My new car is fraught with danger and intrigue. It was abandoned 2+ years when its globe-trotting journalist-owner took an assignment in Iraq and Afghanistan. Both the owner (Monte Morin) and the car (Mazda Miata) have the initials ‘M&M.’ But this red convertible is no piece of candy. It was left with a full tank of gas which became a toxic stew; poisoning the fuel line; poisoning the engine. When I take her for a spin, I may or may not take the top down, but I must display a skull and cross bones.

An English sea captain suggested the reclamation project. This boyfriend of my sister seemed a real life-saver in his determination to get me wheels: performing CPR on the battery, surveying the motor, and declaring it road-worthy. Little did I realize that he wanted me dead. I missed the first clue: he named it The Red Peril.

The photos below show my first encounter with the car. Christine, the fotog, followed me 10 miles to a Smog tester. My mission was to get her there, and encourage the tester in the believe that this dusty, filthy, roaring roadster should pass. We arrived just at 8am, the first customers, and met by Lawrence, a friendly, lanky, cackling career car guy who after decades owning and managing repair shops, fixing the cars of gangsters and murderers in Chino, wound up as the sole technician of this computer-operated, state-sanctioned center. He regaled us with tales of his past, gave sound auto advice, hooked up the car to various diagnostic machines, tested her… and read the news: she passed.

The next step in the project was to obtain Monte’s signature on the car title. We met in a dark bar in downtown Los Angeles, an area of converted lofts and their gentrifiers, but still surrounded by a menacing homeless population. I slid a book of matches to Monte and he lit a match to view the title. Over a couple drinks, we conversed and he studied the title, being sure that he signed the correct section. I didn’t even look at the doc because sometimes I completely defer to people who are more intelligent than me. Monte and I made a gentleman’s agreement: he signed it away for free, but it’s not mine to sell. After an hour or so, we departed. I would return 2 days later to the nearby LA Times building, where Monte would give me a tour and sign the correct line of the title.

The DMV segment was easy: I’d made an appointment, and the process took just a few minutes. I gave them a checkcard, they gave me a registration document and a sticker.

The final step was going back down to Christine’s, to get the car. I put the sticker on the tag, put Red Line fuel injector cleaner into the fuel tank, and headed North. Alas, in Laguna Beach that day, the highway was closed due to a broken sewer line. Laguna has the ocean on one side, and mountains on the other. Suddenly the cheery motoring on the PCH gave way to uphill stop-and-go traffic, a stressful re-introduction to the quirks of a manual transmission.

Now I realize just how dangerous that drive was. The engine has been cutting out while driving. It happened a couple times in Joshua Tree and in Palm Springs. I wrongly let another few days go by without looking into it. I was planning on changing the plugs and fuel filter myself. But if you don’t do something yourself and also don’t let others do it, it remains undone. So there I was, on the 10 Freeway Monday when — the engine quit while cruising in the middle lane. Fortunately I was able to get to the left lane (it was a left exit I’d been approaching) and restart her. The next day I had a mechanic change the plugs, change the filter, and then Jiffy Lube performed a fuel system cleaning. LOT of stuff came out… the technician was impressed. He said I’d definitely notice better engine performance. I hope ‘better’ means ‘not cutting out.’

For the next few days I’m going to do surface road driving only, here in Venice/Santa Monica. The tank’s empty, so I’ll fill her up with primo. I feel good about it. I’m glad that I am alive. I also count the other blessings: my sister, Monte’s trust, Lawrence.. I’m just kind of bummed to realize that the friendly sea captain wants me dead. Ah, but what’s that old expression: the enemy of your enemy is your friend; the boyfriend of your sister wants you smashed to smithereens on Interstate 10.. Oh well, I’m turning the corner.. I’ve renamed the car, and I’ll win over the captain. I’ll be back on the freeway soon.

On your mark, get set….. MANDY!!