Road Trip, Part II (Wookies Cont.'d)

I have no idea what the "ordinary" underside of a car looks like, so looking for something "out of the ordinary" is pretty much a moot point. However, even I could not fail to notice the huge gash running the entire width of the muffler. Problem solved. Or at least problem identified. We called dad again and he told us that we could still drive it, we'd just have to suck it up and put up with the noise. So Trish and I pushed onward to Virginia.

All seemed fine for the next three hours. Just the occasional outburst from the car engine. I even sort of got used to it, enough that I was actually able to doze a little here and there. Then I about 50 miles from Richmond I was jostled awake yet again by Trish's shriek. "Do you smell that?!" She screamed. The car instantaneously filled with the overwhelming odor of burnt rubber, sulfur and feet. Of course, we were so close to home that we decided to just cross our fingers and keep going, hoping the car wouldn't burst into flames, at least until we pulled into the driveway. We cracked the windows, pulled our coats around our shoulders and wrapped our scarves around our nose and mouth to block the offending odor. So then we're freezing, we can't breathe, and we looked like two terrorists on our way to a car bombing.

Drama queen that I am, I was actually hoping that the car's hood would dramatically burst into flames as we pulled into the driveway. That way we could make a huge show of climbing out through the car windows and run screaming away from the flaming wreckage. I can already see the cinematographer's wide angle shot (this scene will be quite dramatic in my movie biopic) of the burning car rolling into the driveway of my parents' suburban postcard house. But nothing of the sort happens. Sigh. Mom and dad don't even wait up for us. So much for being met at the door with concerned hugs and kisses and mugs of hot chocolate. We didn't even get the pleasure of wallowing in self-pity over our last four hours of suffering and mental anguish. Wallowing is just not the same unless there are witnesses to console you. So instead we unpacked the car and just went to bed, our excitement bubble deflated by snoring.