Week 66: 1971 Dodge Demon

Spooky name, awesome car -- the Dodge Demon.

Styling aside, this cool car thematically is here on DTC mainly for its name (that and the holiday red and white styling -- note, all cars this month are Christmas colors of white, red or green!), although I added it to my collection because I love the way it looks down to the red accents.

 I'm thinking demon as scary fiend, kind of how I felt about my car this past week.

In transit to a very important meeting Friday, I'm cruising along the highway, on time, spiffy and groomed -- shirt pressed, tie smart, shoes shiny like the reflective sunglasses of a highway patrolman. I'm looking good, in all ways.

Then my car goes POP!

Not a terrible, gut-wrenching sound of calamity pop, but a happy pop, like a cork from a bottle of champagne.

 Like a party.

I look behind me to see billows of smoke as if I'm driving a sneaky spy car and just hit the Smoke Screen button on the dash. Wait. What kind of party is this?

My mind races to figure out the cause -- I check my temperature gauge -- its fine. Brake line? Brakes seem fine. What's in the back? Maybe I hit a duck on the road and he  has gone, I don't know, all steamy?

That doesn't even make sense. Don't panic. I need to get to this appointment.

And then the temperature gauge needle starts climbing, and I instantly know what's going on and curse myself for missing the obvious.

I pull the car off onto the terrifyingly narrow road side, my stillness now emphasizing how large those speeding semi trucks really are. Clouds of white pour from the front of my car, and for an irrational second I fear flames, but common sense takes hold. The radiator is jacked up, and the obvious thing I missed before was the steam from the radiator was being sucked to the back of the car as I drove so it appeared the problem was in the rear.

Now that I am stopped, the steam, extra heavy as a result of the temperature contrast with the cold December air, is completely obscuring my view out the front window, as if I'm flying through a beautiful wispy cloud.

I am screwed. Screwed in a wispy cloud.

There is a sick feeling specific to breaking down on a busy freeway. I'm not saying it is worse, or better, than other sick feelings. I am only saying it is special.

Thinking back on that special sick feeling, some of the details have already drifted away like that wispy steam, but a few remain, including some of the first things that went through my mind.

First: Oh no, I am going to miss my very important appointment, and that is very, very bad.
Second: I am far away from any garage, or pretty much, anything.
Third-Fourth-Fifth (I can't remember the order these thoughts arrived): I can't work on a car in my best dress clothes. That big truck with the extra-wide load sticking off the bed barreling down behind me at around 170 mph is going to take the roof off my car and I better get ready to duck. This would have sucked way more before cell phones.

Without boring you with the details, I let my car cool down, and, driving down the berm I got it to the next exit, where a huge accident involving a semi truck and a car had part of the lanes blocked. Looking at the ambulances and firetrucks, I experienced a strange blend of terror, gratefulness of not being injured, and irony. The sight felt significant, but I couldn't really grasp why.

I exit the off ramp to the left, the only way I can go due to the accident, and notice there is virtually no side of the road to pull off on, unless I feel like tipping my car sideways into the ditch. At this point, it is a possibility.

I drive slowly, my hazards on, and as the temperature gauge climbs I pull into an ice cream shop, closed for the season. The juxtaposition of a broken car and missed appointment contrasts with the happiness of an ice cream shop and a melancholy pokes through the haze of shock.

While I've omitted it from the story, I did contact my appointment. My wife called her father, who lived somewhat close by, and he came out to get me -- on inspection, the pop I heard was the radiator actually splitting at the seam.

In fairness, the real demon here was the situation, not the car. If anything, I later (not that day) felt sorry for my car, which I ended up having to scrap, may it rest in peace.

So I look at my little metal Hot Wheels Dodge Demon, and I remember the excitement I felt when I bought that first car that kicked off this blog. These silly little cars still make me smile, and smile with sincerity, and as my kids rush up to me thankful I was not injured, I know it truly is the little things, and little ones, that help me through the big challenges and disappointments.

Things are going to be just fine. Thank you kids. Thank you friends and family. And thank you, Mattel.



And thank you, Phil Pekarcik, for one of my favorite car pics so far. Also, thank you for loaning me a car while I get my car situation squared away. I love the heated seat. My butt has never been so cozy. I'm actually writing this blog sitting in your car. Just kidding.