Mobile ...

I have my baby back.

She was with my mechanic for nearly two weeks and before that, she was stranded in my garage, the poor thing.

My father very helpfully came by with a new battery for her and we swapped out the old for the new so I could get her to my mechanic on a Wednesday. And I gave him a list of issues I needed him to address or check and I asked him when he might have things done and he said, "Friday."

"This Friday?", I asked, incredulously.

He shrugged. "Yeah, probably."

So that Friday came. And went. And the following Monday. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday. And Saturday. And Sunday. And Monday.

Uh oh.

But late on Monday, the call came. My car was ready. Since I'd been having an issue with my battery draining, my mechanic kept my car to let it just sit, to see what would happen, to make sure the culprit was found and remedied.

Phew. I thought the two-days-that-turned-into-nearly-two-weeks meant that something very big was very wrong. But no.

So my brother gave me a ride to my mechanic's garage, since he was kind of heading that way anyway, and I handed off a check and hopped in my car and she started right up. Oh, the joy.

And I started to make my way home, and about a third of the way into the trip, something felt very wrong with my brakes.

My brakes had not been an issue I needed him to address, but my brakes felt strange, and given that my brother had recently had a very big problem with his brakes, I decided to turn around and head back to the garage.

My mechanic was surprised to see me, and was surprised to hear of my issue with my brakes, but he's a very good guy, so he took my keys and got behind the wheel and we took her for a drive and of course, I didn't feel what I had felt before.

Until we turned onto the newly paved road and then, oh yes, there it was, the issue.

Turned out, I needed a rotor cut. My mechanic assured me that my brakes would be just fine, and we arranged for me to come back the next morning, first thing, and he would take care of her while I waited.

Which is what we did. And he pulled both rotors to cut both rotors, not because it's best to keep things equal, but because he is a pragmatic, smart man, and said that he was pretty sure he knew which rotor was causing the trouble, but he didn't want to cut just one, put my car back together, and take it for a drive only to discover that the other rotor was the culprit and then have to take my car apart all over again.

So he cut both. And the one he thought was the problem wasn't really the problem, and the one that he thought wasn't the problem needed to be cut twice.

He put everything together and we took it for a ride and it felt just fine, a nice, smooth stop.

So I went home and baked chocolate chip cookies for him and wrapped them in waxed paper in pairs and put them in a Ziploc bag, not the sexiest of presentations, but practical for a mechanic with grubby hands, so he could grab as many cookies as he wanted without covering the rest in oil and grease.

And I drove to his garage and dropped them off and he asked how my car was performing and I told him that it felt just fine.

I opened the door and said, "See you in three thousand miles."

And I spent the rest of the day running errands.

It's good to have wheels again.