Carter Vs The Fonz

You may or may not have noticed that I haven’t been bleating about my car lately. You may or may not have already guessed that I am about to do just that.

If you have ever owned or worked on a turn of the century diesel Mondeo, then you may be familiar with the term Dual Mass Flywheel. If so, then you will also be familiar with the cost of installing such an item. Symptoms of the DMF failing are problems with the starter motor and clutch noise. Over the last few weeks I’ve noticed that the clutch sounds a mite dodgy when pressure is applied and that every now and then the starter motor will cough rather than turn. This cough is the sound of teeth rapidly spinning and failing to engage properly.

Yes. I wince every time.

On Saturday, after a game of golf where I snatched defeat from the jaws of victory (I was 10 shots up on my oppo after only 8 holes and managed to lose the game by 1 stroke), the starter motor did something even more worrying than usual; it just span and didn’t even try to engage with the flywheel. No “Ouch” sound but no bloody useful activity either. Whilst ordinarily being stuck at the golf club would be a good thing, my feet were hurting and I wanted to go for a pint.

Between me and my golf partner Bazza, we managed to get it going. I’m not sure whether rocking it back and forth whilst in gear or whether a few smart taps on the bell housing with my putter did the trick, but it got going again and a pint was had.

Bazza insists it was the car sensing his need for a beer, but he credits my wagon with senses beyond those of a normal mechanical item. Since then, it doesn’t like to be started and I have regressed to my superstitious and ham-fisted ways in getting the thing going. My method is far from exact and it is not good for the flywheel (which I think is duff) but as long as I can get to and from work for the next two days, it will do.

It’s booked into the garage to get the clutch noise looked at and I’m looking at a new thrust bearing, clutch kit, Dual Mass Flywheel and a boatload of labour which will cost more than the parts. Couple that with the 125,000 mile service and two tyres it had last week, I’m looking at more than I paid for the car in the first place, which was only purchased 10 months ago.

As is usual for this time of year, I face the dilemma of paying for the work to be done or doing the Annual Carter Used Car Dance which so amuses my work colleagues. This year, I think it’s a no-brainer. I’ve been looking after this car, it drives very nicely and aside from this latest rash of problems that are directly related to the DMF, it has a clean bill of health from the Ford dealership that carried out the service.

When I was a young man in my late teens, every car I had made me feel like The Fonz and I hadn't expected this one to.





You may wonder how on earth a Cortina Estate or a Sierra with a max speed of 65mph or a MKIII Escort 1.1L could ever make anyone look cool. Well, in short they didn’t. What they did all have was secret button that only you as the car owner knew about. When the Fonz hit the Jukebox in just the right spot, that was me every morning getting ready to go to work.

“Carter, your car won’t start!”
“Have you got the choke pulled out two thirds?”
“Yes.”
“I have you turned the ignition on and off 3 times?”
“Yes.”
“How old was the chicken that you sacrificed last night?”
“About 6 months I think.”
“6 months? It’s never going to start then is it you stupid bint!”

Give it here. No one else can start *my* car. 

Or at least that’s what I told myself it felt like. They were pieces of crap that should never have been on the road in the first place, not supernatural beings that only I could control. The thing was though, that I had convinced myself that after a car reached a certain age and had been through a certain number of owners, it attained a level of superstition and mysticism that guaranteed only the owner would be able to start the car with any amount of regularity. Fonz Style.

While it was nice to feel 17 all over again, it will be even nicer to return to relatively worry free motoring. It will be a shame to get rid of this car. The fag lighter works and as any fule no, that's the sign of a good car.