My wife asked me if I enjoy it when things go wrong. I generally don’t, no. I’d rather have things go as planned. However, when it comes to cars, I don’t mind a little excitement. 

I used to watch a show on YouTube called Roadkill. The concept of the show was brilliant; David Freiburger and Mike Finnegan would find an old, usually American, non-running, rust bucket and somehow make it run. More amazingly, they would then immediately drive it 2000 miles across the States. Because their vehicles were only running thanks to hopes and dreams and a bit of duct tape, they would break down a lot. Thankfully, David and Mike are fantastic mechanics, and they can fix pretty much anything, anywhere, anytime. But, often, it would be at night in the parking lot of a parts store. And you know what, despite how miserable it was to fix a barely-legal junker in a parking lot, when they finally got back on the road, they looked like they were having the time of their lives.
I remember watching episode after episode of this show, thinking, “How cool would it be to live that life?” Well, be careful what you wish for, kids, because I now have personal experience to answer that question. 

We went camping last weekend in our 1992 Dodge Dakota. The plan was to drive to Big Bear, CA, and then off-road up the north side of the lake to set up camp. That part of the plan was executed perfectly. When the sun peeked over the mountains the next morning, while we were packing up, my wife noticed a wet spot under the car.
Unfortunately, we both knew exactly what that little puddle was. 

A handful of weeks ago, while I was under the truck fixing something, I noticed a tiny leak from the radiator’s petcock. First of all, why is it called a petcock? That’s a terrible word to say or hear. Second, I’ll now refer to the petcock as the radiator’s drain plug.
It was only dripping a couple of drops a minute. Nothing a little topping-off couldn’t fix. And, if you want to look at the bright side of things, which I’m working hard on doing recently, a leaking radiator can be used as an indicator of coolant level. If it drips, there’s still coolant. It’s when it stops dripping that you should be worried.
All that to say, we were aware of the problem.
You must now be thinking, why did you go on a road trip up to Big Bear when you knew your radiator was on its last legs? Well, frankly, I didn’t think about it. As far as I was concerned, everything was going to go as planned, and if it didn’t, well, that would be a problem for Max of the future.  

Predictably, Max-of-the-future sprung the trap set by Max-of-the-past. 

As I reached under the bumper to make sure the dripping did indeed come from the radiator’s drain plug, the flood gates opened. The plug fell into my hand, and coolant was pouring everywhere. The little damp spot under the truck was turning into an olympic size swimming pool, so I needed to act fast. I thought my best option was to use the little coolant I have left in the system to drive to the nearest garage and hope I don’t overheat on the way there. So, we threw everything in the bed of the truck, and we got going. Thankfully, it was early in the morning, and the temperature was still relatively low, which, combined with the fact that we were going downhill, really helped the engine stay cold for a while. Until we reached the road, where I had to start using the throttle. The closer we were getting to the garage, the closer my engine was to turning into molten steel. 
How exciting! What an intense experience. Will we make it? Will we not? I was having the time of my life, I had one eye on the road, the other on the temperature gauge, and a massive smile on my face. My wife, on the other hand, was not so joyful. Like most adults, she was pretty bummed by the whole situation. Stressed, even. And rightfully so, we are in one hell of a pickle after all. Big Bear Lake is a two-hour drive from home, so towing the car will cost us an arm and a leg and, unfortunately for us, the garage we miraculously managed to drive to can’t help us.

While we tried coming up with a new plan, we met a man called Roy. Roy was incredibly nice to us and said that, if he was us, he’d go to AutoZone and buy a new radiator. He said they didn’t have it in stock, but they could get it delivered by four o’clock this afternoon and, he admitted that he would probably just change the radiator himself right there and then. I thought, “You know who else would do that?” David Freiburger and Mike Finnegan. That’s who. 
I agreed to the challenge. I too wanted my name added to the list of great men who have fixed their cars in parking lots.

The radiator would be delivered around four in the afternoon. While we waited, I removed the broken radiator with the tools I had bought a couple minutes before. After plugging – with wooden sticks – a couple of transmission lines I had to disconnect for the removal, we walked to a nice little coffee place to have lunch. 

The radiator arrived and was installed in a handful of minutes. The wood I stuck in the transmission lines carried their intended purpose of preventing useless spillage, so I didn’t need to add fluid to the transmission. It all went according to the plan. Well, not the original plan of spending the day at the lake, but the secondary plan of fixing the car, one way or another, and getting home. 

So, no. I don’t enjoy it when things go wrong. But I understand that life never goes as planned. We will all face situations we were not planning on facing. I was once told to ‘expect the unexpected’, but that doesn’t mean that you should have a spare radiator and the tools to change it just in case it breaks during a camping trip in the mountains. What it means is be prepared to change a radiator in the parking lot of AutoZone with a handful of tools you bought the same day, and, most importantly, cherish the fact that you can do it. Because if we had called a tow truck, like most people would have done, it would have cost us a lot more money, and we wouldn’t have a great story to tell. 

Max