sludgo’s Mile Markers: Mile 217

This is Part 2 of two-part series. Click this link to read Part 1.

The Über had just dropped me off at the McBungalow when my phone rang. Saw that it was Klaus so I picked up. Let myself into the house while he grimly gave me the bad news. As suspected, the code the TT had thrown translated to something serious. Evidently Bank 1 had reported itself rich at idle and upon inspection Klaus had discovered the strong odor of fuel in the crankcase, a sure sign of a failing mechanical fuel pump. So I’d need a new one installed toot-sweet and unfortunately that job wouldn’t be cheap. Said he couldn’t get to it right away so I had a couple days to think about what I wanted to see happen, then he cleared his throat. Coldly reminded me we were talking about a fourteen-year-old Audi with over one-hundred thirty thousand ticks on the clock that wasn’t worth throwing a lot of money at anymore. Told me that, with respect, if it were him he’d sell it as is and find a newer replacement. Something with lower miles. Something maybe still under warranty. Okey-doke, Klaus. I’ll think about it. Click.

I shuffled into my office. Put the phone on my desk and slumped down into my chair. Rubbed my aching temples and closed my eyes. I knew Klaus’ advice was spot-on. The TT itself was nothing special. Just a plain-jane run-of-the-mill 2012 that I came to own back in 2018 literally by accident, no pun intended. I’ve written elsewhere about it—about the time I was sitting at a stoplight in my beloved ’01 A6 2.7T and got rear-ended by an uninsured free-range smartmouth flatbill in his 3/4-ton landscaping truck. Miraculously the A6 still ran and drove fine afterwards—albeit with a severely crumpled trunk – but my insurance company quickly concluded an almost twenty year-old Audi with over two-hundred thousand miles was worth only pennies so they totaled it out. Hauled it away on a flatbed then sent me a conciliatory check along with their sincere thanks for doing business and, just like that, I needed a new car.

So I did what modern car shoppers do. Got online. Searched here and there and found more than a few viable options. All four-door saloons. Then it hit me. A spark of enlightenment. The kids were long out of the house and so was the Redhead. I still had the Titan if I needed to haul more than a single passenger or anything bigger than a breadbox so why not get something sporty? Something small, with a peppy drivetrain. Two-doors. Back seat optional. Because even though I had the MGB, I’d always wanted a more contemporary equivalent so I switched around a few of my search words and the TT popped up.

I fell for it right away. Had always liked the design of the original TT but thought the second generation really nailed it. It had a lusciously rounded rump strongly evocative of my A6 and I dug that it was black on black with dark limo tints and a delightfully gadgety retractable rear spoiler. It was shod with sharp factory wheels wrapped in brand-new all-seasons and had relatively low miles—forty-two thousand. For sale by a Lexus dealer in Vegas. I made a call and sent an email and got a rapid callback from an eager salesman who sounded like he was fifteen but knew that TT inside and out. Each and every spec. I found out in short order I’d be its third owner if I decided to punch the button. That it was a Certified Audi Pre-owned ride, having passed numerous factory-recommended mechanical and cosmetic inspections and corrections and was like new.

Excellent.

I did some number crunching and more pricing research and after some back and forth tossed the kid a lowball offer. Surprised the heck out of me when he took it, and bing, bang, bongo I owned myself a TT. Over the eight years since it’s been a terrific car, my daily driver without complaint or concern, winter, spring, summer and fall, requiring only scheduled maintenance and a new water pump a couple years back. It had never crossed my mind I’d need to get rid of it because of reliability concerns but that’s exactly what Klaus was recommending I should do. Hm.

Out of curiosity I opened my laptop and looked up the TT’s Blue Book value. Retail, Trade-in, and Private Sale. Was disappointed by the sad-trombone results but at the same time wasn’t. Kind of expected it. I immediately thought of Click and Clack—the Tappet Brothers. You know, Tom and Ray Magliozzi, who used to host one of my favorite old radio shows, Car Talk, and repeatedly advised listeners that if a car was beginning to cost more to maintain than it was worth overall it was time for a new car. I’d always thought that to be wise counsel. Logical and reasonable. Made all sorts of sense to me then, but I was struggling with that advice now.

Call me crazy, but the hardest part about me saying goodbye to the TT would be the fact that I love it. Love it. Almost as much as I love the ‘B and for many of the same reasons, starting with the social aspect. In these crabby-ass times I like that TT drivers wave when we see each other out in the wild. Gather ourselves in cheery yakity-yak clusters at Saturday afternoon show ’n shines. Have clubs that meet regularly in greasy spoons for breakfast on Sunday mornings and frequent TT-specific online support forums populated by hundreds of other smushbug enthusiasts. It’s a fun crowd.

Then there’s the TT itself. I remain as attracted to it’s styling now as when I first laid eyes on it. Still pleased with its performance too, Faster than some and slower than others, it’s still quick enough for me to get giggly, especially if I keep the turbo whistling a merry tune. The Quattro is sure-footed in the tightest of twisties and the deepest of snowfalls, and I have just as much fun running errands in it as I do hooning about the foothills north of town. Gets good gas mileage too.

All that said and as cheesy as it sounds, the biggest reason I love the TT is because it’s marked so many significant miles with me over the relatively short-time I’ve owned it. Only a month after I bought it I closed down my practice of thirty-five years and stumbled blindly into The Big Next. After that came an interminable slog through the yuck and muck of a painful separation and divorce followed by a drastic downsize and relocation across state. Melancholy miles all, but during that time the TT earned my affection as my trusted companion and confidante. You heard me. Confidante. I’m not ashamed to admit I often found myself talking to it back then as it hauled my sorry butt around, processing my innermost thoughts and ideas and feelings while it patiently and silently listened to me rant and rave and cry. Funny how flesh-and-blood close you can feel to a machine at three in the morning when you’re on a deserted Idaho two-lane all strung out on a bottomless styrofoam cup of boiled-black truck stop coffee and two six-packs of powdered-sugar mini-donuts, but there it is.

I should note that not all the special miles the TT and I have traveled together were marked by frowns and sniffles and tears. Hardly. The lion’s share were wonderful and unforgettably joyous to experience. Like the time the eldest and I flew to Sin City to pick it up it and team-drive it back home. Was the first time he’d ever driven a car over one-hundred. Will never forget the look on his face. Then there was the time when my buddy Mike and I ripped down to Salt Lake to get drunk and celebrate his engagement to the girl of his dreams. And of course more recently there were those few delicately precious and privately treasured occasions when a lovely and very special brunette occupied its passenger seat. She shyly asked once if she could drive and I let her. One of the best drives of my life. One of the best times of my life. For many reasons.

Sigh.

I picked up the phone. Called Klaus. Told him to get the TT’s fuel pump situation taken care of and as long as he had the car up on the rack that I wanted him to give it a good stem-to-stern once-over. Fix whatever needed to be fixed no matter the cost and give me a jingle when it was all said and done. Then I thanked him and hung up. Leaned back in my chair, chuckling quietly to myself and shaking my head slowly. Now I’d have two worthless old heaps parked in my garage instead of just one.

Love is a many splendored thing.