Radiator Springs A Zansasi Highway AdventureChapter 12 Arrival
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For a car I've already given the best fuel, I now needed to find her the best mechanic.
But how to find him?
Of course — the Internet!
I looked up the local Porsche Car Club and got the telephone number of its president. If anybody would know...
"Hello. I'm a new owner of a 2002 911..."
"You've got the 'Sally car', don't you?" came the excited reply.
"Yes," I replied cautiously.
"Oh my God! We've been waiting for you to call. Everyone in the club has seen you around town, but no one has been able to find you. We've had a couple members try to trick up a car like that one from the movie, but you have so totally nailed it man..."
That went on for a couple more minutes until I could get a question in edgewise.
"I need a mechanic. A good mechanic. The best mechanic."
"What's wrong?" He was as immediately and genuinely concerned as I was. Clearly he loves his car too.
"I don't know. I'm just sure there's something — call it a feeling — and that's why I need the best mechanic to help me find it."
"Well, the best mechanic is Günter. His shop is about seventy-five miles from here, and everyone whose anyone in LA drives out, or is towed out, to have him work on their cars. If he doesn't know you already, you might be able to get an appointment in two or three months."
"I don't have two or three months," I replied. I didn't mention that, according to the Map, Sally only had ten more days before she had to return, or potentially be lost here forever.
"Well..." came the reply. "I might be able to make a call. Would there be any chance that you might drop by our club meeting tomorrow? Everyone is dying to see your machine close up."
We struck the deal, and Chris was as good as his word. Günter would fit me in day after tomorrow.
Well there was a huge amount of oohing and ahhing over Sally when I drove up, and everyone wanted to have their picture taken with her. The warm glow of admiration spread over to me as well and we both basked in it together.
There was also concern about "My Problem" with her. Everyone tried to diagnose it for me, and I was no help at all. They all complimented how nice she sounded, how easily she started up every time, and how pristine she looked. I made sure to always stand next to her so that she could hear it as well.
As for the problem, I just said that I felt something wasn't quite right, and I couldn't put my finger on just what was out of kilter more accurately than that. They nodded in agreement, knowing sometimes you know what you can't easily explain.
I was reluctant to leave afterwards, but if they'd had their way we'd never get away.
When I turned her over to Günter with my lame explanation that something must be wrong, he didn't question me further. It was clear to him that I was clueless here. Instead he rested his hand gently over her engine compartment feeling her exhaust note.
Then he sat inside her for a long time just listening to her idle. One at a time he operated each piece of her optional equipment, a frown appearing as he did so.
Afterwards he took her for a spin around the block, starting off slow, and power-sliding back into his shop afterwards.
Seemingly defeated in his instinctual skills, Günter finally put her up on the rack and rolled out the diagnostic equipment. His frown only grew deeper.
Two hours after I arrived, and after he'ad checked everything down to the screws holding the interior trim in place, his face suddenly broke out in a big smile. I thought he'd found the problem. He hadn't.
"I am very happy," he told me in his German accented English, "to inform you that there is nothing wrong at all with your car. In fact, she ist the most beautiful Porsche I have seen in a very long time."
I could understand his happiness. Cetainly most cars that came in here were ailing in some manner or another.
For a moment his eyes lost focus. I'm sure he was remembering some other perfect car in his life with great fondness.
"That's a relief," I informed him, reaching for my wallet. "I'm sure if you can't find it, then there's nothing to find."
"Why did you think you have problem with her?"
"I just couldn't explain having her in my possession otherwise, if there wasn't some problem needing attention," I said vaguely.
He just nodded, somehow understanding me perfectly.
"How much I owe you?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing! It was my honor."
I couldn't change his mind. When I finally drove away I saw him in the rearview mirror fondly looking after us — still smiling.
Up rolled Sally's identical twin sister, except she wasn't quite identical. "This is Mirabelle," Sally announced proudly. While I could see the family resemblance in their identical model and year, and especially in the eyes, Mirabelle was flashier than Sally's restrained elegance. While she has the same clean lines, you just can't ignore her metallic candy apple red paint, aftermarket chrome wheels, and — dare I say — substantially enhanced pinstriping. Nor the slightly throatier...
