The Car Saga Continues... Damn it.

I hate to interrupt my self enforced thesis sabbatical, but I must utilize my blog to lament my seemingly inescapable curse (a.k.a. vent and bitch). Unfortunately the never ending car saga continues to plague my miserable life. Just when I finally sold my last Guam Bomb after four months of searching for a buyer and breathed a long overdue sigh of relief, hopeful that my car troubles were perhaps finally over, that after purchasing three cars I had finally found an economical and DEPENDABLE method of transportation... but no. My third car car is dead and I am again forced to scramble to find a quick solution... with minimal financial resources.

It all started on Monday. It was my day off. After preparing for a series of errands, I slid gracefully into the driver's seat of my 1993 Toyota Corolla DX Waggon, put the key into the ignition and started the engine. As the car idled, I thoughtfully selected a suitable compact disk and inserted it into the player. At that moment the car died, yet I remained completely unfazed. It was not uncommon for the car to stall during idle, especially when it was cold or raining. But, much to my frustration, it would not start again. Although I was frustrated, I was still largely unconcerned. It must be the battery, I thought. I had not used the car in nearly three days and the battery probably lost its charge somehow. I went back inside and waited for Robert to get home from work.

Once Robert arrived, he pulled his car next to mine for a jump. It had no effect, the car would attempt to start like before, but stubbornly refused to turn over. Umm... Now we have a problem. But wait, I thought, the car is almost out of gas and has been setting at an acute angle for days, perhaps if we only push the car onto level ground, it will start. We tried in vain to push the car up the incline, to no avail. Next, at my request, Robert tried to push the carolla with his jeep. As you can imagine, this insane attempt to push my car not only ended in failure, but added further damage to the front bumper and headlight of my carolla. Luckily, Robert's jeep was unscathed. Next we ventured down the road into Talofofo Village proper to investigate the availability of rope. I found a $7 tow rope made of cheap nylon next to an ancient set of pantyhose and Drano. After racing back home, we strapped the rope to our cars and much to my surprise, pulled my car onto a level part of the lawn. It still refused to start. Crap. Now I have to pay to have this piece of shit car towed down from Talofofo to a repair shop. I expressed my growing anger to Robert, who suggested a bold and perhaps rash plan of action. He offered to use my new rope and pull my corolla down to Agat - a distance of almost 15 miles over hills, valleys and hairpin curves. What an insanely idiotic foolhardy idea - not to mention dangerous and totally illegal!!! It could not only result in a hefty fine, but serious damage to both of our cars. I quickly agreed.

We waited until the cover of darkness - about 9:30 and began our trek. We tied the nylon rope to our frames (not the bumpers) and took off. Robert drove his jeep wrangler while I rode in my unresponsive corolla, but before we began Robert gave me a quick and dirty tutorial on pulling cars. "Try to keep the rope taught at all times. OK? Let's go." As we drove through Talofofo, with people pointing and staring, I quickly realized that this towing business was going to be far more difficult than I initially realized. Robert would only slow to a crawl at stop signs, and of course I had no control to stop or go, I was primarily concerned with making sure I didn't slam into Robert's jeep a mere three feet in front of me. Soon we were out of Talofofo and into the deep hills, and sharp curves of the 11 miles of "Cross Island Road" to Agat. It was sheer terror. My heart raced and I hunched over the wheel in a death grip, sweat poured from my brow in puddles. As we navigated the turns and steep descents, the only periods of relief were the slow laborious ascent up hills. Finally, after about 45 minutes, and what felt like eons, we were in Agat. Phew. At the end of our journey, as we waited at a stand still to turn into a service center, I heard the horrible sound of a car screeching to a sudden halt behind me. I closed my eyes and prepared for the inevitable crash, but it did not come. I looked behind me and saw the car only a few inches from mine. Then we began to move into the parking lot. WE MADE IT! What an adventure. On the ride back home I realized, looking down at my still trembling hands, I was in desperate need of a tall bourbon.

The next day, I returned to my car. It was at a gas station with an attached lube and tire shop. I kindly asked the mechanic to examine the car and call me with an estimate. I returned with Robert at lunch. He suggested that I purchase new plugs, wires, distributor cap, and rotor (a tune up) for him to install. I purchased the items at a nearby Napa ($187) and returned. After another few hours, he called me with some bad news. The tune up had no effect on the car. It still refused to start. The mechanic confessed that he had a suspicion that the problem was electrical in nature and he did not have the tools nor the expertise to diagnose or fix the problem. Crap. The mechanic refused pay, but I gave him twenty dollars anyway and after calling almost every tow service on island, I found the best deal for a real tow to yet another mechanic. I met the tow guy an hour later and followed him in Robert's jeep to Pacific Tyre

By this point the Pacific Tyre mechanics new me by name. I had been in and out of that place at least a dozen times since I got my first car back in March and I had recently purchased new tires for my corolla after one of the tires had a severe tread separation occur. "It's me again," I greeted the guy at the front desk. "I'm concerned you're not getting enough business, so I thought I would bring you my car to look at again." After a few laughs, they took a look at my car. I watched as they bypassed the car's computer using a paperclip to connect two fuses. It immediately started and ran. "Awesome!" I nearly yelled. I spoke to soon. I continued to watch as they pulled the car's computer out from underneath the dash. The computer, or the ECU (Engine Control Unit) manages the car's air-fuel ratio and fuel injectors to ensure the best fuel economy and lowest emission of carbon monoxide. If you ask me, it only exists to create tremendous anger and disgust.

After they pulled the computer out, the mechanic asked me to smell it. Much to my horror, it had an overwhelming smell of burnt plastic. They opened the computer's metal case to reveal the circuit board - almost a third of it was blackened and burnt, it was totally fried. "So how much does a new one of these cost?" I hesitantly asked. "Over $1,000 new, but you probably can't find one on island." The mechanic, seeing my utter shock continued, "there might be a used one in a junk yard, but this waggon is different than most corollas so you will probably have to order it on ebay."

So now I am frantically searching ebay and the interweb for a model 7A-FE computer box (ECU) for a 1993 Toyota corolla dx wagon.

Well, at least I am consistent - every car I have purchased on Guam is a piece of shit. I wish I had paid the $3,000 to ship my truck over here.