Sunday night, 8:30pm. We’re driving back to London after our revitalizing weekend in Bournemouth when Chris begins spluttering what sounds like garbled profanity at the dashboard.
“What’s wrong?!” I demand and explanation for his out of the blue outburst.
“The temperature gauge warning light just came on. The car is overheating.” On cue, the car goes into safety mode, Chris can no longer accelerate and we’re tottering down the left hand motorway lane at 50 miles/hour. Thankfully we make it to the service station just over a mile away.
We make an urgent call to AA. Thankfully LLC sleeps on. The cat (yes, we even have the cat on board) decides to add his protest by pooping in his travel box. The recovery engineer arrives, surmises that our engine’s water level was too low and sends us on our merry way, suggesting we keep an eye on the temperature gauge.
Two minutes back on the motorway, just as I’m calling Chris’ parents to let them know we are back in business, the evil warning light reappears.
Fast forward half an hour and we’re waiting in a lay-by off the M3 for a tow. Chris and Rico stay with the car; Chris’ folks pick up LLC and me and we return with them to Bournemouth. Amazingly, LLC continues sleeping.
Ironically I started my last post: We recently got a new car that we trust on the motorway. This is a smarting reminder that trust must be earned, not assumed. We just bought this car as well. Talk about bad luck and bad timing.
Then again, at least we weren’t stranded halfway around the globe at the mercy of volcanic ash. As I took LLC on a walk along the sea Monday morning, I decided that things could be far worse.