The gray 1994 Honda Civic that sits on my cottage’s front lawn will soon carry this writer across a continent, over mountains, across plains and home. Besides the rust spots and the weird rattling that comes from the muffler, I am hopeful.
Since there is no cheap way to get this car across the country, I will be driving it. I hope it will hold up. If it doesn’t, I’ll just chalk it up to my year of car sagas. What could be worse than being stuck on a beach in Baja with a flu and a broken down car — for a week?
The car used to be my brother-in-law’s. He and my sister have bought a new car and were going to donate it for tax purposes. “No, No, No,” I told them. I can fix it. Three days later I had fixed the car after a minor series of struggles. I had to saw out the old alternator with a metal bladed saw. i had banged on the thing for hours before to no avail.
After three days, my injuries were minor: a couple busted up knuckles, a metal shard stuck in my cornea (I picked it out with tweezers), and a couple bruises. I did a little dance when my triumph over the car was complete.
In a couple days I head out. Wish me luck, and look for more bloging about “my road west.”
