Okay, Universe...you're forgiven, already!

When I recounted my recent mechanical close-encounters-of-the-weird-kind, I never imagined there would be a Part II, but as anyone who's ever seen a movie knows, sometimes the sequel outstrips the original...with sheer goofiness, in this particular case.

You see, rather than learning my lesson, and lying low for a while, I decided instead to press forward with car-related maintenance tasks. I reasoned that I was being a responsible adult, caring for my property in the correct way, scheduling the required upkeep, blah blah blah. It seems like a low-risk, no-brainer, right? However, besides the aforementioned odd incident, the other thing holding me back was the fact that--having priced out all of the odds and ends recommended at the 105,000 mile checkup--I expected it to be a painfully expensive blow to ye olde wallet.

So after a few pathetic whimpers, I decided to suck it up, take a deep breath, and just get on with it. Now, for these sorts of appointments, I tend to visit a local shop that I trust, rather than trek all the way to the dealer. Therefore I dropped off the Forester at 9 a.m., caught a ride home with their driver in the Prius shuttle (because of course it is, in super-green Chapel Hill/Carrboro!), and puttered around the house, waiting for the magical phone call that would instruct me to come back and pick it up again.

Unfortunately--but not entirely unexpectedly, given the age and mileage--they found something that needed to be repaired (and which would freakin' DOUBLE the cost I'd made such a big deal out of preparing myself for...DANG IT!) After heaving an obligatory, gigantic "this sucks" sigh, I gave them permission to go ahead. However, at 4:30, I hadn't heard anything further; not only was this somewhat...worrisome...I also knew that they close at 5, so I reached out for an update myself. Reassuringly, I was told that a technician was currently tooling around town for a test drive, to make sure everything was running smoothly.

Aaaannnd, instead of that information, I received the following: "Um...when it was out, the clutch started making a...screeching noise...and we need to figure out what's happening." Oh, you've gotta be KIDDING me! After making 100% sure the sheepish manager and I were on the same page--that it had definitely NOT been doing this before they got their hands on it, and therefore would also not be my financial headache--I agreed to take a loaner car overnight, so they could keep mine and continue working on it the next day.

Ay yi yi. This was beginning to cross over into the territory of "somewhat surreal", in my opinion. But I graciously accepted the generous gift of a temporary (hybrid, naturally. Ha! Sorry...) Camry, and kept my fingers crossed that they'd successfully solve the mystery...and return a good-as-new (ish) Subaru to me as soon as possible.

The following afternoon, I got the "all clear" text, and piloted the borrowed Toyota back to the shop-- with some trepidation--to hear the verdict. When I arrived, the technician explained that they'd isolated the one part causing the cacophony...which was a circular connector...thingie?...that links the clutch to the engine. To illustrate, he showed me a photo on his phone, of a new, shiny, perfectly round one...then held up mine with an admirably understated flourish, to show me the filthy, misshapen, cracked and warped version they'd removed and replaced. Gulp.

After expressing sheer amazement at the difference...and abundant gratitude for their intervention and rescue...in a small voice I inquired as to how much they WOULD have had to charge, if not for the incredibly, unbelievably lucky timing (for me, anyway). "Well," he replied, "it's about 6 hours of labor...and we usually suggest replacing the clutch at the same time, since we have to take out the whole transmission to get to it." Oh. My. Goodness--or can you say "Holy Dodged-a-Big-Old-Bullet, Batman!"?

There's a footnote as well--something that only occurred to me later that evening. I remembered that I'd been noticing...and studiously ignoring...a barely perceptible...umm...squeak/whistle?...from the clutch for, oh, the past several months. It certainly wasn't loud or scary, and didn't seem to be affecting the actual performance in any way, so I never even thought to mention it to either the dealer or the local guys. In retrospect, or that proverbial 20/20 hindsight, if you will, it was probably our little plastic friend, slowly becoming more and more mangled over time.

So to sum up:
1. Some seriously crazy-ass four-leaf-clover timing on the clutch crisis.
2. An even more astronomical bill narrowly averted.
3. The car gods (and maybe even higher-up powers) totally had my back on this one.
4. Oh, and my clutch, which hadn't even been misbehaving, as I mentioned, now feels all kind of...I don't know...freshened up? (I guess maybe "tight and responsive" if I had to reach for any remotely automobile-related terms. But that sounds vaguely...naughty. I should just stay the heck away from car talk, yeah? Agreed...)
5. Finally, "thankful" doesn't even begin to express my feelings after this near-disaster. So now it looks like I might need to perform not only a cleansing ceremony, but also an offering of some variety. Or maybe they can be combined? Whew, gotta go--there's some very important research to be done!