Friday January 21, 2005 – Adventures in Los Banos

Friday January 21, 2005 – Adventures in Los Banos

A week ago Friday, My wife “I” and I set out for Orange County a little after 9:00 AM and proceeded south on 101 as per usual, existing the freeway in Gilroy and picking up California 152 junction and headed west. It was overcast, Central Valley fog being pushed westward by an offshore wind direction. A strong high-pressure system entrenched just off the California Coast was responsible for this condition. By the time we had put Gilroy behind us and started climbing toward Pacheco Pass on 152, the low-lying fog had given way to an gray overcast that followed us all the way to Interstate 5, where we headed south.

As per usual, we made our way to the Apricot Tree Restaurant, which is off the Panoche Road exit from the Interstate. It’s about 30 miles south of where 152 intersects 5. We made the distance is under 30 minutes and as we locked the car and entered the restaurant, I noticed steam and then smelled steam emanating from the hood of the car. Opening the hood, I noticed the radiator hose stained white and immediately suspected a ruptured hose. There was nothing to do for the moment so we went into the restaurant and had breakfast. As we left, I drove to the Shell service station across Panoche Road from the restaurant. They had a mechanic on hand and I had him replace the radiator hose.

When the repairs were complete, we both realized that the radiator hose was fine. The leak was coming from the water pump. I purchased a couple of plastic jugs of radiator fluid and a two-gallon plastic container and filled it with water. I figured I could keep filling the leaking fluid and make it back to San Jose. Heading back north on Interstate 5, the car got ten miles north before the “check coolant” light came on. I pulled off at the next exit and filled the radiator with fluid and got back onto the freeway. We got another five miles before both the “check coolant” light came on and the temperature gauge went crazy, followed by the “check engine” light coming on. I knew the pump had failed and the coolant wasn’t getting to the engine block. I drove another mile to a rest area and pulled in, killed the engine, and called AAA.

Something happens when your car dies. Now, you’re no longer mobile; you’ve suddenly become tied to this immobile ton of steel that someone must come along and haul away. We waited nearly an hour for the tow truck to arrive. In that time, I called my oldest daughter M and asked her to check if Los Banos, the nearest town of any size, had a garage that repaired German cars. She found only one place, appropriately named “Foreign Auto Repair.” She gave me the number and I called to see if they could handle my problem. Surprisingly the owner seemed quite familiar with my car and said he could handle the repair, but he said he would have to order parts that would take a day to arrive. Monday would be the soonest the car would be ready. I asked if there were any rental car companies in town that I could get a car to get us back to San Jose. He pointed me to Santos Ford, which rented cars and was three blocks from his shop.

When the tow truck driver arrived, I asked him to haul us to Los Banos. He loaded the car on the back of his truck—towing is no longer the preferred way of transporting injured autos. We climbed into the spacious cab of his truck—Mercedes engine powered, I noticed on the side of the truck’s hood. Within 20 minutes of climbing aboard he was unloading the car at Foreign Auto Repair on the 200 block of West Pacheco Blvd, the busy main drag of Los Banos—it is also California 152. The shop was right out of the 1950s and I immediately took a liking to the place and to the gray haired owner and his ace mechanic. The building was on the corner of a side street and the main drag. The garage bays were accessed from the side street, where the tow truck driver unloaded our car. The mechanic had the car up on a rack before the tow truck driver had completed his paper work and charged my credit card—Visa or Master Card, no Amex.

The store front of the business faced the main drag and it had three chairs in front of a glass window to the left of the entrance, which had a panel of glass in the center framed by wood. Facing us as we entered was long stomach-high counter that ran from the entrance a good 10 feet left and intersected the side wall of the building. Off to the right was a counter high rack creating an island in the right half of the room. It was loaded down with boxes of parts. Immediately to the right of the entrance was another tall shelf that also contained parts. A large glass window let the gray overcast day into this half of the room. Near the ceiling in the right most corner was a large gas heater blowing warm air that heated the room. Behind the counter facing the front entrance was a doorway leading into the garage bays where the mechanic was examining our car and calling out parts he thought he needed to order.

When the mechanic had inventoried the damage, the owner gave me an estimate and I unloaded our bags from our disabled auto and left “I” with the bags while I walked the two block to Santos Ford Lincoln Mercury to pick up the rental car. When I returned, the mechanic was working away pulling out the damaged pump and the owner was busy on the phone with another stranded motorist calling for help. I loaded “I” and the bags into the Ford Focus, waved goodbye to the owner and the two of us made the return trip to San Jose, a weekend journey interrupted. The car’s failing had made me aware that it had gotten old and I had been oblivious of its aging, much like my being unmindful of myself getting old. Occasionally, I realize that I’m not running the entire six miles of my early morning run. Two years back, I had gone to a company picnic at my company in the outskirts of Boston. We played games, one of which was a three-legged race and as I got started I realized that I was completely unable to do this simple task. More recently, the company I’m with currently, also had a picnic and we had played a game of volleyball and my skills again seemed to fail me. At one point chasing a ball that had been knocked out of bounds, I fell backwards and hit the base of my spine and instead of walking if off as I would have done before, I found myself nursing the hurt, which took a couple of weeks to go away. Like the old car, my parts were beginning to wear and I was wondering when I would need major repair.

To my great surprise the owner of Foreign Auto Repair called late last Monday and told me the repairs had all be done and I could pick up the car early Tuesday morning. I left home just after 6:00 AM and drove the 90 miles to Los Banos in just over an hour, had breakfast at a café right as you enter Los Banos on 152, and finished just before 8:00 AM. Los Banos turned into a pleasant diversion. The Café turned out to be a place that brought back memories of the café I remembered from my youth, a fry cook in the back in a tee-shirt and apron visible over the neck high serving counter separating the kitchen from the counter seating—I had sat at the counter rather than take a table. The cook was swapping stories with another fellow at the counter when I sat down. The waitress took my order—eggs over easy with hash browns and sausage, white toast, (no thanks to the biscuits she offered), poured coffee—it tasted like something from the past and handed the order to the cook. A few minutes later the meal arrived and it reminded me of breakfasts I had as a much younger man. Los Banos was a trip back in time. I could visualize Rod Serling’s intro to my adventure, describing a broken water pump, and the journey to Los Banos like a trip back to a youth I had forgotten, then the trip back to the present.

After breakfast, I got to the shop and the owner was there. I retrieve my car, dropped off the rental and made the drive back to San Jose and on into work, back to the present.