inn) in Boulder. A Roadtrip! Fun, right? Well, I'll let you decide.

Off we went on a Friday morning, full of Peet's coffee, and just slightly wary of an empty coolant tank we'd discovered the day before. Yes, just one day off the lot, a large STOP appeared on the dashboard prompting GL to pull over and call Carter VW in Seattle and inquire as to why one day off the lot our car was alerting us to stop. After inspecting the engine, we realized that there was but a drop of coolant in the tank. Even for a confessed car ignoramus like myself, I knew this was not good. We hauled our newish car in to Carter VW in Seattle and they assured us they must have just forgotten to top off the fluids. My gut told me that statement was as empty as the coolant tank. Nevertheless, we trusted people who had taken our money in a business transaction and gave us a car in return. First wrong move.

An ironically sunny day saluted us as we left our beautiful, green city for the vast, untraveled portion of the country–Eastern WA, Northeastern OR, Western ID, Utah. As soon as we crossed into Yakima, there was an odd smell that lasted well into the next day. Feed lots, or as we started calling them Steak lots. Cows walking around eating and shitting and getting fat. The smell is something that resembles a portapotty after an all-day concert mixed with urinal cakes and a dash of dirty baby diaper. Fucking awful. If that's enough to turn a person vegetarian, I don't know what is.... luckily, I love a good Neiman Ranch piece of beef and I KNOW those cows don't come from feed lots. They're lovingly caressed in huge green fields like the cows in the California Cheese commercials–happy and talking and joking with each other.

At the Tri-cities of Washington, we stopped to check the fluids on the car again, being wary of our salesman's "word" and all. Lo and behold, a near-empty coolant reservoir. WTF!?! One phone call to Carter VW in Seattle later, we were no further to solving the problem. Let me tell you what frustration feels like. Being told by the people that, you now realize, sold you a  broken car, not to worry it's under warranty, while you're looking East and observing a road and 900 miles you are not familiar with. We pried a phone number for the nearest VW dealership, in Boise, Idaho, out of them and hung up –after demanding a copy of the alleged 40,000 mile report (we're still waiting on that report, Carter!).

We crossed our fingers and crossed into Northeastern Oregon. The smell of evergreen was a welcome reprieve from the steak lots. However, nearing the border of Idaho, there was another smell. An earthy, dusty, deep fried smell. I could almost put my finger on it. It was just missing some salt and pepper and ranch dressing. I got it! Tater Tots. We were at the Ore-Ida plant. And all of a sudden it hit us - Ore-Ida. Oregon. Idaho. Holy shit! All these years eating tater tots we never knew the origin of the name. Amazing. We grew 0.0000000005% smarter that day.

We arrived in Boise (pronounced Boy-see for you outsiders) and thanks to the lovely people at the Boise VW dealership found out we had a broken waterpump, i.e. a 7 hour job and a near undriveable car. Fucking awesome. Not even half-way through our Roadtrip to the New Chapter in our Lives, and we're stuck. The mechanics loaded us up with gallons of pink coolant and assured us that if we kept the coolant topped off, we'd make it to Boulder just fine. Back into the car. Back on the road. Back into steak lot country. Idaho–not such a great first experience.

This is what we awoke to on Saturday morning. Southern Idaho and into NW Utah. Vast. That's a word for it.At 9 a.m. we were the only car on the highway for 50 miles in either direction. And you could easily see a hundred miles. Flat. Desolate. Moonface. We actually saw a sign that said "last gas stop for 45 miles." Scary. We stopped. The Flying J truckstop was the scene of the final straw. GL checks the coolant tank. Unscrews the top and watches it vomit fluid like a teenage girl on prom night. As I returned from inside the Flying J reaking like fried jalepeno poppers (a trucker's breakfast) I witnessed his eyes pop out of their sockets and his jaw drop below sea level. I nearly lost my Starbucks. Again, WTF. Were we seriously stuck at the Flying J truckstop just inside the border of Utah, where there were no stops for 45 miles? This was surely the end of us. 

After calling Carter VW of Seattle to ensure their Saturday started off on a guilty foot, we decided to take matters in our own hands. (Note to reader, I'm sure not one bead of sweat or one penny of profit was lost at Carter VW, as they still haven't returned several calls from that morning.) The nearest VW dealership was in Ogden, Utah. I'm sorry. Come again? Yes, Ogden, Utah. Home of, well, nothing but a VW dealership. Rolling along at 65 miles per hour, badmouthing and planning the demise of Carter VW of Seattle, we pulled into what we would later find out, was our last mile in our sweet, little Passat for a week. The great Mormons of Utah told us that if we even decided to chance driving our car across the 345 miles of Wyoming, they could not vouch for our safety. We could end up sleeping in our broken-down Passat, becoming a movie-of-the-week, a statistic, bear food. That was it; the end of the road. We had to abandon ship. We were forced to become a team on the Amazing Race right there in the VW dealership. They were going to fix the car, but because they are Mormon, they aren't open on Sunday; Monday was President's Day; they would order the part Tuesday and start the 7-hour job on Wedneday. As much as we thought a long holiday in Ogden, UT, among the oversized trucks and hords of children and big box stores sounded incredibly romantic, GL had to start his job on Tuesday. We booked tickets from Salt Lake City to Denver, googled an airport shuttle, and rented a car all on the mechanic's terminal. Not a mere word of anomosity or struggle between GL and I. When faced with a tough situation, we made our way out of it. We really did have a shot on the Amazing Race. We tried to thank Troy, the  wonder mechanic with a six-pack, but alas, he was Mormon. No boozing after work. Shoot.

After discovering smoking was allowed in the Salt Lake City airport (What Would Brigham Think?), we left then natural blonde capital of the United States for Denver and then to Boulder, with one pitstop.

 

The Barolo Grill. It was the last indulgent dinner we had 8 years earlier when GL and I left Denver and it was there for us upon our return.  GL's brother, known on this blog as D-Town, had opened his heart and wallet to us as a farewell gift, and heartily did the same this time. We spared no expense.Cocktails. Wine. Pasta. Red sauce. Lamb. More Pasta. Parmesan. Pesto. Creme Brulee. More Wine. Fine conversation with an indie-music-loving waiter. We outed D-towns dating habits. A great evening. I love you rustic Italy. A fine way to end what will now be known as The Worst Roadtrip We've Ever Taken Thanks to Carter VW in Seattle.

THE END.

 

 

 

 

Comments

[Mrs. Dirty]

Laughing. Tears rolling down my face.

Reminds me of the time me and Jenny Warren drove back from Arizona and we stopped somewhere in New Mexico to get gas. I'm standing by the pump, waiting for the "click" when your car tells you it has had enough gas. Instead of a click, I get a foutain of gasoline spewing out of my car and all over my Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia tie-dye, cut off jean Levi shorts from Jean Queen, my do-rag and my unwashed, already greasy hair. My biggest concern was not the potential carcinogenic properties of the gasoline, but whether I could safely continue to smoke for the remainder of the trip.

[sasquatch]

everyone should visit a steak lot soon - it's nothing but steak walking around!! do you understand how many steaks that is!! amazing!!

[D-town]

didnt even make it into the blog about barolo...like i dont even exist. Well I had fun.

[gina]

That. Was. Awesome! Ironically, we just bought a Passat Wagen a few months ago. Last week we spent $1700 to replace the rods that keep the engine from falling out. Expensive car, but I look hip driving it! I am really looking forward to your Boulder exploits!