sludgo’s Mile Markers

Ten years quickly passed for everyone, including Shadow. By then we’d moved from our salt-box on the numbered streets to sludgo manor, a lovely hillside home with an expansive yard she could roam at her leisure. As old dachshunds go we thought she was doing fine as she lazily snoozed in the sun or dug around in the garden looking for God-knows-what, but she was definitely slowing. In the meantime I’d started to feel bad she was spending most of her days in that giant house alone, what with the kids at school and the Redhead and me downtown at the office sunup ’til sundown so one night I took the Redhead out for dinner. A nice one. Ordered a spendy bottle of champagne then settled in and after a sip or three popped the question. Asked if she’d be cool with getting another dog. Reminded her how the ‘new puppy trick’ had rejuvenated Moon and said it might do the same for Shad and now that we had a larger place we could get a larger dog. Maybe another Sheltie, in honor of Moon. I was going to keep making my case but she interrupted me with a bubbly giggle and a nod that made me grin big. Puppy Time, sludge.

My secretary Suzanne softly knocked on the door of my office and cracked it open. I put down my cold turkey sub then took a gulp of my flat root beer and furrowed my brow at her. She quietly apologized for interrupting my lunch break then told me a client of mine had just called and said he was five minutes away and was coming in to see me. Told me she’d told him I was at lunch and booked all afternoon but he’d said he’d come in anyway. Told her he had to see me even if it was just for a second or two because it was an emergency so he’d wait however long he had to and then he’d hung up. She gave me a weary smile then asked if I wanted her to put him off when he arrived. That she could try and squeeze him in for a formal appointment tomorrow or the day after but I waved her off. Told her an emergency is an emergency. Said I’d see him when he showed up, check out what was going on, and take it from there. Then I turned my attention back to my sandwich but before I could take a bite I heard the front doorbell jingle.

It was a couple weeks ago. Two in the morning and my brain wouldn’t shut off so I couldn’t get to sleep. I laid restlessly in bed for a while, listening to the alarm clock on my nightstand tick. And tock. And tick. And tock. Reminded me of how I used to tell my clients if they found themselves wide awake in bed in the middle of the night, rather than tossing and turning and fretting and burning about not being able to sleep they’d be better off to follow their body’s lead and get up and do something—anything really—as long as it was healthy and relaxing. So, I clucked my tongue and shook my head then rolled out of bed. Walked into the living room and clicked on a light. Thought about reading but had read every book in the house at least twice. Thought about turning on the tube but knew there’d be nothing on at that hour that would interest me. Thought about having a snack but wasn’t really hungry and was still doing pretty well on my New Years’ diet. Then an idea of what I could do struck me. Something that would be both healthy and relaxing. I could go for a drive.

We interrupt this feed of wonderful cars to give you news that the latest installment of sludgo’s Mile Markers will be postponed until next week. That’s the bad news. The good news is that we will have a new edition of sludgo’s Riding Shotgun interview series ready to publish early next week. Please subscribe to the Mile Markers page to make sure you don’t miss out on either!

It was almost three in the morning and even though I was exhausted from being up late studying for midterms, I was wide awake. Climbed into bed anyway and as I did heard my new downstairs neighbor just getting home. A burly bearded bear of a dude, I hadn’t met him personally yet but knew from scuttlebutt around the apartment he worked swing-shifts for the railroad and drove that clanky never-been-washed Plymouth Duster parked in the end garage. I also knew he liked Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Loved it even. Not the album. Just the song. Was easy to figure out because in the week since he’d moved in every morning when he got home from work he’d play it on his stereo. Loudly. So loudly that the pictures on my walls would buzz and rattle. And that morning was no different. There was some muffled thumping and banging around downstairs then a brief pause before I heard the ‘pop’ of a needle dropping into a groove and the all-too-familiar opening chords of the Boss’s masterpiece began thundering up through my floor. Groan.

Last Monday morning was bright and warm and sunny as I pulled the ‘B into my newfound favorite parking spot at MorningLight, the ‘senior living center’ where Big Sis and I transitioned the Beehive two months ago. It’s a big facility and parking is at a premium so I was glad to discover the curbside slot, right around the corner of the reception hall and dining room where all the ground-floor residents have patios and yard spaces that extend down to the street. Honestly I’m not sure it’s an official spot, but no one has said anything about it to me, so I’m going to keep parking there until they do. Besides, it’s right in front of Artie’s place and I knew he didn’t mind. After all, he was my newest and bestest car-buddy.

It was an ordinary day, just like any other. I got up at six and let the dogs out to take care of their business. Brought them back in then took care of mine. Shaved and showered and got into my jeans and a fresh t-shirt and my blue hoodie and Tom’s. Watched the sunrise while I sipped a steaming cup of black coffee and took inventory. Felt pretty good about things and around eight o’clock thought I’d give myself a treat and go to that new breakfast place that just opened down the street for a big plate of runny eggs and crispy bacon and near-burnt hash browns and whole-wheat toast slathered in melty butter then smeared with a thick swipe of homemade blackberry jam. Yum. Trotted out to the garage and climbed into the Audi. Fired it up and putted the couple-few blocks over to the joint then turned into its freshly paved and painted parking lot and that’s when it happened. One of the most dreaded experiences a car owner can have. My ‘check engine’ light came on.

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.