The drive from El Paso to San Diego is exactly what you’d expect – long, punishing, and relentlessly hot. Even at 9pm, the temperature stubbornly clings to triple digits. Somewhere along this infernal stretch of highway I hear a sound that only be described as someone dragging an oversized piece of plastic across the pavement.
Is that noise coming from my car?
Moments later, the dragging evolves into a full-body vibration against the underside of the engine. Of course it’s my car. Why wouldn’t it be? At this point, I don’t even have the energy for anger. I’ve gone full emotional numbness.
I call Tarik to break the news, and we pull off at the next exit. It’s late. It’s dark. And, unsurprisingly, neither of us are mechanics. A quick inspection reveals the culprit: the plastic engine cover that shields the undercarriage from road debris had decided it’s had enough and is now flopping against the pavement like a dying fish.
While I’m mentally ready to abandon the car and its problems on the side of the road, Tarik channels his inner MacGyver. With the help of some roadside ingenuity and sheer determination, he jerry-rigs the cover back into place. For now, we’re moving again.
But this wasn’t the only episode of the ‘falling-apart car’ saga. The piece de resistance came several hours later, as I made my way into downtown San Diego. By then, I’d driven ahead of Tarik. He knows nighttime driving isn’t my strong suit, so we agreed I’d ditch the caravan with the U-Haul and go on ahead, likely arriving a couple of hours before him. Leaving the desert behind and descending into San Diego should have been a relief – cooler air and a break from the heat. You even see signs instructing you to turn off your AC to avoid overheating. Unfortunately, what wasn’t cooling down was the underside of my car.
It’s 2am when the car decides to throw it’s final tantrum. Just a few blocks from the hotel, the plastic shield starts its dramatic exit once again. This time, the sound reverberates off every building I pass, announcing my arrival like the world’s saddest parade float. With every turn and press of the gas pedal the racket gets worse.
As I pull up to the Westin, I can’t help but wonder what the valet and late-night guests must think. This car, limping into the round-about, screeching and clattering – it doesn’t exactly scream “Westin material”. But at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less. I’ve made it.
I grab my bags and head inside. All I want now is a comfortable bed. Good morning and good night, San Diego.
