The first real cold morning this month, the Corolla made a noise when I turned the key that sounded like it was asking me a question. It started, eventually. I sat in the driveway watching my breath fog the inside of the windshield and decided it was time to stop assuming a 2012 car would figure winter out by itself.
My car has about 124,000 miles on it. It got new brakes and rotors in October for $465, which I paid from checking and my car line in the club sheet, so the stopping part is in good shape. The rest of winter prep I'd been putting off. Last Saturday I made a list, drove to an auto parts store in Skokie, and spent $74.
The $74 checklist
Here's what I bought and what each thing cost:
- Winter wiper blades, a pair: $32. The old ones were streaking so badly that I was driving to work on Green Bay Road squinting.
- A snow brush with a scraper on the end: $14. My old one snapped in half last February.
- Winter-rated washer fluid: $4. The summer kind can freeze in the lines.
- A small LED flashlight: $10.
- Hand warmers, a ten-pack: $8.
- A bag of cat litter for traction: $6. If I get stuck on ice, I can pour it under the tires.
That's 32 + 14 + 4 + 10 + 8 + 6 = $74, paid from checking and logged in the car line of the club sheet.
The free stuff mattered too. The auto parts store tested my battery at no charge, and it passed, though the guy said it's on the older side and to plan for a new one in the next year or two. I wrote "battery, maybe 2026" in the club sheet. My dad gave me his old jumper cables, which are older than I am and still work. My mom donated a fleece blanket from the linen closet that I'm pretty sure was mine in high school. And I checked the tire pressure, which drops when it gets cold, at a gas station air pump for a dollar in quarters.
What the roadside coverage actually does
My car is still on my parents' auto policy, and that policy includes roadside assistance. Until this month I had a fuzzy idea that it meant someone would "come help." I called my dad's agent to find out what it actually covers instead of guessing at 6 a.m. on a frozen morning.
As it was explained to me, our roadside coverage handles the basic stuff: a tow to a nearby repair shop if the car won't move, a jump start, a lockout if I lock the keys in, a flat tire change with my own spare, and delivery of a little fuel if I run out. There's a limit on towing distance, so if I broke down far from home, I might pay for the extra miles. It doesn't pay for the repair itself, just for getting the car somewhere it can be fixed.
Two things I hadn't known. First, using roadside isn't the same as filing a collision or comprehensive claim. Second, the number I'm supposed to call is on the insurance card in my glove box, and now it's also saved in my phone as "Tow truck, Dad's policy," which is the least fun contact I have. If I slide into a ditch because of ice, that's a different situation, and it could become a collision claim with a deductible. Roadside just gets me out.
Where everything lives now
The trunk now has a plastic bin with the blanket, the cables, the flashlight, the hand warmers, the cat litter and a spare pair of gloves. The snow brush lives behind the driver's seat. My phone charger stays plugged into the car. If the car dies on the way to work at 7:45 on a January morning when it's below zero, I'll at least be warm and annoyed instead of cold and panicked.
I know this isn't exciting. Nobody has ever posted a picture of their winter car bin and gotten a lot of likes. But $74 and a Saturday morning felt like a fair trade for not standing on Sheridan Road in the dark wondering who to call. Juno supervised the whole thing from the porch window, which I'm choosing to read as approval.
