If it ain’t broke, it will be soon

Some people pour money down a rat hole. Not me. I empty my dollars into a chasm no vermin would dare crawl into:

Cars.

Our three automobiles are disposable income black holes. Among the trio – a 2005 Mercury Sable, 2001 Honda Accord and 1994 Dodge Caravan – rarely a week goes by when one or more doesn’t need an oil change, tire rotation, windshield wiper, brake service, tune up or some obscure part that only a contortionist at a carnival freak show could reach without the help of an industrial hydraulic lift and a tool that bends in 17 directions at once.

We’ve sunk so many thousands of dollars into our vehicles in recent months I’ve quit reading the auto section of our family budget and, instead, taken up reading my 401(k) statements. It makes me feel better.

Is the Sable trying to tell me something?

Watching one car, then another and then the other require attention is like living with a house full of grade school children during flu season. By the time the last child exhibits flu-like symptoms, the first child to become ill starts coughing and sneezing again. At least with a bunch of snotty-nosed kids you can fix the problem for $10 co-pays.

This past year our car infirmary has been exceptionally busy. The list of repairs is long, atypical and costly.

There was the tire that kept losing air. Come to find out I’d driven over a nail, which apparently is an ingredient of road paving materials, considering the number of times I’ve had them removed from tires over the years.

There was the power steering that suddenly lost its power, making the Caravan harder to navigate than an oil tanker pulling a U-turn in the Panama Canal.

There was the mysterious warning light that began glowing on the Accord dashboard. After an attempt to diagnose the problem – I opened the hood, saw that the engine was still there and pushed the hood shut – I took the car to a mechanic. The problem: the gas cap. “In some of these models if they’re not on just right the warning light comes on,” I was told. How could I have missed that, since the “Warning Light” entry in the owner’s manual consists of “Have your vehicle serviced by a certified Honda auto technician”?

There was a battery that wouldn’t hold a charge, a failing fuel pump, old belts and fluids, and several other mechanical issues that will go unnamed because I can’t extricate the 10-pound automotive folder from the file cabinet stuffed with every receipt we’ve collected since before the Wright brothers used the first bar code – or something like that. Anyway, all were replaced, at varying degrees of pocketbook pain.

But none of those financial hits could prepare me for what was to come, however. Unbeknownst to me the granddaddy of auto problems lay just beyond the horizon. I was about to have a transmission go out. Twice.

The Sable’s went first. I was driving to work one morning when I noticed something unusual. When I stepped on the accelerator the car didn’t pick up speed. I tried it again. No luck. A third time I tried – nothing. I pulled the car to the side of the road, turned it off and then back on. Still no acceleration when I pressed on the gas pedal – not even a warning light to lead me to an owner’s manual page with no information. Had my wife finally had enough and purchased a drives-too-fast voodoo doll that looked like me?

Into the shop the car went. Several days of work and a couple thousand dollars in parts and labor later, the Sable emerged with a rebuilt transmission.

A less-expensive use of my money

A once-in-a-lifetime repair, I told myself as I drove it home. Yes, if that lifetime happens to last as long as the tsetse fly’s.

Last month, it happened again. The Accord began doing strange things as it shifted gears. A mechanic confirmed what I feared: the transmission was slipping.

How could this occur again so soon? Had the Accord and Sable compared notes in the garage? And had they gotten to the Caravan?

Another 10 days with the mechanic, and another $2,000-plus expense.

When he notified me the car was ready, the customer service representative finished by saying, “Mr. Leer, while we were putting the transmission in, we found something.”

Unless it’s a bag of South African Krugerrands, I don’t want to know, I thought.

“We noticed a small leak coming from your radiator. At some point you’ll need to have it replaced.”

A Google search placed the repair at between $400 and $600.

I did another Google search. Yep, just as I figured: I could save half that amount by pouring my money down a rat hole.