Diesel-tastrophe

For our family vacation through southern France this week, we decided to rent a car. We were hitting a lot of spots in the Grenoble area, also going to the French Riviera, and maybe going to Switzerland—I thought that having the car would be the cheapest, most flexible, fastest (for our itinerary, at least), and ultimately easiest way to travel.

I picked up the car at Midi, the main Brussels train station. It was my first time behind the wheel in three months, and it was a stick, which is not my custom. And it was also in Brussels, which in my opinion makes for unpleasant driving. I was very busy stalling the car the first few minutes of operation, and when I left the parking garage at Midi I had to drive around randomly until my GPS figured out where I was, so it could direct me home to pick up the family and our luggage.

On the whole, though, Naomi and I both felt that the driving went ok (once we got out of Brussels), whether on the autoroute, on mountain roads, or just around town. Yesterday we drove from Grenoble to the French Riviera, and the trip took us through some beautiful mountain vistas. About an hour before our destination I stopped for gas. The rental car took diesel, as do most cars here; it was my perception that Europe basically runs on diesel. The gas pump had four hoses, none labeled diesel. Under the circumstances, though, I assumed they were different grades of diesel. So I chose the lowest grade and pumped a full tank, and we all know where the story goes from here.

It was not diesel that I pumped into the car, but rather regular unleaded gasoline. I happily pulled back onto the autoroute, and then almost immediately I started to get engine knock and hesitancy in pickup. It was a horrible, sinking feeling, and Naomi and I quickly diagnosed the problem. I would have liked to pull over onto the shoulder and stopped driving—I know it's bad for the engine to drive on the wrong kind of gas—but the shoulder basically was wide enough for a car and no more, and I thought parking in the shoulder, possibly for hours, was a recipe for death. So I drove to the next exit, perhaps 3 or 4 miles away. At the first stop there, at Le Muy, waiting in line to pay the toll, the car conked out and wouldn't start again (although the starter system could turn the engine over fine). A toll worker helped me push the car through the toll (stopping to pay, of course), and we parked the car on the side of the road a few more feet up.

Naomi had already made contact with Avis, our rental company, and they got a tow truck under way. Naomi snapped some pictures of the girls and me standing in front of the tow truck with our car on the back, and then we drove to the garage. Our Avis guy helped us get a taxi to St. Rafael, which at about 15 miles away was the nearest Avis franchise that had a car available for us. We got the new rental car, had dinner in St. Rafael, and then headed to our true destination, Juan-les-Pins.

This experience evoked a lot of ambivalent feelings. On the negative side: I was clearly an idiot; we were out an additional 265€ ($350) for the tow and car repair, and another 75€ ($100) for the cab ride; we lost 3 hours; and for the third night in four, we were putting the girls to bed in the back seat of our car. But the negatives were substantially outweighed by the positives: I thought the repair would be $1000 to $2000, so 265€ was a relief; we only lost 3 hours—it could have been a lot longer, and the girls held up great and we got to our destination ok; we got to spend a little time in a nice town not on our itinerary (St. Rafael); we learned a valuable lesson about fuel dispensers; and fundamentally we were all ok. Furthermore, we were lucky because we just got to the garage before it closed (when we left the garage, it was after its official closing time); we were able to get a taxi to take us a long distance on short notice, and this only succeeded because our taxi driver was in our neighborhood ending his shift, and heading home right near St. Rafael; and the Avis franchise with our new car was held open extra expressly in anticipation of our arrival.

I have to give snaps to Avis, because I felt we were given excellent and kindly support. And I also think it's amazing how quickly it was possible for our plan to be adapted. In the age before cell phones and GPS navigational systems, our story would have likely been much more unpleasant.

After dinner in St. Rafael, we packed ourselves into the new car and headed out. After a few minutes, JoJo helpfully asked, "When is Daddy going to break the car again?"