The Car Girl Takes Over Twitter.... Sort of

Hey all,

I'm officially on Twitter. http://twitter.com/shiftinggearsas

It's automotive awesomeness taken to a whole new level!

Cheers,

TCG

Baby Drama!

Pictures are worth a thousand words, right? Well, here are my thousand words (probably more though!) to describe why my new-to-me Baby is behind bars in Blaine, Washington.

Yes, that's a 2001 VW Cabriolet to the left. She has a beautiful blue exterior coat with a tan leather interior and some sexy rims. Yes, she's a she and she is mine. Almost.

A family member had put her up "for sale" so the Man and I decided to "purchase" her. There were a few hitches, though.... First, she was located in Laguna Beach, California and somehow she would have to travel up the West Coast to be with her new family. Second, she would have to be exported from the USA and imported to Canada. Pretty simple, right? You betcha. I could have either put her on a car carrier or a train and waited for here in BC. But that was not good enough. I decided to buy a one-way ticket down to Cali and then drive her home. She's in good, working condition and she'd survive the 22 hour journey, so why not take that time to bond?!

Everything was going according to plan. I had sent all the proper paperwork to US Customs, organized the insurance I'd needed, got my recall letter from VW and all the other necessary items of business. I was literally good to go. So I went!

I boarded a very early flight to LA and arrived in style; bags in hand and under my eyes. I was so tired. It was fantastically sunny and warm outside so I said goodbye to the bags under my eyes and perked right up. Taco Bell, here I come... After being picked up at the airport, it was time to get all my paperwork organized. I went to the DMV in San Clemente and waited, and waited and waited. The lineup was so long but I guess that's what happens when a State is totally broke and public service agents are forced to take unpaid days off to cut back on costs.

Ding Ding. B36, register 09. Yessss, my number was called. Hours later and it was finally my turn. I went to the wicket and explained to the gentleman what my plan was, filled out the corresponding paperwork and Bob became my uncle. But something didn't seem right. He took the title to the car which was under my relatives name, which I assumed I would keep because the deal was done. I told him I'd be exporting it and I needed the title to take through customs. He said that the registration card that was given to me would be sufficient and that I would be mailed a new title. A new title? Wasn't the signing by the X's on the original title enough? Blondely, I believed him. While it didn't sit right, I let it sit and went on. Besides, if I had the registration card, that was my proof of ownership and that's what I needed to get through Customs.

Feeling awesome, paperwork in hand, I took my Little Princess up the Pacific Coast Highway to Newport Beach for our first drive together. That drive is to die for and I never tire of it. The water and the beaches are so divine. And of course, the road also leads to Fashion Island, which I paid a very brief visit to! If you were me, you would do it too.

Knowing that my drive ahead would be rather long, I went to bed relatively early. After all, my start drive time was 5:30 am because I wanted to beat LA traffic and I wanted to make it to Sacramento before dark. Clearly, my head was in outer space when I made this plan because I was in Sacramento by noon the next day! And yes, I beat the LA traffic but even at 6am, the highway was packed.

I was quite the driving nazi, only stopping for fuel when the tank was getting low and for food when my stomach was louder than the music playing. I didn't even take pee breaks because I wanted to make good time. Sorry, too much info, but it was essential to my story.

I ended up stopping in Willow, CA (I think that's what it was called!) for some more Taco Bell and a WiFi break. I had been on the road for about 6 hours. Luckily, there was a Starbucks there to feed my computer needs. I went in, set up shop and made a new plan. I had passed Sacramento and was now aiming for Eugene, Oregon. Keep in mind, I was flying solo on this trip so all driving was done by moi. I looked on priceline.com to see where I wanted to rest my head for the night. Alas, there were no 4-star hotels in Eugene so I had to make another plan. Portland was the only major city that could accommodate my princess-like needs. What to do? What to do? Keep driving or suck it up and stay at a 2.5-star hotel? For those who know me, 2.5-stars will not do. Besides, I had nothing better to do than drive, so that's what I did. Portland it is. The Benson hotel became my place of refuge for the night.

After plugging the hotel's destination into my handy Garmin GPS, I still had another 769 or so kilometers to drive!! My ETA was 10:10 pm! Oh my gosh, I still had so far to drive. Then again, what's another 800 kilometers when I've already driven 600+? I was a woman with a goal, and no one was going to stop me, not even the cops because, of course, I was driving the speed limit.

