So, my lovely wife, who works about 45 miles from home, invited me to the company picnic yesterday. I had spent the weekend doing lots of car stuff, and had checked over the 1966 1800S thinking that sooner or later I was going to have to screw up my courage and drive the darned thing. What better opportunity than to show up at the company picnic in the neatest car. She ran beautifully, the car not the wife, blasting along with the window down and Rick Astley on the cassett deck. I pulled into the park to ohhs and ahhs! and had a great meal. After eating, we decided to go across town and visit my mother. As I swung around a corner and hit a small bump, the car began to run very poorly until it finally quit all together as I coasted into a gas station with a blessedly large parking lot. No amount of tinkering could get it going again. (Yeah, yeah all you guys with 20/20 hindsight just shut it!!!).

So, knowing that I had to go back today, I figured I would leave the poor old girl and come back with the car trailer. SUDDENLY, at 0248 in the morning I woke up and said, "you ran out of gas you idiot!!!" Sure enough, when I went back this morning and added a couple of gallons of go-juice she started right up so I could drive her on the trailer. I seem to always think of the complicated stuff first...

Kent
--
Too much iron, too little time