My Car Detective

Last year, on the way back from UCSD, I pulled off the freeway near Trestles and got some cheap gas at a Thrifty. I am a Scot, I reasoned. I am thrifty. A few miles later a scary light went on in my car: "Coolant low," it said. "Slow to a stop, now."

I ignored it for 20 miles, as it flashed on and off. Then I called Jonathan. Was my car going to blow up? I wanted to know.

He said it was probably the bad gas. Drive on. It was a little scary, but I did. And the next time I got gas at my regular gas station everything went back to normal.

Flash forward to 2010. I was driving back from the Santa Ynez Valley after a weekend of camping, my boys snoozing in the back, the car coasting on fumes. I pulled over to the first gas station I could find and filled her up with Thrifty gas. By the time I got through the traffic in Santa Barbara my coolant light was on, telling me to pull over, NOW!

As is my wont, I ignored it. But it made me nervous. More and more nervous as the days went by. Yesterday Jonathan took it in to get the coolant checked. (We now get excellent service at our favorite garage thanks to a funny/irritating/unbelievable incident I will explain in another post.)

Today, riding on fumes again, I went to fill 'er up at our local gas station. We had no sooner pulled out of the gas station when Benji remarked: "The car feels smoother now, Mommy."

I thought about it. He was right. The car did feel smoother--and it was not because of the road. Hollywood roads are a nightmare of bumps and cracks. And then I got it: The Thrifty Gas!!!!

The Thrifty Gas messes up the Volvo. The finely tuned Swedish baby is tough in an accident, but delicate when it comes to nutrition. Bad gas makes it sick.

And Benji is the one who felt it.

Wow.

My kids amaze me sometimes.