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Clunker calamities complicate the long car ride to Charm City

Here's a story about kindness, love, and cars

JONATHAN HUNLEY •   Jonathan Hunley's archive •   E-mail Jonathan Hunley

Date published: 5/21/2004

By JONATHAN HUNLEY

THIS IS A STORY about the wonders of the Great American Automobile, a story about the kindness of folks from one of my favorite cities, and a love story.

A week ago, my wife met a fellow Mary Washington College alum in Baltimore in the afternoon, and I planned to join them for an Orioles game.

Sounds easy, right? It would have been--in a working vehicle. But like all good husbands, upon marriage I ceded my working vehicle to my wife. That left me with her 1990 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera.

Anyway, my wife headed to Baltimore in our 2003 Toyota Corolla, which left me to drive the Olds--emphasis on "old"-- up after work.

And I did. At least, I drove it to King George. The trip from there to Baltimore was more like a test of endurance. A mental marathon. One of those times when you realize a degree from a fancy liberal-arts college doesn't mean you're really that smart. Why? Because a smart person would never have attempted the endeavor I did.

U.S. 301 was my alternate route of choice this day, as I figured rush-hour traffic on the Wilson Bridge would delay my prompt arrival before the Anaheim Angels took their first turn at bat.

Problem was, the Oldsmobile's engine started stalling as I neared the Navy base at Dahlgren. But I figured that was just because the air-conditioner was running at full blast. So I turned the fan down, and I made it across the spooky--and seemingly misnamed--Nice Bridge over the Potomac.

But on 301, I would have lost a race with Fred Flintstone. The car was fine as long as I didn't have to stop at an intersection. However, if you've driven on 301 in southern Maryland, you know it contains approximately 6 billion stoplights.

I stalled at every one. I mean, the car must have stopped 30 times.

But this is OK, I thought. At least no one up here knows me.

That's when I saw Marise Allen, who works at Crown Jewelers in Fredericksburg. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed that my car seemed to be falling apart under me, or perplexed about why I was seeing a local that far away from home.

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Date published: 5/21/2004