I have been down in Culpeper for the last two weeks, right across the holidays.
The skies have been filled the portents of the season- gray skies and chill rain with the prospect of as much as three inches of the white stuff. In preparation, I ventured to the Safeway and the VABC store, just in case, and on the Safeway leg of errands, re-provisoning complete, I turned the key on the Panzer to zoom back up Rt. 3 to the turn to Refuge Farm.
Click click. Nothing. Zip nada. The Benz people let me down.
First issue was trying to find the hood release lever, which the engineers had placed in an inaccessible place under the dashboard on this Panzer model. I dropped my cane to kneel and peer into the gloom. If I could not open the hood, I was double screwed. Back in Michigan is was not uncommon to see forlorn motorists in the frigid parking lot, holding one end of their jumper cables in the air and looking bummed out.
I don’t have AAA. Why would I? I drive what was a fancy car, or at least what is considered such up in snooty Arlington. Thank God I have good friends. I called Mattski for help, and he dropped what he was doing and sped over to give me a jump. Great guy- one of those men you can count on.
Eventually we found the hood release. We popped it open with a satisfying “clunk.”
If you have not been in the engine compartment of a German vehicle you will find there literally nothing there for the uninitiated. Where there used to be plugs and carbs and pullies and belts there is a sheet of steel and composite that screams out that Stuttgart doesn’t want you to tamper with their work.
The battery was worse. It was nestled under a large air-handler, clipped to the firewall, and identifiable only by the red plastic tab covering the positive terminal.
Mattski is an engineer of things even more ridiculous than the Panzer, though, and adeptly identified grounding points for the negative (anywhere conductive) and we were ready to go. Of course I had jumper cables in the back- I am from Michigan- and in a moment we were grounded between cars and when I turned the key, was delighted to hear the engine roar into full-throated Prussian life.
I was eager to get home while the engine was still running- diagnosis incomplete. But I was pretty sure it was battery alone. I was hoping there was nothing upstream and more technical in the system. These are expensive beasts to fix, but don’t need to be fixed that often, so there is a clear tradeoff in ownership.
Made it home, the ice cream still only sloshy.
Matt was kind enough to bring over his trickle-charger, and the Panzer obediently began to suck up energy, albeit slowly. So slowly that was not until the next day that the indicator went green. Friends- generous ones- are critical and I am glad I live next to some.
So the next immediate challenge was to find a replacement battery. I have been swapping them out all of my driving life, including the one in my old Sebring convertible. The sleek design of that model mandated placement in the front of the forward left wheel-well. That required jacking the car, removing the wheel and fiddling with the inner cover to get access while hoping the jack didn’t fall and drop the champagne-colored beauty on my head.
While hoping the failing battery would get a charge to start the car again, I found a video that informed me of the process of replacing the battery. A replacement could probably be found in one of the outlets- after all, this is the country and people commute to all sorts of places and need their vehicles.
I quickly discovered the mysteries of removing the air-handler, installing the hydrogen bleed valve, and the location of the bracket that holds the battery in place. The screws to the metal plate are conveniently located in a narrow slot at the bottom of the battery. A socket set is highly recommended, with the extension shaft.
Crap. There may be one in the pile of tools from Dad in the garage. I meant to turn it into a workshop, but I don’t go down there in the winter. Plus, the World’s Fastest Production Pickup needs a new battery, and hasn’t been started in a couple years and would accuse me of abandonment.
Anyway, I began to call around the auto parts places. Thank God the satellite internet connection worked. In the summer when the foliage is lush, the line-of-site to the geostationary orbit can be When Mattski came by to see if the green light had come on, and it had, he suggested one battery place that did direct sales and installation. I had already tried to find local “Special Weird European Batteries” on Google, and decided to go with Mattski’s recommendation. I called the shop and a very nice and helpful lady said they had the battery, but the gnomes of Stuttgard would not authorize installation on their brand.
Damn- I either had to buy tools to attempt to ruin the car myself, or make this a two-part deal if I could find someone authorized to do the work. The nice lady at Advance told me the name of a place over by Martin’s Supermarket that might be able to do the work. I thanked her and wrote down the name of the company, which apparently is the place north of Charlottesville that could accommodate my requirements.
I checked their ratings- five star- and hoped that Panzer would cooperate and start to go over. Through sad experience, I have a trusted tow-truck operator that could, in a pinch, haul Panzer to the place if necessary, but the whole thing was looking a bit daunting. If it started, I could always try to drive back to Arlington and the Dealer, but the idea of standing next to Panzer on the nightmare of Interstate 66 holding the clips to my jumper cables in the air filled me with apprehension. And dread.
Miracles do happen. I could not try to start the car without actually being prepared to go if it did. It might be the only charge left. I tossed and turned all night, wondering about cars and country and being on a little horse property five miles out of town.
I will keep this short. The shop was nice, the help helpful, and in only $568 bucks I had a new battery. The Panzer awaits faithfully in the circular gravel drive. I am a liberated man.
Thanks to friends. There is nothing like them in the country. In fact, there is no life without them.
– Vic