As I said, I sit away from the regulars, who tend to congregate nearer the further end, closer to the dirt parking lot everyone uses. I sit either in my own folding chair that I brought, or on some abandoned bleachers on the south side near the east end among people more like me. Now out of nowhere here comes this flawless powder blue 2002 Porsche 911 coasting along in neutral slowly down the middle of The Highway. I couldn't see anyone inside driving her — a car like this has to be a Her —...
Time for a moment of Truth — and that's Truth with the big "T". I had let my enthusiasm overrun my good sense. Another Truth is that I really knew better. In fact, I'd really known better right from the beginning. That's why I'd tried so hard to find this car's true owner. I would have given her over in an instant to anyone who could show a valid claim. The intoxication came afterwards. Now I had the hangover. My conscience ached. Whether or not this was even the Sally I envisioned,...
We made it with time to spare. Of course this was partly because of some wild — safe, but wild — driving down the Interstates. No doubt that this car loves the open highway every bit as much as the twistiest little backwoods road. We zoomed around and through trucking convoys, while I turned down every offer to race outright that we encountered. Not that I was worried about losing. Sally can top a hundred and eighty, and was more than willing to show it. I, on the other hand, decreed that...
Everybody has their stories about traveling on The Highway, and they're all worth listening to. That's because every one of them is different. No one ever seems to take the same journey as anyone else, even when seeking the same destination. And while some segments are so plain and deserted as to not even be worth mention, others are memorable beyond belief. Here's my list of the ones I'll never forget. The first place that really threw me was our fourth segment where we drove into a...
I awoke the next morning with the manual lying on my chest. I'd slept better than I could remember doing in a long time now. "Good morning, Sally," I said brightly as I stepped out into the clear morning light. "By now I'd say I know all of your secrets," I commented, slipping her owner's manual and other papers back into the otherwise empty glove box. After moment's reflection I added, "But I'll bet, in truth, that I don't know any of them at all yet." The danger in talking to...
I didn't head back home. The Map told me I still had eight days to get Sally back to The Highway, and I wanted her to see a few sights I really like before she left me. I headed us west into the Golden State, and then north to Yosemite. A week earlier I'd burned some mix CD's of driving music. I started out with East Bound and Down, my favorite drive-fast song, along with Wild Thing, which I remember from a movie where at trucker played it as he cleared out a bridge of blocking...
The next day I took Sally out and topped her off fuel-wise. I'd had to refuel her during the trip, and had bought the most expensive high-octane available at the time. She seemed okay with that, but I wanted to ensure now that I was doing the best possible for her. I'd done some spot research on the Internet for best fuels, and found out that their top recommendation wasn't even the most expensive. It was just in the top three. And it was available only a few miles from my house. Then I...
It was dark when I arrived home. The last of many wonderful things had happened thirty minutes earlier when I'd reached down to adjust the radio one final time. I'd traveled across several broadcast footprints on this trip, and knew precisely where this out-of-town station would soon fade. Of course I know my local stations best. I just needed to skip past two other stations to get to another one worth my ears. The first station up the dial is news/talk, which I like when I want content...
I'd started out wanting to experience some fantasies that I never believed could happen - and have done exactly that. I started out believing I would return home afterwards. Who, after all, gives up their home? But along the way I've changed. I wasn't the person who had arrived here weeks - or is it months ago now? Here I now have a family, job, friends, and new roots. I guess somehow those Zansasi know even more than we give them credit for. My map back home remained blank long enough...
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The next morning I awoke to bright sunlight and roosters crowing. Darci stood motionless on the table. I left her there and went downstairs for a quick breakfast. Afterwards I was off to see the Toymaker. The sign on his front door had changed. In addition to the COME ON IN one, a new one said: BACK IN A FEW MINUTES. I sat down to wait, picking some ripe fruit off a nearby tree that seemed to grow several varieties at the same time. It was more like forty-five minutes before I saw a figure...
"I have a request," Darci said gravely. "Anything," I quickly answered, meaning it. "I better tell you what it is first." "Go ahead," I replied, catching her serious mood. "I have a new friend I'd like you to meet," Darci told me. "She has a problem that I feel you can help out with." "Sure," I replied. "Shall we go now?" "It's a bit more than that," Darci continued. "I really can't go with you or be part of this. In fact, I want you to put me in the...
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All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal...
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