It was a hot afternoon. Highway 84. Sagebrush, potatoes, long distance trucks, mountains in the distance.
We filled the Ark, pulled over to add ice to the cooler, and watched in horror as gas leaked out. It is always something. Always. We had a ton of work done before we left and still….We drove over to the shop next to the truck stop. They looked at it. At first, the mechanic was dismissive. “It’s your windshield wiper fluid.” “But it smells like gas.” “Yeah, it does.” He bent over. Mechanics are engineers after all. Once hooked on a problem, they are ready to ponder it. Professional pride. “I think you should have the VW place look at it,” he said. “We do fords and such. This is different. We’d hve to get out books and such. ” He gave us directions. “I’d drive it,” he smiled.
We headed into Twin Cities, seven miles back down the interstate. Deep sigh. Saturday evening is not a good time to need a repair on a car older than many mechanics. The VW shop was still open, but barely. The mechanic came out. “I think it’s something to do with the emissions on a hot day,” he said. He was a young guy, helpful. “We could replace that hose, but I think it will be fine. It was just hot. Keep an eye on it.” I looked at Mark. “It’s your car,” he shrugged. “But you are the worrier. Are you ok?” He nodded. “We can get it fixed at your parents if it does not get any worse.”
Back onto the highway. Sagebrush. Potatoes. Big mountains in the distance.