In a modern car whenever the engine check light goes on, there's a sense of gloom. This unhappy event occurred one Wednesday evening.
I have two nice cars: a 1990 Mazda Miata and a 2001 Saab 9-3 five-door hatchback. Both of the vehicles are great. They have five-speed manual transmissions, offer spirited performance, and excellent fuel economy. Their one drawback is that they're both a bit long in the tooth-the odometers each register over 100,000 miles. Still, I'm fortunate to have these two racy machines. When one breaks, I simply drive the other where I need to go until I fix the first offender.
Well, my Saab's engine check light was glowing orange that Wednesday evening, and I couldn't imagine why. I opened the fuel filler door and cranked the fuel cap mega tight. Upon firing the Saab's four-banger, turbo-fed mill back up, the offensive light glowed anew. I looked up the engine check light section in my 9-3's owner's manual and read this dreaded passage: "An illuminated 'Check Engine' indicator light indicates a serious engine-related problem. While your car may be able to be driven with the 'Check Engine' indicator light illuminated [limp-home mode], you are advised to have your car serviced at an authorized Saab dealer as soon as possible. Continued driving without this problem being corrected might cause serious further damage to your car and create unsafe driving conditions. The operator should be prepared to take action if such unsafe conditions arise (e.g., apply the brakes, disengage transmission, turn off the ignition, etc.)."
The owner's manual might as well have said: "You face imminent financial ruin. This engine problem is so severe, you're lucky the car hasn't already blown up, killing you and all the passengers inside, causing a 100-foot crater in the pavement, and forcing fellow tax payers to foot the road repair bill due to your neglecting the maintenance on this fine exotic Swedish sports sedan. If you're not in fact already dead, you might as well go back to borrowing your mom's '64 Plymouth Valiant station wagon with the slant-six engine and push-button automatic transmission. You're not worthy of driving such a high-performance European automobile."
The one good outcome of this traumatic occurrence: it gave me the excuse to call up my little brother in Detroit and yell at him. You see, Kevin worked at Saab for 18 years before becoming a big shot PR guy at Cadillac. Every time the Saab breaks down, I phone him and give him some grief. Trust me, it's not as mean spirited as it sounds. It's more a big brother/little brother love and friendship thing. Kevin called me an idiot and advised me to crank down harder on the fuel filler cap. The darn light illuminated yet again when I started it the second time around.
I drove the Miata the next several days and fired up the Saab on Monday morning to take it to our local dealership here in Oceanside. The "Check Engine" light failed to illuminate! I shut the car off, re-started, and no light. The car had fixed itself! I drove down to the dealership. Kenny, the service manager, explained that it often takes several times before the computer cycles through and resets itself. Kenny said he'd be glad to check out the car and charge me for their trouble. I laughed and grabbed my keys. They'll be getting my money again soon enough anyway.
Since it was early in the morning and I hadn't had breakfast, I drove down near the Oceanside Pier, parked, and walked to the end of the Pier where there's a Ruby's restaurant. If you've never eaten at a restaurant at the end of a long wooden pier, you're missing out. Should the waves be crashing against the pier's pilings with a great deal of force, eating in the restaurant is like being on a boat. Figuring my luck was already running strong, I ordered up the biggest breakfast I could find on the menu and challenged the God of Sea Sickness. My cast-iron stomach prevailed.