I thought weekends were supposed to be relaxing. At least that's my middle-class-white-collar-American perception.
So last night Valerie and I drove up from Richmond to her mom's house in Northern Virginia. Her sister was arriving at 11:16 last night from Florida, just for the weekend, and we were going to pick her up at National Airport. We took Valerie's Jetta (which is a year older than my Jetta), which had just been serviced and had a fresh oil change.
We arrived last night with no trouble and ate a nice dinner with my mother-in-law. We decided to hold off until close to 11 before leaving to pick up Elizabeth since were were just going to pull up to the terminal when she was ready at the curb. We took Val's car, and I drove. This was both good, and horrible.
I think when I say it was good, I really mean that it was less horrible than it would have been had the same magical adventure occurred on our way back to Richmond.
About ten miles from my in-law's house on I-95 a loud beep issued from the dashboard and a flashing red temperature light began to blink as the temperature gauge quickly climbed all the way to the right. I had to pull over quickly and shut off the engine before doing permanent damage to the car. Within minutes, a highway services vehicle flashed his yellow lights and pulled up behind us. The driver checked the fluids with me and noticed the coolant was a little low, but not empty. He topped it off with water, and we started the engine. No dice; the temperature climbed back up again. This means, most likely (and hopefully), that there's a thermostat issue. Which means we'll be over charged for somebody to examine it and fix the problem.
Hooray.
Additionally, this meant we couldn't pick up Elizabeth on time either. Or at all, really, because we didn't know how long it would be until the tow truck arrived. So Elizabeth took a shuttle home while we took a $127 ride home in a truck cab. We figured Elizabeth would be home shortly after us. Except she had the crappiest ride home ever with a driver who didn't know where he was going and had all the charm of a slime ball.
Now all four of us here are running on a few hours of sleep, crappy happenings, and miffed tempers. That sounds like a recipe for an awesome weekend.
I can't wait to go back to Richmond.
So last night Valerie and I drove up from Richmond to her mom's house in Northern Virginia. Her sister was arriving at 11:16 last night from Florida, just for the weekend, and we were going to pick her up at National Airport. We took Valerie's Jetta (which is a year older than my Jetta), which had just been serviced and had a fresh oil change.
We arrived last night with no trouble and ate a nice dinner with my mother-in-law. We decided to hold off until close to 11 before leaving to pick up Elizabeth since were were just going to pull up to the terminal when she was ready at the curb. We took Val's car, and I drove. This was both good, and horrible.
I think when I say it was good, I really mean that it was less horrible than it would have been had the same magical adventure occurred on our way back to Richmond.
About ten miles from my in-law's house on I-95 a loud beep issued from the dashboard and a flashing red temperature light began to blink as the temperature gauge quickly climbed all the way to the right. I had to pull over quickly and shut off the engine before doing permanent damage to the car. Within minutes, a highway services vehicle flashed his yellow lights and pulled up behind us. The driver checked the fluids with me and noticed the coolant was a little low, but not empty. He topped it off with water, and we started the engine. No dice; the temperature climbed back up again. This means, most likely (and hopefully), that there's a thermostat issue. Which means we'll be over charged for somebody to examine it and fix the problem.
Hooray.
Additionally, this meant we couldn't pick up Elizabeth on time either. Or at all, really, because we didn't know how long it would be until the tow truck arrived. So Elizabeth took a shuttle home while we took a $127 ride home in a truck cab. We figured Elizabeth would be home shortly after us. Except she had the crappiest ride home ever with a driver who didn't know where he was going and had all the charm of a slime ball.
Now all four of us here are running on a few hours of sleep, crappy happenings, and miffed tempers. That sounds like a recipe for an awesome weekend.
I can't wait to go back to Richmond.