After my stolen car was found totaled, I didn’t think it would be stolen again. I was wrong.
In Part I of my car theft saga, I talked about what happened the day I got my car back, after it was found abandoned on the side of a nearby highway. As I wrote in that story, the cleaning out of the car was painful and sad, involving a homeless mother and her kids, drugs, and cleaning supplies (not to mention the vibrator). During that long day of sorting and discarding, the question hanging over everything was this: is my car worth fixing?
I love living in NE Portland, and one of the reasons is that I have such a great community of neighbors. A fellow parent from my kids elementary school lives a few blocks away, and restores antique cars for a living. He kindly offered to take a look at my now-dead 1997 Honda Accord and see if we could get it started.
At first, the engine wouldn’t ever turn over. It looked like the thieves had overheated it and then, in a frantic effort to fix it without having the faintest idea what they were doing, poured in so much oil that it overflowed and ended up in all kinds of places oil should never be. This was especially galling, given that I had spent almost $4000 a few years back to replace the engine, so when the car was stolen out of my driveway, it had been in perfect condition. What the hell had someone done in eleven days that could possibly have turned my beloved elderly car into garbage? I couldn’t even imagine how they had overheated it so badly.
I’m not a mechanic, so I won’t attempt to describe everything my neighbor tried, but long story short, after trying and failing several times to even get the damn car to start, he finally suggested a last-ditch effort of buying new spark plugs, and lo and behold, the engine started. The next day, I drove it into my mechanic to take a look. I figured since they were the ones who had done so much for me a few years before, replacing the dead engine with a new rebuilt one, they were best positioned to know if the car was worth fixing now that it was in such bad shape.
Gingerly, I lowered myself behind the wheel, with all the windows open (not that it helped). The interior smelled like a spilled ashtray, Everything felt “off” — the familiar motions of starting my car and pulling away from the curb, once second nature, now felt uncomfortably foreign. It felt even worse as I noticed how the car almost stalled out every time I slowed down. I had to throw it in neutral and keep my foot on the gas even when braking at stop signs. As I pulled into my mechanic’s shop, the car died… Seemed prophetic.
The prognosis wasn’t good. In addition to the things I already knew about, like the broken sunroof and passenger door, the engine had overheated so badly it was not fixable and would need to be replaced. Again. Plus, the head gasket was likely blown. The cost of everything was going to be far more than was worth it to restore a twenty-three year old car, even one as sturdy as this Honda. We discussed what they thought I could get for it advertising it as a “mechanic’s special” and fully disclosing its story. I had hoped to advertise it for $750 or best offer, but they didn’t think anyone would pay more than a few hundred, given that the engine was so destroyed that someone could barely get any usable parts out of it.
Sad and pissed off, I reversed my route and drove the fifteen or so blocks home. I called a pick-and-pull place and got an estimate of $75 that they’d pay me for my car — but at least that included coming to my house and towing it. I debated trying to sell it on Craiglist or Nextdoor for a few hundred, but first, I needed to find the car title, which of course, in keeping with the shittiness of everything else this year, was nowhere to be found. I saw on the DMV website that it would cost hundreds just to get a replacement title for the car so that I could legally sell or donate it (for less than that).
On the bright side, I called the DMV and actually got through to a human being who told me if I sent in both the form for a replacement title plus the form for a salvage title, the cost would be only $27. So I sent off the forms and a check, figuring that several weeks later when I had the salvage title in hand, I could try to either sell it or donate it. And then I woke up yesterday morning to find that the car, parked in front of my house ever since my sad trip to the mechanic, was gone. Stolen! Again! Despite being barely driveable, despite having no license plates!
I can do nothing but laugh. How far could they have gotten in that heap, stalling out every few blocks? Surely it will turn up soon, probably abandoned within a 20-block radius of my house. Did Corissa come back for it, hoping to find her stuff? Did Miguel come again to steal his lady friend’s car back for her, hoping to get another sappy Valentine card in thanks? Or, more likely, did some completely different tweaker or joy-rider see a 1997 Honda, the so-called “easiest car to steal,” and peel out of here in fits and starts, just happy to have a car to get high in for a few hours?
Only time will tell. I will say that seeing it in front of the house each day was a sad reminder, plus it was an eyesore with its broken door and roof. So maybe Thief 2.0 did me a favor. Although it might have been nice to get that whopping $75 from pick-and-pull. Besides, if it never turns up, I’ll always wonder where it is, and keep waiting for the call when it turns up abandoned and broken-down and I have to deal with it again. Even though I took off the plates, I assume the VIN would be traced back to me, so I won’t really rest easy until I know it’s been officially salvaged. Meanwhile, I remain both sad and angry about the original loss of my car, now with an extra layer of dark amusement that it’s gone again. What a year.
(Psst, to see what happened when I got it back, see Part III of the story)