I previously posted about going down to California to move my sister-in-law back up to
Washington to live with us. After moving her up to Washington, the only remaining task for me
was to go back to Novato, California to get her POS Fiat Spider 2000. The plan was that I would
ride the Greyhound bus down to Novato and drive the Fiat back to Washington. That was the
plan, and the plan was without form or substance. I knew that Fiats were basically rolling
junkyards to start with. Those cars are very temperamental. They have a closed-loop cooling
system where the radiator sits lower in the car than the engine block. If the vehicle loses
coolant, it develops an air bubble in the cooling system and overheats. For cars not equipped
with a turbo-charger, this is problematic enough in that the cooling system has to be bled to
remove the air bubble from the system. For cars equipped with a turbo-charger, developing an
air bubble in the cooling system spells serious danger for the engine. My sister-in-law found
that out the hard way. She never checked anything under the hood. She just drove it and put
gas in the tank because that’s all you need to do with a car, right? Wrong. One fine hot
California day, she overheated the engine of her turbo-charged Fiat to the point where the
engine caught fire. You read correctly. It caught fire. The fire destroyed the engine and burned
the paint off of the hood of the car. She, previous to this move, called me one day and spoke in
a panicked voice. She said, “Wright could you come to California and look at my car?” What’s
the matter with it? I replied. “The engine doesn’t work.” “The engine doesn’t work? What do
you mean, it doesn’t work?” “It doesn’t work. It won’t start.” “Okay, now we’re getting
somewhere.” “We’ve got a long training holiday next weekend. I’ll come down then.” When I
saw her barely one-year-old car with the paint missing from the hood, I said, “What in the hell
did you do?” “The car got hot and caught on fire.” “What do you mean, it caught on fire? Do
you know how hot it had to be to catch on fire? You must have run it out of coolant or
something. Well, did you?” “I don’t know. I never opened the hood.” “Did you ever have the
oil changed in the engine like I told you?” “No.” “Why not? That right there voided the
warranty on the engine. So, you will have to pay for anything that needs fixing.” Basically, we
had to get the engine replaced for a cool 4000 dollars. Ca-Ching. Then, she wanted the hood
repainted. That was another 500 dollars. Ca-Ching. I told her, every three months or 3000
miles, get the oil changed. They will check your other fluid levels like your coolant level. Then, I
showed her how to do everything again. Back to retrieving this ill-omened car, and there I was
riding a Greyhound bus down to Novato, California. As soon as I got to Novato, I checked in
with Bruce Johnson to make sure I had a place to stay for the evening. Then, I picked up the
Fiat and checked it out to make sure it was road-ready. I filled the gas tank, checked the air in
all the tires, and checked all of the fluids under the hood. Everything was good to go. The next
day, I took off south-bound toward San Francisco. The plan was to cross the Golden Gate
Bridge into the city. Take Mason Street to Highway 101. Take Highway 101 to the junction with
Interstate 80, and take Interstate 80 east across the Bay Bridge to continue east to the
Interstate 505 bypass. Take the Interstate 505 bypass to Interstate 5 north all the way to
Washington. That was the plan, and I executed the plan flawlessly. Unfortunately, the Fiat had
other ideas. On Interstate 80 east about four miles after I crossed the Bay Bridge, everything in
the car just died. When I say it died, it died dead as a deer along the side of the road. No
lights, no horn, no wipers, nothing. Cars were flying by me on both sides with drivers blowing
their horns and flipping me off. Finally, a highway patrol car pulled up behind me with lights
flashing. The patrolman walked up and said, “What seems to be the problem?” I said, “I was
cruising along fine and suddenly lost everything. And I mean everything. No lights, no horn, no
wipers, nothing. See?” And I turned the key. He said, “Maybe you need a jump? Wait a
minute.” He disappeared and came back a minute later with jumper cables. We hooked up the
jumper cables, but nothing happened. The patrolman scratched his head. “I’ll be darned,” he
said. Suddenly, while we were standing there, the car ignition alarm started chiming and the
radio turned on. I said, “What in the hell? Did you see that? It just woke itself back up. That is
so bizarre.” The patrolman looked at me and shook his head and said, “Son, you had best get
that shit checked out as soon as possible. Cars just don’t do stupid shit like that.” “For real,
