Red Triangle of Death
I am bummed. And honestly? Wondering if I’m being sent a painfully obvious message.
For several months now, since at least August, my car has sporadically inflicted upon me either its “check engine” light (never a sign you want to see) or the dreaded Red Triangle of Death, as we call it in our house (but from here on out: RT of D). You’ve probably at least caught a fleeting glimpse of this symbol when starting your car – when all the lights go on momentarily? It’s always a relief when they all go back out. Regrettably, that’s not happening for me, though.
I’ve had my wonderful Prius in for service a number of times since the ‘check engine’ light first flashed into my life, each time thinking we’d figured it out.
The Engine Light and the RT of D
The RT of D, with an exclamation point centered within it to add emphasis – ! – to that overwhelming dread it engenders when it afflicts your vehicle, and a screeching beep that shakes you out of complacency by heralding the RT of D’s arrival, started having their way with me in October, while returning home from the mountains of Luck, North Carolina (just outside of Asheville) where I’d been visiting an amazing retreat center, Amadell.
I was be-bopping along I-81 North, having just crossed into Virginia (i.e., in the middle of nowhere) when all of a sudden my senses were accosted by the cacophony from my dashboard and I felt that diarrhea feeling come over me. Aaarrgghh. I pulled over, not daring to question the urgency of the RT of D – replete with exclamation point and harsh beep. After a cursory glance around and under the vehicle, which told me nothing, I decided to drive it to the next exit.
This endeavor proved fruitful. I filled the Prius up with gas and opened her hood. (Yes, I can confirm she has a gender, albeit no name other than “Good Girl.”) There was no steam (even though a red thermometer had also appeared when the harsh beep stopped blaring), and no indication of anything awry, actually. Deciding to give her ‘some space,’ I nipped into the station’s convenience store and bought a flashlight.
I’ll confess, I have no idea why I purchased a flashlight Dumb, I know.
Giving Her a Little Love – and Some Space
I walked back out to Good Girl and reassured her that she has earned her name time and time again. But regardless of all the times she’d come through for me on other adventures, it was really, really important for her to get me home tonight. Because I did not want to have to call AAA while 350 miles away from home. “So get your act together, Baby,” I said to my 2005 Prius. “I know you can do it.”
And she did.
Truly, it felt miraculous. Neither the engine light nor the RT of D came on even one more time the entire drive home. She was being my Best Girl that day and night.
The next morning, though? When I was driving to an appointment? Back on – with a vengeance.
So she went in for another spa treatment. My wonderful mechanics tended to her needs and, once again, felt we’d taken care of the situation. This was in November.
Throughout the following months, Good Girl kept having bouts of RTof D. It was tough to discern what was triggering it, but when it would get so that I could not drive for longer than three or four minutes without it screeching at me, I would take her in for another look-see.
Last Ditch Effort
This last time they kept her for two weeks trying to replicate her issues. They were successful in this, and we decided on the least intrusive method of helping her: trying to seal a head gasket from within. (Metaphors abound, do they not?) (There are even more I’m not disclosing…)
I picked her up this past Wednesday. (You’ll recall it was my reluctance to take the loaner they’d given me down to Philadelphia on the day of the predicted snow and ice that resulted in my ride down the train memory lane). She drove perfectly yesterday.
Alas…today she started in on her shenanigans, full bore, within six minutes of driving. And thereafter, she screeched and re-flashed her RT of D every couple of minutes. Her ‘check engine’ light also went on within those initial six minutes and has not turned off yet (besides when I turned off the whole car). As soon as I turn Good Girl back on now, though – she’s clearly a hurting cowgirl.
I am bereft. We’ve been together for 14 years and 306,501.2 miles, to be exact. Even her odometer stopped at 299,999 miles. (Stupid Toyota. I have to keep track of all the miles since then via one of my ‘trip odometers.’)
While she’s served me in great stead, and possibly because she has – I am not yet ready to let her go.
(T-1015)