Good morning Boys and Girls.

Well. It happened.

My old Jeep Cherokee finally died yesterday.

On my way home from Des Moines Sunday, I found myself in a traffic jam about a hundred miles into the trip. After about a half hour, my temperature gage suddenly shot up and I saw steam escaping from under the hood.

Luckily, I was about a quarter-mile from an exit and, since I was in the right lane - (the Jeep rarely saw the left lane, much to the annoyance of any passengers I might be carrying who'd whine and whine about my steady 63 or 64 miles per hour driving) - I was able to hop onto the shoulder and make my way up the exit ramp without much fanfare. There was a gas station right there, so I parked and popped the hood. Ah - thank goodness - just a ruptured heater hose.

I let the thing cool down while I inquired inside about whether they happened to have 3/4" hose in stock, but alas, this wasn't a full service station so they didn't have anything of the sort. They suggested a local hardware store about a mile away. I waited about twenty more minutes, and headed to the store, which, of course was closed. Damn. I was contemplating using my emergency road service at that point, but I pulled into another gas station - a Casey's in Williamsburg, Iowa - and asked the cashier, a woman named Valerie, if she had any suggestions. "Oh, sure. My husband owns the NAPA store here in town. Let's give him a call."

Wow. How cool was that?

As it turned out, her husband was in Iowa city with their daughter shopping for stuff for her dorm room, but he suggested I call B.J.'s tow service. "They own the other auto parts store in town, They'll probably be able to run you over a hose in a few minutes, but if for some reason they can't help you, I'll be back in about an hour, and I'll be happy to do it."

Cool. I called B.J.'s. The fellow who answered the phone, the owner, was extremely friendly, but said he couldn't come himself right then. I explained I didn't think I needed a tow, just a length of hose. He said he was in the middle of something right then - a plumbing problem at his house -  but if I could wait about fifteen minutes, he'd send someone over. His store was closed, he said - the call had been forwarded to his home where he took tow calls on the weekend - but he thought one of his guys was working at the store dong inventory. Could I wait? Of course!

So I stood next to my car with the hood up, sipping an iced tea and yapping on my cell. While I waited, just about everyone who stopped in at the little gas station asked if they could help me. It was like I found myself in a town full of Good Samaritans.

The fellow didn't show up for about a half-hour and apologized, explaining he'd gone to the wrong Casey's. "It was pretty dumb of me", he said. "I assumed it was the one next to the highway a few miles west - that's where most of our Casey's calls come from."

"No biggie", I said, "I'm sorry you had to go out of your way."

"You don't get it", he said, "our shop is only two blocks from here, over that way", he pointed, "and I was already at the shop. I could have been here in forty-five seconds." We both got a good laugh out of it.

I'd removed the hose already and he took it with him back to the shop. He returned in about three minutes with the new hose cut exactly to length. He insisted on installing the new one, and stood by while we waited to make sure the coolant was filled and flowing correctly.

The charge for the hose AND his service?

"Aw, how about five bucks?" I stood there amazed and then gave him twenty-five, which he tried to refuse. His name was Mark, but I didn't think to get his last name.

I made it home with no more problems after that, but I noticed that the old girl was running hotter, and as I turned north onto 31/196 off of I-94 the next morning - (I'd spent the night in a Super 8 in Benton Harbor just ninety miles from home - I just couldn't make it another mile) - I noticed that the transmission was slipping a little. Grrr.

Tuesday, the tranny got worse, and by yesterday morning? -I'd lost third gear.

I'd called a friend who runs one of the little lots I work for who knew I'd been worried about the jeep for a couple of months, since he, as a matter of fact, had pulled off four-wheel drive axle when it croaked, allowing me to keep driving the thing this summer as a two-wheel-drive-only vehicle. (Perhaps regular readers remember me writing about my thinking that I'd have to replace the Jeep a few months ago.)

"I need something NOW", I told Clay.

"Oh wow. I've got a really nice Ford Conversion Van we just bought from Bill. You know Bill, don't you?" I do. "He just bought his wife a new van. She's been driving this for for a couple of years. I think it would be perfect for you. You'd have room for all your crap and it would be nice for your trips."

He showed me how much they'd paid for it, and added $500.00 bucks. I bought it.

While Clay's mechanic Kyle safety-checked the van - deciding to put new front brakes and wheel-bearings in it while he was at it - I spent the afternoon, moving all "my crap" - as Clay so eloquently put it - from the forlorn Jeep to the shiny green van. I decided Clay was right, by the way. I do carry a lot of crap. Alas, I need it.

Anyway, so long good Jeep. 346,417 miles on the odometer at the time of her death. I drove her ten days short of three years, averaging well over forty thousand miles a year.

Best eight hundred bucks I ever spent.


Be good to everyone.