death of a volkswagen

Driving home yesterday, I was daydreaming about my upcoming camping trip to mexico, you know, lounging on the beach sipping margaritas, diving in the sea with the leopard sharks. "Where can I find a snorkel," I pondered. Moving down the mental pre-departure to-do list, I thought to myself, "I should find a Bentley Manual and some duct tape, just in case..."

Pumping up the grade from La Jolla that turns into CA-52, I glanced up at the rear-view mirror to check the traffic behind me. And was surprised to note horrendous clouds of smoke billowing up from behind the van!

Oh some act of hubris met this redemption. I pulled off of 52 onto Regents hoping to make it to a residential neighborhood. The temperature gauge launched on a trajectory of doom; I cringed, braced, and mentally felt around for the fire extinguisher.

Came to rest in the nick of time on Jutland Drive on the Clairemont Mesa. Relieved to see that the fumes were indeed steam and not smoke. Sweet-smelling fluorescent life-giving fluids gushed from the left side of the engine compartment.

Passer-by immediately stops (had followed from the freeway?) - fellow Volkswagen owner - offers ride home, telephone call, home baked cookies.

We hope that it's just a burst tube or blown connection. The nice man at Wolf's Foreign Car Service has another description: "blown cylinder head stud", prognosis: "new engine, or junk yard."