On the Road: In which I really look like an idiot

I brushed up on my opera and folk music today, and heard a show about Roy Orbeson. Man, I can see why he sang ballads. His high school sweetheart died at 16, his wife died in a car crash, his two kids died in a fire... how did that man ever get up in the morning?

Shades. It's gotta be the shades.

Even though my shades were resting ever-so-uselessly on the air conditioner in my hotel room instead of sheilding me from the blinding Yuma sun, I still managed to find this afternoon's adventure comical instead of toe-biting frusterating, because I was just grateful to not be Roy Orbeson.

Mere hours ago, I learned never to trust a Chevy. Particularly, a Chevy gas gauge.

The tow truck driver assured me that once a Chevy gets down to 1/4 a tank, it's essentially empty. Being once a poor college student, and a poor field biologist, and someone who doesn't particularly like gas stations to begin with, I'm used to viewing a quarter of a tank of gas as gold, Baby. I see it as 1/4 full, not 3/4 empty. Certainly I could do my little bit to help delay the next ice age and drive around for the afternoon without having to fill up with all that petrol in the tank.

I've rebuilt carbeurators, replaced clutches, towed a car over 200 miles with just a two strap, but I was convinced I had vapor lock when the Tahoe sputtered, lurched, and died.

Oh well, it meant I ended work a bit earlier today, so I was able to join my teammates for dinner.

Which means, you'll have to wait to hear about eating out alone.