Around 8:30 pm or so I started seeing stars, and not the kind in the sky. I was so bagged but I was so close. Only 150kms to go and then I can pass out. Well, I made it. Checked in, made a few calls and passed out.

The next day was also an early start, but not as early. I was on the road driving by 7:20 am. I originally planned to make this a 3-day drive but wanted to cut it in half now that I knew I was a driving animal. While some might scratch their heads and ask, "Car Girl, why didn't you stop and tax-free shop in Oregon?" To that I say, "Because, when I have a goal, failure is not an option." Plus, Oregon isn't going anywhere anytime soon. I can always make a girls weekend out of it if I need a shopping fix.

I absolutely had to stop for food so I opted for drive-thru: Rotten Ronnie's it was. Somehow the bacon and egg McMuffin I ate tasted a lot greasier than here in Canada. Gross.

I made a plan to stop at Wal-Mart in Tulalip to get my Princess new wiper blades (she didn't see a lot of rain in Cali so hers were pretty shot) and some floor mats. Not having owned a car in quite some time, I felt like a proud new parent. All I wanted to do was spoil her and buy her accessories to pretty her up. Then the voice of reason kicked in and kicked me in the butt. I stuck with the wiper blades and floor mats and ventured North to the border.

So there I was, paperwork in hand with a cocky look on my face which read, "I did it! In your face." Then again, no one was trying to prove me wrong, or no one told me I couldn't do it so I'm not sure whose face I was addressing. I walked into US Customs and went to the window that said "Vehcile Export." I was so close to home I could smell it. Mmm, the Cloverdale manure.

I gave the officer my paperwork to which he said, "I need your title." I'm sorry, what? My title? I handed him the registration card that was given to me at the DMV and told him this was my title. "I can't accept that because we need the original title. Anyone can register a car, we need proof of ownership. Besides, they shouldn't have taken it from you. They don't know what they're doing in California." I was totally defeated. My smile turned upside down and I was fighting tears. Case and point, no title, no export. "What am I supposed to do?" I asked. He said, "Well, your car isn't going anywhere so I suggest you find a place to store it."

Oh, the agony. I walked out and immediately started to make calls. I was panicking and had no clue what to do. I called the Man, I called the relative, I texted my friend for sympathy, I even called the DMV for solace and a solution to my woes. Nothing helped. I was up a creek without a paddle, or in my case, stuck in the States without a title to legally export.

Then the floodgates of emotion opened. It happened so fast, almost like when my button popped off my pants years ago after eating too much food at the PNE. There was nothing I could do to expedite the export of my Cabrio. Having been on hold with the DMV for over 30 minutes each time I called, their suggestions were futile. I cried and cried and cried. Not only was I super tired, I had barely eaten anything so I could achieve my goal. I was completely alone and I was being separated from my Cabrio. If that wasn't enough to make you cry, than I don't know what is.

There I was, at the Canadian border, and I was WALKING through. I was so embarrassed and upset at the same time. I walked in to clear Customs and went to the next available wicket. I love Canada. With a puzzled look on his face, the CBSA gentleman asked, "Are you walking through?" I replied, "Yes, but not by choice." **Note, even in my times of trouble, I still try to keep my sense of wit in tact. "Really? Why is that?" asked friendly customs guy. "It's a long story," I said defeated. "Let me get comfortable." He literally rearranged himself in his chair and looked at me attentively. He wanted to know and I was more than willing to share. So, I shared. Ten minutes and a tear later I cleared customs and walked to my ride. Sometimes you just need someone to listen to you even if it's someone who can throw you in the slammer (not that he would because I wasn't doing anything illegal. I'm just saying!)

The solution to the chaotic problem was as follows: I put my Baby into a mini storage facility close to the border, got picked up, cried more, and am waiting for my title to come in the mail. One girl from the DMV said it could take 6-8 weeks but a more reliable source said otherwise. The waiting game is killing me BUT I know she is close to me and I can still visit her during visiting hours!

I thought I had all my ducks in a row but I guess a few of them flew south for the winter. Looking back on the situation, I'm glad it happened this way. There's nothing like a little bit of Baby drama.