Our friend, Sarah, and her two roommates hosted a lovely cocktail party in Nashville on Friday night, so Jen and I drove up to camp at their place. This was the first time I'd really been driving in three months, but I wasn't too worried - the car had just been checked out, the bulging tire had been replaced, and I knew which side of the road to stay on. Plus, Jen had promised not to play Christmas music the whole way up.
Three hours later, we arrived in Nashville with no problems. We spent the night and prepared to leave around 9:30, which was when the fun started.
I had just pulled out of Sarah's driveway when a dashboard indicator light came on. This was not what I needed before caffeine, and certainly not what I needed before a three-hour drive. Jen took the manual, but all she could find was that it was an indication that the anti-lock brakes were out. Thinking unkind things about the car and recalling the Pimpmobile's breakdown in Foley, I grabbed the book and quickly figured out that I had manually disengaged the system by pushing the button (what the heck?) while I was turning my seatwarmer on. Model of German engineering, right there.
Happily caffeinated, we set off into Nashville's light Saturday morning Interstate traffic. I-65 was the clearest I had ever seen it, until a state trooper pulled up in the HOV lane and everyone dropped closer to 70 to match his pace. Suddenly, his lights went on and he pulled over. I darted one lane to the right, just in time to see the two cars previously in front of me collide with a wheelbarrow (again, what the heck?) and each other.
Having narrowly escaped the wheelbarrow in the middle of I-65, we were then visited by occasional NASCAR wannabes - people who do at least 90, pass on the right, and give no signals.
I was happy to see my own driveway once again.
No comments:
Post a Comment