Yesterday. Doug took Geoff to a doctor's appointment and on the way home, one of our cars suffered a water pump failure. He managed to get it home to the driveway. It gets towed to the shop tomorrow (Yes, I got AAA earlier this month. I was proactive).
I drove in Monday because I was dressed and ready at 6:10 and figured I didn't want to wait for a train I should have gone to the gym but... whatever. Drove in again yesterday after getting some blood work done. And then Doug drove me in today.
It is nice to get dropped off door to door.
But. Our piece of shit pickup truck is designed for the short runs: to the market; to the bike shop.
Not for three straight days of driving into The Big City.
On the way home today, the check engine light came on. So we both looked at each other with the "you gotta be shitting me expression" and laughed. It had been running flawlessly for for weeks. Doug had replaced some gasket thing in the transmission fluid and did a whole bunch of work. Basically taking his phone out to the truck, watching "how to" videos, and getting things done.
Typical Doug and Chris fashion here, kids.
So there we were, in the Tip O'Neill Tunnel, not moving. I was worried that the entire thing is going to explode. And we'd be "those people" on the news or something.
We made it up Route 1 to the very same gas station that let us leave the Volvo there when it died in a blizzard in December. Doug checked the oil and it was super fine. He added some transmission fluid, thinking that may be the problem.
No dice - the light didn't turn off. But it didn't turn red. So we just looked at each other and went onward.
Somewhere about 10 miles from home Mr. Springsteen came on the old radio. The drum intro rolling into "Born To Run" made me start to laugh. Doug dislikes Springsteen while I do enjoy him greatly.
in the day we sweat it out on the streets...
How amazingly perfect. Our "runaway American Dream," in a Dodge Pickup Truck. I would rather be "Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain," but there ... there we were.
It's a death trap! It's a suicide rap!
We were singing at the top of our lungs, windows down, my hair EVERYWHERE, running up the highway (jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive!) laughing and singing. We counted the "ONE TWO THREE FOUR!" Doug was doing 78mph, and the truck was just rocking along.
We got home. The truck is in the driveway. The car is getting towed to the shop tomorrow and Doug may see if our mechanic can find out what the check engine light thing is.
And we had a moment. One of those Doug and Chris moments. One of those very special moments.
God, may they never stop. Well, may the stupid cars exploding all over the place stop - but the moments that make us Doug and Chris .... let's keep them going.