Throwing a Code

It started with a thunk and a bump on our way to town for groceries and mail. The check engine light flashed, and Big Red shook and trembled. We made it to Safeway, parked, and bought bread, creamer, and laundry soap. I started him again. The check engine light flashed, the 4-Lo light flashed, and the anti-skid warning light was on solid. Oh…and the Maint Reqd light was on, too, in case I missed all the other warnings or couldn't feel the truck shimmy and buck. We couldn't go faster than 40 miles per hour, without shaking my eyeballs loose, but we managed to rattle up the big hill to home. I plugged in my handy-dandy diagnostic reader and found - P0304 - Cylinder # 4 misfire. Mechanics call it “Throwing a code.”

My old ‘Yota, who brought me trouble-free across the US, Mexico, and the desert, only gave out here with a repair shop right next door. Good friends look out for each other.

Most likely, the ignition coil on # 4 is shot, and the repair will be quick and easy. But Red has 310K miles on his engine - it could also be very dear and deep. I won’t chance it - he goes to the shop on Friday.

I need that old truck. I’ve got plans. Dreaming about the high Cascades, the Bitterroot, or even the Absaroka when the snow melts.

My old truck is mortal, after all. His affliction makes me question my mortality too. I’ve put on some pounds, lost some muscle, don't ride my bike like before, might be going a little deaf, and have painful gouty feet sometimes. My shoulders hurt, sometimes a hip twinges, and the skin on the back of my hands looks like a damn lizard. My eyes are clear most days, but they are sunk deep with bags below and droopy lids above. Their visage is cold and sad most days. Got busted teeth, and those that ain’t broke are brittle.

Entropy and age are a bitch. At least I haven’t thrown a code yet.

But here’s the thing. Every morning, I get to wake up snuggled next to Miss Dawn, my best friend. It’s quiet and cold, and we keep each other warm. I take Echo outside, make amazing coffee, and kiss Dawn awake. I play pretty mountain music on the Alexa. We get another day.

And if I’m lucky, sometime during that day, I’ll remember or be reminded that it ain’t about me at all. I am just a transient flicker of the same mysterious force that animates the trees, the ocean, the salmon, the mountains, Echo-dog, Dawn, and you. And I will smile - inward, at least.

It’s Valentine’s Day - one of Dawn’s favorite holidays. This year, she bought two identical boxes of candy to ensure equality. She wrote our names on the box lids to confer ownership and since I am home alone while she works, she hid her box to prevent pilfering. We aren't counting, but I have 20 truffles left…she has far fewer.

Today, I bought us deli sandwiches and iced tea. We’ll eat lunch sitting in Dawn’s car behind her store, sharing nibbles with Echo-dog under a cloudy sky.

And have another day without throwing a code.

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Peace.