As I was driving home from work on Wednesday, my car was making an odd sort of clunking, scraping sound, so I mentioned it to my dad and he took it to our mechanic yesterday morning. Turns out I had a broken motor mount, which, I understand, is a part that supports the engine. Two days and $180 less in my bank account, Ol’ Betsy is back in my garage, where she belongs.
Hearing strange noises coming from my car always makes me nervous. My car is nearly 12 years old and has almost 140,000 miles on it. She’s getting old, and I know that sooner or later I am going to have to get a new one. I’m hoping it’s later because at this point I really can’t afford a new car. Or even a used car. Sucks.
My car history is brief – we tend to drive our cars until they die. Because of that, I’m in my 40’s and am only on my third car:
Buick Le Sabre – My first car, a hand-me-down from my mom. I got it in 1987, and it had about 36,000 miles on it. It was a 1977 Custom model that we bought brand new, tomato red inside and out, with a tomato red vinyl roof (hey, it was the 1970’s!) and tomato red crushed velvet seats. It was a boat. So huge. So much so, in fact, my dad thought it could pull our 23-foot travel trailer, which we got in 1977. On straight roads it was okay, but going to northern Michigan and trying to get up the hilly areas near Boyne Mountain? Not so much. So my dad bought a Suburban. Continue reading