It’s 10 p.m., on a Saturday night in September, and I’m rounding the corner off the I-10 west to Pacific Coast Highway. Usually, at this hour, the roads have emptied a bit, and the sound of waves crashing on the shore is audible again. On a Saturday, traffic is still bustling, cars are still honking and headlights are still illuminating the highway.
I’ve only been driving for about 10 minutes, and as I stop at a red light, an unfamiliar, concerning smell starts coming through my vents. It smells like a car engine — oil, coolant, manual transmission fluid and the like — but it smells like the engine is burning?
I plan to drive to the nearest gas station and pull over to determine the cause of the smell. I’m not freaking out yet because this is an old car. It’s a 1985 Toyota Land Cruiser.
With old cars come car troubles, and those car troubles come often. Plus, this car had just been at the mechanic two days ago. What could possibly be wrong?
As I’m pulling into a Chevron, I realize something is very wrong. Smoke begins creeping out of the hood of my car. I hurriedly park, grab my phone, wallet and keys and get out of the car and a substantial distance away from it.
Then, I do what a 19-year-old with car troubles does: I call my dad. He tells me I have to open the hood and look inside the engine.
Begrudgingly, I pop the hood and brace myself to jump back if hot steam begins shooting at me. I open the hood, and there’s steam coming out of all the cracks and crevices of the engine.
I check the coolant reservoir and see it’s empty. This is a problem. It’s a big problem. The damage to an engine caused by overheating varies depending on what temperature the engine reaches, but repairs are almost always going to be lengthy and costly.
I definitely could not drive my car back to Malibu. It would have to be towed to the mechanic. Little did I know I wouldn’t get my car back until a month and too much money later.
My car is my baby, my love, my pride and joy. I love my car with every fiber of my being. Here’s a little bit about her.
I named her Betty White because Toyotas last forever. That was before Betty White, the actor, died. Rest in peace.
She has a manual transmission and only four gears, so she doesn’t go any faster than 60 mph, which greatly appeases my father, who worries I drive too fast.
She is built for off-roading and car camping. She can carry up to six surfboards on her roof rack. She also has a baller Bluetooth sound system.
She’s also just so cool. Everywhere I go, strangers offer to buy her. I would never accept — unless someone offered me $50,000. Then I could get two vintage land cruisers.
Considering how cool my car is, you could understand why I’d be devastated to live without her. You may be wondering, where is the good news in this? Eventually, I did get my car back. That was the happiest day of my fall semester.
Not only do I love my car for the reasons already listed but I love her because she has carried me safely to and from locations all over California. I love that she has a manual transmission because I love feeling like she and I are working together. I love that she usually doesn’t start on the first try; I like a little chaos.
Since I got my car back in October, she has been running smoothly. If I see another mechanic in the next six months, it will be too soon.
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Email Millie Auchard: millie.auchard@pepperdine.edu
