Scrap the Caddie, Clyde

I drove all over the desert last Friday, running errands and actually doing a bit of shopping here and there. The truck drove like a dream, and I gleefully filled the back of it at Lowe’s so I could begin a few of the many projects waiting for my retirement. Unloaded at home, backed the truck into the space next to the house where I park, and la-la’d my way into the weekend.

This morning, I wanted to go out and return a couple of items I purchased, so climbed into the truck, turned the key, and got nothing. Nada. Zip. Not a sound. Not one easily discouraged, I made sure I pressed the clutch through the floorboard, checked that the left turn indicator was on, and cranked the key again, and again, and again. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

A quick call to the shop where my cars get their regular service assured me that it was probably the battery, a suspicious thought in a vehicle about 15 months on the road and under 10k miles, but what do I know? My thoughts about vehicle maintenance are that if "they" can fix "it," okay, but I'd rather just scrap the Caddie, Clyde, and go buy another one than deal with repairs.

A call to Triple A, and a nice young man came to give the truck a jump start so I could take it in for repair. However, he didn’t think it was the battery as it checked out okay, but since nothing happened when the key was turned, he was betting on the starter. Again, in a new vehicle? I don’t think so, but what do I know? To humor me, he plugged in the battery charger and told me to try it—and the truck leaped to life.

I quickly closed up the house and garage, and then made my way to the auto shop. Travis is a great guy, so he took the truck around back and did his thing. About 45 minutes later, he came to deliver the diagnosis.

The minute he shut off the engine, sure enough, it wouldn’t restart—and there was no response at all from the key, so the machines were hooked up and showed that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the truck—anywhere. Travis tried and tried and tried to restart it, and nothing, nada, zip.

Frustrated, he opened the door and bent down to take a look at the clutch and brake pedals, having to pull back the floor mat a bit as it was pushed forward, up against the pedal mechanism. He checked high and low with a flashlight, reran the diagnostics, got back into the truck to try it again and BAM! It worked! Fired up every time for about a dozen tries.

Then it dawned on him: my truck has a “drunk” device that means you have to put the clutch all the way through the firewall before turning the key or it won’t start. Travis is convinced that the floor mat had moved just enough to keep the clutch from going all the way to the floor, hence, prohibiting the truck from starting (or even making a sound).

Since it’s been starting just fine since the ‘work’ Travis did on the problem, I guess I’ll have to agree: it was the floor mat causing the problem.

Travis laughed, didn’t charge me a cent, and assured me that he loves it when I show up with one of my little problems (yeah, I’ve had a few over the years) that defy description and/or diagnosis using the machines, but often turn out to be fixed with a little human contact. He says it keeps him from believing that he already knows it all.