The Sun.

Here in the mountains of Colorado (as with other high-elevation locales) the sun makes a very noticeable difference in temperature as perceived by the human being. A cloud passing by can make it feel like it got 15 degrees cooler. Also, for some reason - perhaps the long periods of time with no clouds or perhaps the thinner atmosphere - it is very easy to get sun burned out here, even for me with my somewhat darker complexion. Unfortunately, I hate sun screen. I always have and I always will (unless they make it so that you can't feel it). I could be considered a dirty guy, but when it comes to the feeling of dirt, grime, grease, stickiness, etc. on my skin for long periods of time, I begin to get edgy. So being forced into a dailyl ritual of slathering oily lotion all over my exposed body is less than appealing to me. Furthermore, here at the winery, one never knows what the day's labors will entail. Usually, I try to grease up before leaving for work so that I don't waste time card time taking care of my skin. And yet... there are often times when I put on sun screen only to discover that we'll be working inside all day! What a bummer! Sometimes I feel lucky, like we'll surely be working inside... and then I don't put on sunscreen and then we work outside. Crap. Today was a new record, however. I had information direct from the boss-lady (she told us yesterday) that we would be working inside today. I proudly marched on over, not a drop of sunscreen on my body, and was told by boss-man that we would be working on a slip form for a masonry project... outside. CRAP! I took a bottle of sunscreen and began applying it to my bare arms and lower legs. Just as I finished (annoyed at guessing wrong, even with inside information), Lance came and said, "oh yeah. I forgot. I need you guys to bottle inside today." DOH!!

I'm Dumb.

Introducing a new blog segment!!! Hopefully (or maybe not, actually) this will be a reoccuring bit, as I do a lot of dumb stuff and more than not it's pretty funny in retrospect...

Car Oil
So I changed my car oil recently, right? Yesterday we filled up in Grand Junction (45 mpg on the last tank. Woot!) and since my car burns oil notoriously, I thought I'd check the oil level. Empty!! What?! I just filled it full a week/40 miles ago! I can't have burned through all that oil so fast! I got my oil reserves from the trunk and proceeded to dump in an extra quart or so. I checked again and... still empty! Weird. Oh hang it, there is some oil there. Oh, it's way too much. Oh, I guess I was used to my oil being dirt black and now that it's clear I couldn't see it as well. Now I just overfilled my car's oil tank. I'm dumb! [Author's note: after starting to write this, I remembered that I was going to do web research and see how serious a problem it was that we then proceeded to drive home with too much oil. It's a big problem apparently... maybe why the car started rattling funnily. In fact, I may have entirely ruined my car. So apparently there is a linear correlation between extremity of dumbness and amount of time it takes to be funny later...]

It's been a whole month...

...since I last wrote. Sad, huh? My life is busy, I guess, but I've been saying that now for the past five years or so. I just have to prioritise. One of the philosophies I've been developing over the past few months and/or years is that it is usually more effective (and therefore better?) to correspond/talk on the phone more frequently in smaller doses. I guess the same goes for blogging. If I write a large amount of content when I do write, then I set the bar high for myself and end up not writing when I have a free 30 minutes or so. So maybe I'll just keep it short and sweet and save the photos for when I have that perfect shot. Then again, I like pictures, even if my photography skills could stand significant improvement. Here are two pictures of my car at various points on my journey out west. Can you tell which one was taken in Indiana and which was taken in Colorado?

(Also note the noticeable frown of my rear suspension. As though all of my crap was not heavy enough, I just had to keep adding weight further and further back...)

And speaking of my car, Gwen is doing fine these days. She got her first oil change under my care the other day, only a measely 3000 miles late. I also have begun making some serious mods. For instance, because I didn't feel she was assertive enough, I drove her over some huge rocks on a crappy dirt road up a mountain. Now the resulting dings (and holes?) in her muffler let her roar through the countryside. (Some might argue that Colin, Jonathan and I were just lazy and didn't want to hike the extra 2 miles at the beginning of our trek - and they would have good reason, as we started our backpacking adventure at about 9 pm, eventually finding a reasonably good campsite at around 11 (no thanks to our 15' visibility range do to the limitations of our headlamps) - but no, car-related coolness was all that I had on my mind at the time.) Future mods will hopefully include installing the air filter I ordered online. For the last 6000 miles I had been wondering to myself, this big empty hole over the air intake looks like you could screw something over it... I wonder what that might be... Well, all my stupidity aside, Gwen is still getting 40 mpg, so with her I am well pleased.

