There are certain sounds you recognize immediately, even when you really, really wish you didn’t.
THWACK.
In May of this year, I was somewhere between Phoenix and Flagstaff, a couple of hours into a road trip, when a rock hit Beep’s windshield.
I’d heard that sound before. My previous Jeep, Sunny, had taken a few to the face during our time together, but with surprisingly little consequence. He did acquire a small divot in the glass, but not one concerning enough for anyone to mention when I returned him at the end of the lease.
So when I heard the familiar noise, I hoped for the same.
At most, maybe a tiny chip…or perhaps I’d hit an insect-identifying-as-a-stone.
At least, maybe absolutely nothing (c’mon nothing…).
Then I saw the crack.
It wasn’t enormous. Yet.
And I had absolutely no intention of turning around.
This was my birthday “holiday” to see trees, a huge hole in the ground, and maybe some wildlife. I had an agenda – a stop in Flag, Williams, a couple canyons (Walnut and Grand), some hiking…
This uninvited new addition to the weekend was not going to sabotage things.
Anxious, from his position up-close-and-personal, on the dash regarded the situation with the level of concern you might expect from a duck that worries a lot and isn’t familiar with the phrase “inside voice”.
THAT MEAN TRUCK THREW SOMETHING AT US! IS THE GLASS GOING TO CAVE IN ON ME?
No, buddy! Well, probably not…
My strategy for the next few days was highly technical: Keep an eye on it.
Onward and upward towards N. Arizona.
The crack grew a bit that first day, but importantly, it wasn’t heading toward the driver’s side. I could see perfectly well.
So we made it to Flagstaff. Then Williams. Then everything else I had intended to do.
However, each day, the fracture got slightly more ambitious.
It traveled across the passenger side, eventually making its way toward another wounded area (a tiny ding that I hadn’t initially noticed) until the whole thing looked considerably more un-ignorable than it had when the original rock hit.
I documented its progress, because it was better than doing nothing.
Ahhh, this was not exactly the scenery I’d planned to photograph.
But, I wasn’t going to let that ripple over the whole trip.
There were far better ways to spend my birthday than sitting in an auto glass shop in a town I didn’t know.
Eventually, after hills had been hiked, grandeur glimpsed, and wildlife watched, I arrived back in Phoenix.
The now-larger crevice could have my attention.
With some trepidation…
After many, many years living in Chicago, relying on public transportation and my feet, car maintenance and insurance weren’t things routinely on my radar. I had questions and was anticipating pain points throughout the repair process.
Beep is leased. Did I have to have the replacement done at my dealership? I’d noticed a small gorilla character in the corner of the glass – did the new glass also have to feature a primate? How did insurance work? I’d remembered State Farm telling me when I first moved here that this type of replacement was covered because apparently it’s an expected occurrence.
This had all the makings of an annoying project.
Except it wasn’t.
The dealership’s requirement was essentially: we only ask that there’s some form of windshield in place when you return your vehicle.
Okay – don’t return it with a big gaping hole, got it.
Turns out State Farm had changed its policy. Replacements are no longer automatically covered in full. The agent couldn’t confirm if my rates would be affected but she did recommend a local company she personally used, T&S Auto Glass.
T&S researched options, talked me through the insurance piece and offered to come to me.
Hmmmm. That was convenient!
Aha… my apartment complex doesn’t like outside vendors working on the property – there’s a wrench in the works.
“No problem. Use the garage. Just give us a head’s up.”
Wait. Really?
Nature versus Beep had been a “rocky” opponent (sorry, had to), but the human component was surprisingly smooth.
So, a few days later, the technician from T&S pulled his truck into the underground carpark and offered to take Beep’s keys while I headed back upstairs.
Nice offer, but if Beep was getting surgery, I wanted to be nearby.
There was an elaborate-looking suction-cuppy contraption, some sort of blade and, eventually, the entire front window came off in one piece.
Which was both fascinating and mildly alarming.
Soon, the new piece was in place.
But, the procedure wasn’t quite done. The tech explained that the brave blue patient’s systems still needed to be recalibrated, he was going to pilot my Jeep while monitoring everything on his computer.
There it was… Finally, a true problem.
“Nobody drives Beep but me.”
Nobody else got behind Sunny’s wheel either. No valet, no friends, no family.
And, no push back whatsoever from the tech. I drove, he recalibrated (which seemed better anyway, given how intently he had to watch the screen).
And presto – Beep had a non-bug splattered, shiny new windshield.
All relatively easy.
Yet there was one remaining question – whether the insurance claim would raise my rates…
As timing would have it, my new six-month premium arrived the other day. Ugh… it went up.
Twenty-five cents a month.
For a quarter a month, Beep has a blemish-free face and Anxious was able to officially step away from glass-avalanche watch.
I’LL STAND DOWN FOR NOW… BUT I HAVE TRUCK TRUST-ISSUES.
Oh little one, I’m guessing Beep feels the same way…
