Gremlins: Nibbling The AT Section 2 Part 1

Nothing beats setting out on an adventure. It was 8am on a mid-May Saturday and I was headed to the AT for a second dose, Lee to Cheshire MA. It was all part of my master plan to hike the 2,134 mile trail, nibble by nibble. I was unreasonably happy considering the ungodly hour. My cup of tea steamed merrily. Illuminating things were discussed on NPR and I hummed down the road in my old Mercedes, enraptured and smiling, completely unaware of the gremlins.

After an hour, I arrived in Cheshire and began looking for the rendezvous point. I slowed as the stoplight ahead turned yellow and the Mercedes started to growl. Sometimes the adventure begins earlier than expected. I had to keep my foot on the brakes, the light was turning red. But the growl turned into a metallic yowl. It sounded like the car’s shoulder joint had just prolapsed, but we stopped. Palms sweating profusely, I clutched the steering wheel. Shivers ran up and down my spine. The light turned green. I was certain the wheel was going to fall off but I managed to pull over before that happened. I wanted to vomit.

I know human shoulders don’t prolapse (they dislocate) but a car’s anatomy works differently. This is not to say I'm well versed in vehicular anatomy, but it didn't seem to me like “The tight-rod end’s gasket bearings were wearing on the U-joint” and to say so would smack of falseness. No, it felt like a prolapsed shoulder. And the accompanying soundtrack would have had my fingers flying for the cell phone, but I didn't own one.

Instead I marched to a bank and asked to use the phone. I called my stalwart hiking buddy Tara. She agreed to relocate the rendezvous location and meet at my car. In the end we had a tough choice to make. Should we hike or stick by the car in her moment of need? For those of you who belong to the car equivalent of PETA, I suggest you close your eyes while reading the next paragraph.

We abandoned the vehicle. A car is just a machine. It is a means to and end. When it ceases to be such, it is of no further use. I work hard at being callous and endeavor to maintain a meanness of spirit which allows me to make cold, tough and efficient decisions. Watching the Mercedes disappear behind us I was once again giddy with AT anticipation.

[Stay tuned for Part 2, when we actually set foot on trail and find out if I ever see my beloved Mercedes again. For those of you who crave details, it's a 1982 240D, four cylinders, manual transmission - diesel. P.S.We set out to hike section 2 on 5/30/08.]