Immobilized Bimmer

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Immobilized!

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Immobilized Bimmer

Isaac strumming in Kaua'i This is the slightly humbling story of how my 37-pound almost-3-year-old completely, effectively, embarassingly immobilized my 3021-pound Bimmer.

At left you see Isaac, shown strumming an ukulele in Kaua'i, Hawai'i. (Hey, since these are my car pages I can mention that he's in the back of yet another Chrysler Sebring convertable. It's our favorite car to rent while we're on vacation; I remember them in both Florida and Arizona. Gold is our favorite color, but here we had to settle for white. Better than black in the tropical sun :-)

Anyway, Isaac loves to drive the car all by himself. He even wants the keys so he can "make ding ding" (all the bells and lights work). In general I've indulged him; encouraging his interests. (Of course I sit in the passenger seat while this is going on.) His enthusiastic manipulations have sent us scurrying to the owners manuals for at least four cars, my old VW Fox, my mother-in-law's white Acura, a rental Sebring (how do you turn off the rear area lights?), and this Bimmer. More about that.

It's rather late in the evening, deep into the San Francisco autumn. The trees surrounding our little cottage are showering leaves all over the car, parked out front. A wind-up radio is playing. The orange extension cord reaches from the cottage to the car, and while Isaac is driving I'm cleaning and vacuuming the detrius of road and childhood from the car. I guess this takes a half-hour, including the trunk. Rather than leave the car where passers-by can be thoughtless or deliberately cruel, I put Isaac on my lap and prepare to drive the car down the hill to the protected parking space we rent (in lieu of destroying part of our garden for a garage). I turn the key in the ignition. Nothing.

It's as though someone removed the motor. Complete silence mocks us as the lights go on, the radio starts, etc.

In case the steering wheel lock safety has engaged, I wiggle it. Nothing. I mash on the brake and pull the selector from Park to Neutral, and try to start it again. Nothing. Not a whirr, not a grind, not a mumble. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Isaac is as flummoxed as I.

I decide to call the BMW Roadside Assistance, as they've thoughtfully put their embossed cards in the glove-box and the trunk. It's a short conversation: after asking about the steering wheel safety he can only call for a tow truck to drag my car to the dealership (the last place I'd bring it). No thanks. G'nite.

My neighbor, the original owner of the car, Alan, sits in the car. He looks around, relates he's never seen anything like it. Neither of us being car guys, that's it on the automotive sleuthing. Being males, we do pop the hood to gaze at the engine. It's still there.

I spend part of the evening, after the family has gone to sleep, checking the Internet BMW forums and pages for clues; no luck.

The next morning I call the independent shop which has been taking care of this car since Alan bought it. The mechanic has no suggestions at all in response to my rather excellent debugging snapshot of the car's state. He wants it towed to him. Sigh.

I speak to Alan's wife, Sondra, a frequent driver of the car. She remembers that the beater cars of her youth had wires leading under the steering column, and if those worked loose the symptoms were similar. So I venture outside, and with the aid of her clue and the daylight I spot the culprit: a ring which fits around the ignition, to which two wires are connected. I pop it back on and she starts right up!

Isaac: 1, Bimmer: 0.

Have you found errors nontrivial or marginal, factual, analytical and illogical, arithmetical, temporal, or even typographical? Please let me know; drop me email. Thanks!
 

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