Part of owning a classic car is recognizing—and accepting—the fact that you have to “expect the unexpected.” When I set out on a recent 2,700-mile road trip from Phoenix to Vermont for this year’s National Acura Legend Meet, I carried a trunk full of replacement parts. After all, I was 100% aware that, at a moment’s notice, I could need an alternator, starter, main relay, gallon of coolant, or a myriad of other things. I’ve also gotten in the habit of carrying a full-sized spare tire. A car with nearly 600,000 miles on the odometer could be a ticking time bomb.
But of all the times to experience to a critical part failure, I didn’t anticipate it would be on the first day of a five-day cross-country adventure . . . in a rural part of Arizona . . . on a holiday weekend, just a few hours from home. That’s how things played out, and it was thanks to a small mom-and-pop car repair facility that I miraculously continued my journey later that same day and made it to my destination three time zones away, on perfect schedule later in the week.
It was about 12 miles west of Holbrook, Arizona, when the battery light illuminated in my car. I had flashbacks of the previous time it had happened 16 years ago, just outside Las Vegas. That had been about 200,000 miles prior, so it was not shocking. It was, however, inconvenient. I managed to get the car to a truck stop just west of town and started the process of running through phone numbers for any and all repair facilities I could find. Unfortunately, Holbrook is a town of fewer than 5,000 people, most of whom were already enjoying Labor Day weekend. I only managed to go through several places, some of which referred me to mobile mechanics or other resources. I did manage to find one shop that would install my part, so I limped the car there using a battery jump pack (another handy lifesaver, I’ve learned).
Unfortunately, after waiting an hour and a half, I determined I’d been stood up. In a bit of desperation, I took to the phone again. This time, I even called the businesses that said “Closed” according to Google. To my surprise, a voice answered the phone at Arizona Auto Service on Route 66. I explained my predicament and they said, “Bring it down.” Somehow, I was again able to start the car and drive about three more miles just before my battery pack lost voltage and I had to coast to the side of the road about a half-block from the facility. (Incidentally, Arizona Auto was located just several blocks from the Wigwam Motel.)
The hospitality that I experienced next was unprecedented. The shop was bustling with activity—deep in preparations for an upcoming demolition derby at the Navajo County Fair. But they dropped what they were doing, helped me push the car to a service bay, and got to work with the install. Meanwhile, I got to know the family members who were there and even watched them paint some accessories for the demolition derby cars. In short order, the shop foreman, Frank, said I was good to go and asked me to fire up the car so he could test the voltage output. Everything checked out, and my sense of optimism reached new heights.
I insisted on paying more for the alternator installation than Frank wanted to charge me. I also insisted on letting him take a picture with the entire crew before I continued my journey. I drove away with a deepened appreciation and respect for the compassion of people in the automotive community who are willing to help one another. The experience solidified my conviction that the automotive community is one big family.
As a follow-up expression of gratitude, I reached out to Arizona Auto the following week to let them know that my new alternator got me to Vermont successfully, and I wished them luck on the demolition derby. Maybe next year I’ll join them!
