Do cars have a soul? Part 2

Tucson, Old Pueblo Harley Davidson, Parking Lot... I scrambled back into the car, my gaze fixed on the clutch pedal. It looked like a relic of a bygone era—lifeless, depressed all the way to the carpet, as if mourning its own existence. You know that vacant, shell-shocked expression people get when life gleefully throws a wrench into their carefully curated plans? Like being told you have terminal cancer right after booking a two-week vacation to the Bahamas. Or stepping out of a casino, for once with pockets full of winnings, only to be immediately robbed at gunpoint. Or drifting alone in the middle of the Pacific on a hot pink dinghy, contemplating how you got there in the first place.

That was me. Completely inept at processing what was happening.

It wasn’t my first time looking like this either. A couple of years back in Nairobi, my equally untrustworthy Land Rover had crawled—on its last mechanical breath—into a friend’s driveway. There, with a dramatic sigh, it had croaked, collapsed, and refused to so much as twitch ever again.

This was déjà vu.

All attempts to stare, talk to, or threaten the clutch pedal back into compliance failed spectacularly. I took a deep breath, exhaled a string of curses, and began to ponder our predicament.

Option one: Set the car on fire. A simple, elegant solution that had the added benefit of being highly satisfying.

An opening excerpt from What Could Possibly Go Wrong? Chronicles of Chaos and Courage remains available here. The full book can be ordered here.