I love my car.
Wow, more flooding excitement. Today was flash flooding, which wasn't notable except that at five minutes till three, I was notified that they were sending us all home. Right that minute. I looked at the executive assistant, who had warned me earlier that severe weather was expected because she remembered that it cuts off my route home, and said, "Oh. We're flooding here?"
Yeah, we were flooding there. I don't know if it was coming into the building (though the roof leaks, badly)--I guess I'll find out tomorrow. But I dutifully rolled up my pant legs to a height of about ten inches, glad that I wore my hiking sandals today instead of my sneakers, and prepared to wade out to my car. I should've rolled them a third time. I waded through a good twelve inches of water in the parking log, thoroughly soaking the cuffs of my jeans, and opened the door to my car. A quick-and-unavoidable comparison made me glad I was leaving then, because another inch would've had water flowing in over the "doorsill."
Of course, my co-worker who was up in Phoenix, having left her car for a corporate van, drives a Mazda Protege. I don't know how it came through, and I didn't have a way to move it. All I could do was call her and let her know. She was going to call her husband and have him come try to retrieve it.
If I'd still owned my Neon, I don't think I could've started the car. As it was, I was ecstatic when my PT's engine turned over. I backed quickly and carefully out, turned into the side lot, and discovered it was almost as deep over there. A number of people wading to their vehicles obviously had not had the same luck with shoes that I did. The parking lot was a freakin' lake. Our office is located in a small valley . . . with storm drains that turn out to be completely inadequate. The driveway coming down was a river. I turned out of the lake, into the river. The river ran into, not another river, but a second lake, formed where the road dips.
Now, my usual strategy for getting through flooded-out areas is to build up some speed and let Newton drive to get across. I had to make a right turn into the lake. No momentum. I could feel the resistance of the water as I made the turn . . . and the wheels caught, and had traction, and I drove slowly out of the lake. My PT has a couple more inches of ground clearance than my Neon did, and is perhaps 500 lbs. heavier. I love my car.
Driving home on the one route I knew would be open was still hairy. It was open, but there were some fairly significant washes coming downhill on Sabino Mountain (I think that's the name if it, anyway), and a number of people driving in front of me on Kolb who just could not be induced to do more than twenty miles an hour, tops. The lightning was coming down so directly overhead that thunder ceased to be thunder, and began to be more like a small tear in the universe. By the time I hit Sunrise, it was raining so hard I thought I might have to pull off the road for sheer visibility difficulties.
Every mile or so along the way, I found myself saying, "I love my car." We didn't swamp, we didn't lose traction, the wipers ran fine, the windows didn't fog. When I parked in my very own parking lot, I pulled down the visor and kissed her. I love my car.
Yeah, we were flooding there. I don't know if it was coming into the building (though the roof leaks, badly)--I guess I'll find out tomorrow. But I dutifully rolled up my pant legs to a height of about ten inches, glad that I wore my hiking sandals today instead of my sneakers, and prepared to wade out to my car. I should've rolled them a third time. I waded through a good twelve inches of water in the parking log, thoroughly soaking the cuffs of my jeans, and opened the door to my car. A quick-and-unavoidable comparison made me glad I was leaving then, because another inch would've had water flowing in over the "doorsill."
Of course, my co-worker who was up in Phoenix, having left her car for a corporate van, drives a Mazda Protege. I don't know how it came through, and I didn't have a way to move it. All I could do was call her and let her know. She was going to call her husband and have him come try to retrieve it.
If I'd still owned my Neon, I don't think I could've started the car. As it was, I was ecstatic when my PT's engine turned over. I backed quickly and carefully out, turned into the side lot, and discovered it was almost as deep over there. A number of people wading to their vehicles obviously had not had the same luck with shoes that I did. The parking lot was a freakin' lake. Our office is located in a small valley . . . with storm drains that turn out to be completely inadequate. The driveway coming down was a river. I turned out of the lake, into the river. The river ran into, not another river, but a second lake, formed where the road dips.
Now, my usual strategy for getting through flooded-out areas is to build up some speed and let Newton drive to get across. I had to make a right turn into the lake. No momentum. I could feel the resistance of the water as I made the turn . . . and the wheels caught, and had traction, and I drove slowly out of the lake. My PT has a couple more inches of ground clearance than my Neon did, and is perhaps 500 lbs. heavier. I love my car.
Driving home on the one route I knew would be open was still hairy. It was open, but there were some fairly significant washes coming downhill on Sabino Mountain (I think that's the name if it, anyway), and a number of people driving in front of me on Kolb who just could not be induced to do more than twenty miles an hour, tops. The lightning was coming down so directly overhead that thunder ceased to be thunder, and began to be more like a small tear in the universe. By the time I hit Sunrise, it was raining so hard I thought I might have to pull off the road for sheer visibility difficulties.
Every mile or so along the way, I found myself saying, "I love my car." We didn't swamp, we didn't lose traction, the wipers ran fine, the windows didn't fog. When I parked in my very own parking lot, I pulled down the visor and kissed her. I love my car.
posted by Journey | 8:49 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home