Oh thank the lord today is over. Seriously. Last night Caroline and I went out for a healthy dinner that consisted of lots and lots of water, caesar salads, spinich artichoke dip and an apple dessert. Ok, not that healthy, but better than the "pizza-beer-wings that didn't necessarily stay down long enough to be digested" of last night. Ugh. But I was a packing fiend, hangover or no hangover and I was ready to leave at 9am today. But Caroline and I agreed to meet for breakfast, and that didn't happen till 10-ish, so I didn't get onto I-81 south till almost 11am. Why do I do everything with Caroline? She's my best friend, we just do, ok? No it doesn't get boring, we have enough random crisis in our lives to make every conversation at least a bit interesting.
Now my car is the infamous Roy the Raging Tempo, a 1986 white Ford that likes to stop working when he feels like it, which is about as often as Oasis band breakups. I was a little nervous, to say the least. So outside of Marathon, NY I am crusing at 70, crankin' the tunes and settling in for the almost 7hr drive when suddenly, Roy stops drinkin' his gas....I am in the fast lane. This is not good. But I get over and get off the highway before he completely shuts off. Well blast. Zoot. I think "fuel pump" but I just got a new one. I think "ignition switch" which seems possible, or timing belt, or fuses, or clogged fuel line, or, or or...ARRG! Before long AAA arives (bless their little towtruck hearts), a nice old man stops to ask if I need help, as does a state trooper--all these nice men and not a single one of 'em attractive--this day just gets better! (kidding boys, I'm not THAT shallow). I ask to get it towed back to Syracuse, while my plans are unfolding in a random pattern of questions and answers--so how do I get home now? Who is in town to pick me up? How much will this cost me? Did I pack my toothpaste? I call those I know in town and who are programmed into my phone and secure a ride (JoAnne RULES!) and on the way north the towtruck ("Jack" will fit in later--he's tow dude) needs gas so we stop in Courtland. While there Jack says, "let me see your keys, I want to check it out." Now in Virginia if a towtruck driver says this to you, it means "I'm gonna junk it for the spareparts on my new NASCAR replica" so say no, but in NY, take a chance. He pops my hood, fiddles around with a wire (or "warr" as it is in VA) says, "AhHa!" and starts my car. On the platform of the picktruck. Now I'm wishing Jack was hot so I could kiss him in happiness, but the feeling passes. So he says, "I'll tow it back to my place, really secure that wire and get you on the road!" So we drive back south to where he is, which is somewhere between Ithaca and nowhere. On the way he explains that it was the ignition coil wire (of course!) and that it was just loose. Back at Jack's Body Shop in Lawd Knows Where, NY he takes out a pair of vice grips (I have my own pair in the trunk) pinches the end of the wire, puts it back in, tugs at it, decides it's in well, then charages me $20 bucks for that. Wow. I'm going into the wrong profession. So I pay him and I'm walking back out to my now-running Roy when the foot of ice or so on his driveway gets the best of me, and I fly up in the air and bust up my knee kinda bad. Then I drove for another 5 1/2 hours and couldn't straighten it, so it's bruised and stiff. I'm a sally I know. So yeah, made it back to the highway, less than 5 miles from where I had broken down, 2 hours before. Needless to say I didn't get home till later, I'm beat but happy to be here. Back in VA again! My car gets an oil change as a reward for getting me here without another visit from Jack or his kin. 8 hours of pretty much I-81. I think we need to spend some time apart.
