Two Wookies in Love

What do you do when 90 miles into a 350 mile road trip your vehicle begins to groan like two wookies in heat? You ignore it and keep driving, of course!

So we were just about to cross the Maryland border when I was startled awake thinking Chewbacca was nearing climax in the back seat. My felon sister, Trish, driving sans license because her wallet was stolen from her purse earlier in the week (we're sort of trying to keep that on the DL from the parents, so please forget you just read that), was in full panic mode. Shifting gears made absolutely no difference. In fact, when the car slowed to around 60 mph the sound only amplified and it was like we were sitting inside the turbine engine of a jet plane during take-off. The noise was migraine inducing - imagine someone polishing the inside of your skull with steel wool. I wanted to literally peel the scalp from my head. The odd thing was the faster Trish drove, the quieter the noise. So through some extremely dangerous on-road trial and error we discovered the torture zone to be between 55 - 60 mph and above 70 mph, just mild migraine territory. We were now forced to speed through the rest of our trip or suffer ear-splitting engine noise. It was like a bad remake of Speed (remember that Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves movie where the hijackers rigged the bus full of innocent passengers so that it would explode if they went below a certain speed? - if not, I hate you and your youthful ignorance) only no Keanu, no Sandra, no bus, no hijackers, and no passengers other than us - hmmm, not like Speed at all, really.

Anyway, I am not ashamed to say that I am mechanically-challenged. And I'll admit the thought of being forced to drive at least 70 mph and weaving in and out of DC traffic didn't thrill me either. So at the risk of suffering for the next four hours, we decided to suck it up and call dad. In typical dad fashion he calmly advised pulling to the side of the road and checking the muffler - it was probably just nothing. Then he yawned and told us he would leave a key underneath the doormat because he and mom were tired and heading to bed. Thanks for the concern, dad.

For you Faustosspot virgins (and regular readers with bad memories) let me back track a little. This weekend is my parent's 40th Ruby Anniversary party which is just a lame excuse to eat too much, get wasted and collect lots of useless gifts. But because I can't afford to take a day off from work, Trish and I decided to drive to our parents' house in Richmond late Thursday; thus, hoping to miss rush hour traffic and not waste all day Friday on the road. Fast forward to dying car.

After speaking with dad, who really didn't seem very concerned that his two favorite children were now forced to speed down I-95 to their possible deaths in a fiery car crash, we decided to pull into a rest area and re-assess our situation. We headed to the restrooms first, praying the car might just spontaneously repair itself. Well, the sheer act of stretching and getting some fresh air in the absence of background engine noise helped calm us down tremendously. And I decided to take dad's advise and take a look under the car. I had no idea what I was looking for or what I would do if I found it, but I got on my hands and knees and started looking for anything out of the ordinary.