It could have been a line from a crime novel. But it’s wasn’t. It was the sound I heard just before my 550 Spyder rolled slowly to a halt. The engine was running and the gears were changing but somehow the power wasn’t getting to the wheels. Somewhere in the mechanical marvel right behind my head, something had said enough. Thankfully, for a car with no roof, this happened close to home and on a fine day.
I’d just washed the car for the first time, in the process figuring out how to do that without filling the cockpit with water (the trick, it turns out, is to be really careful) and on the drive back to the storage garage I experienced the aforementioned clunk. It was followed by cursing, grunting and swearing as the car was pushed the final 50 metres to the storage garage by myself and my lovely wife.
A few days later the 550 was dragged unceremonially on to the back of a car transporter and taken to the wizards at the Powerhaus. I have to admit as it was driven away my only thought was that even on the back of a flat deck transporter, the car looked good!
Footnote: I got a call later that day to say that the patient was sick but could be cured easily and quickly without the need for any form of open heart surgery. Apparently a nut and bolt holding the drive shaft had come away which, for a modest sum, could be replaced and the car will be as good as new.
Now all I need is a fine day to drive it home.