huh? I sure will officer,” I said as I got in the Fiat. “Alright, you take it easy now and have a
good day.” With that, I was back on the road. I drove without incident until I was going up the
big hill north of Redding, California. As I neared the Shasta Lake Reservoir on Interstate 5 it
happened again. Without warning, everything in the Fiat just died like a skunk that had been
hit by a Kenworth tractor-trailer rig. I lost everything again. No lights, no horn, no wipers,
nothing. I did manage to roll the car over to the shoulder this time, but I still received a barrage
of horns from passing cars. I just sat there along the side of the road like an idiot because I had
no idea how long the car would stay asleep this time. And I had no clue how to wake the
goddamn piece of shit up. About half an hour later, a highway patrolman cruised up behind me
and turned on his lights. He walked up and said, “What seems to be the problem?” I replied,
“Hello officer. I was driving along and suddenly lost all power. I mean everything. I have no
lights, no horn, no wipers, nothing.” “Well, let’s try to jump it off.” “That won’t help.” “What
do you mean, it won’t help?” “It won’t help. This happened to me once before and trying to
jump start it didn’t work.” “Well, what did work?” “You won’t believe me if I tell you.” “Try
me.” “Okay. But first, maybe you should smell my breath and maybe give me a field sobriety
test or something.” “Are you screwing with me, buster? Because if you are?” “Oh, no sir,
officer. But here is the deal. The car just seems to be sleeping. Okay? And when it gets ready,
it will wake up on its own.” “That is total bullshit. Did you just listen to what you said? Do you
have any idea how crazy that shit sounds?” “I do officer, but it’s the truth.” Suddenly, while we
were arguing, the car woke up. The ignition bell started chiming and the radio started playing.
I said, “Wait a minute. It seems to have woken up.” I jumped in the car and started it. The Fiat
roared to life. I said, “Well, look at that. It’s awake. I told you it would wake up when it got
ready.” The patrolman replied, “That is some crazy shit. I would never have believed it if I had
not seen it. That is really freaky. Did somebody die in that car?” “Not yet.” “Well be careful
and have a safe trip.” “Thanks officer.” I took off and made it all the way to Portland, Oregon
without further incident. I started across the bridge between Portland and Vancouver,
Washington on Interstate 5 crossing the Columbia River after dark. Suddenly, you guessed it,
everything in the Fiat just died like a burnt-out light bulb. Not a flicker. Nothing. Everything
was dead again. And this shit was getting really old. I had nothing, again. I was right smack dab
in the middle of the damn bridge, in the middle lane, at night and couldn’t go anywhere. Cars
were flying by me with drivers blowing their horns. At least, I didn’t have to wait long for a
patrolman to show up. He had probably received a call about some crazy idiot sitting in the
middle of the bridge with no lights or emergency flares. Guilty. He walked up to me but didn’t
ask the standard ‘what seems to be the problem’ question. No. Instead, he said, “What in the
hell are you trying to prove, sitting out here in the dark with heavy traffic with no emergency
lights on?” I replied, “Well you see, officer, it’s like this. The goddamn car is haunted.” “What
do you mean, the car is haunted?” “Just what I said. The bastard turns off when it wants and
turns on when it wants. And when it turns off, it turns everything off. It won’t do shit. It won’t
even let you take a piss or open the goddamn door when it’s turned off. That’s what I mean by
haunted.” “What the hell kind of drugs have you been taking son?” “Let me tell you officer, as
sure as I’m standing here, I don’t do drugs. This goddamn car might be high on some shit, but I
don’t do no goddamn drugs. This right here is a haunted car. It’s possessed, I tell you.”
“Bullshit. I’m going to impound the goddamn car and arrest your ass if you don’t move it right
now.” “How in the hell am I supposed to do that? I can’t carry the piece of shit.” “I don’t
know. Start it or something.” “I just told you…” Right then, the ignition alarm started chiming
and the radio turned on. Then, the lights turned on. “The patrolman looked at me, then at the
car and said, “What in the hell did you just do?” I replied, “You saw what I saw. The damn
thing turned itself on. I didn’t do a damn thing. I told you that damn car was haunted.” “You
need to get the hell out of my state with that voodoo witchcraft bullshit. And you need to get
the hell out right now.” “Consider me gone, officer.” With that, I left, and I made it the rest of
the way to my house without another exercise in futility.
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