May 5, 2023 4 min read

This new car of my is a real kick to drive. It’s lower to the ground than my previous, larger Subaru – but not so low that I have to make grunting noises when getting in and out of it – and it hugs the road. As someone who can be stricken with remorse after buying a Starbucks latte, I’m happy to say I’m happy with the purchase.

Except for one thing: the bike rack.

The previous car had a trailer hitch receptacle bolted onto the back; all the cycling months of the year, my bike rack stayed attached to the car that way. When folded up, the rack stayed tight against the car. But this new car is different.

Not wanting to spend the money for a permanent hitch, I got a sling rack, the kind with straps that hook into the tailgate. It’s sturdy enough, but it juts out from the back of the car by at least a couple of feet. Those extra feet have added extra moments of fretting, measuring and yes, trouble to my life.

The bike rack makes the car take up more space in the garage. If I pull the car all the way up to the garage wall, there’s room for the garage door to close while clearing the rack by about six inches, something I’ve learned in the two months since I got the car. We’re talking mere centimeters, but miscalculate and I’m in for a mess.

The first week, I pulled the car into the garage, got out, walked around the back, up the other side and pushed the wall button to close the garage door. It occurred to me that I might not have pulled the car far enough forward, but then remembered the garage door has that sensor that will cause it to reverse if something is in the way. (Like the notebook that was just slightly jutting into its path from a messy corner of the garage, causing the door to do a confusing up-and-down.)

From where I was standing, the bike rack looked to be clear of the door. I pushed the button and the door started grinding downward. And hit the bike rack-either did not notice it, was not paying attention, or saw the rack and didn’t care. But the door landed on the rack with a sickening crunch.

I hit the wall button, but the door didn’t move. It was stuck on the bike rack. This was not good, I thought, as I ran to the car to check for damage to the car (none) and then to try to lift the door off the rack (nope). As dollar signs danced mockingly through my brain, I thought about how long my car would be trapped in the garage.

My daughter and her new husband were here for a visit, upstairs napping. I beckoned them with wild eyes and praying hands. The two of them, being tall and young, got on either side of the garage door and lifted it off the bike rack as I got into the car and pulled it another few inches forward.

As I pushed the wall button and watched the garage door close normally, I shouted my thanks to the kids.

“You’re so dramatic, Mom,” my daughter said. I thought about telling her all the ways this episode could have ended: expensive door fix, expensive car fix, new bike rack, stuck at home until the garage door guy could come and extricate me – losing my job and all my friends.

Instead, I thanked the two of them again, about a thousand more times. And then I made a mental note: pull all the way up to the wall.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.