What have I been up to?

• pruning. always pruning.
• putting 2 X 6 sled runners on a mobile sheep shelter
• eating ludicrusly lavish lunches (at the bosses' house)
• driving to Paonia with the boys (and doggie) to play pickup ultimate and soccer
• learning to weedbadge (=trying to keep the vine death:weed death ratio at a minimum while atop a tractor equiped with a ginormous weed whacker on a hydraulic arm)
• making tasty food
• learning to fly fish - so far only befriending the local fly shop guy. I have yet to actually cast into water
• most recently: attending a wedding in Cairo, NE.

On that last point, after visiting Nebraska, I AM SO FRIGGIN' GLAD I MOVED TO COLORADO!! - at least in terms of climate and scenary... I maybe could have stood the humidity if the scene was more... scenic and less blocked by tree tops and mosquito swarms. Presently I'm in Denver, waiting for my bus (tomorrow), and cursing the vast expanse of pavement while blessing the proximity of Asian markets. (Tomorrow my tie and collared shirt will be crammed into my backpack along with 4 cans of coconut milk, 3 of straw mushrooms, and various curry paste and fresh herbs.) Then back to the routine of work, eat, water garden, sleep, work, eat, water garden, sleep, HIKE SOMEWHERE COOL, work, eat, water garden, whine about ill health of cucerbits, sleep...

Oh yeah, one more bullet point:

• entering an outhouse race in a local community festival, constructing a racing outhouse, dressing in drag, and thoroughly shocking and entertaining the conservative community of Crawford, CO.

The Account of the Queen's Latrine
We noticed the ad in the High Country Shopper, the local free magazine that has all the community news and advertisements. Outhouse race? Sounds dumb. Let's enter. We checked it out on the internets, and it seemed within our grasp: outhouses would be raced for 200 ft. on a grass surface. Certain dimensions must be met (thou shalt make thine outhouse 3 cubits by 6 cubits, not exceeding 7 cubits in width... [that reminds me, if you have heard of lolcats, check out www.lolcatbible.com. If you haven't, visit www.icanhascheezburger.com first... Exaggerations aside, this has provided at least 2-3 hours of entertainment for us thus far, and it's still not getting old...]), and there must be a jockey inside, sitting on a seat - with a hole - while the race is in progress. Colin had the brilliant (no sarcasm) idea of making our outhouse a litter of sorts, rather than utilizing wheels, as we guessed other teams would do. Since the race was only 200' we figured a lightweight design with no rolling friction would give us superior acceleration. Awesome. We're in. We sent in the $5 for registration, and decided on the name "the Queen's Latrine" because it sounded clever. We later decided it would only be appropriate to dress in drag for the race. We began to hype ourselves up during the preceding weeks, but we didn't actually do anything but talk. At 7pm the night before the race we built the Latrine. It's makeup: two 1 X 6's, some 1" dowel rods, and a ton of cardboard. We actually spent more time painting it than we did building it.
And the painting was quite the process. Before I arrived, Colin and later Jonathan had begun developing a style of collaborative art-creation. Colin's rules for this process: anyone can paint anywhere at any time they choose. The numerous paintings that adorn our walls are a testimony to the efficacy (or maybe "grooviness" is the word I'm looking for) of this style. Anyway, the three of us, Evan (the bosses' son) and Nicole (the bosses' son's girlfriend - also our jockey) had a great time painting into the night. On the big day the five of us were up at the crack of dawn to eat a huge pancake and sausage breakfast. And then as quickly as the last manager's special sausage slipped down someone's gullet the sun dresses went on and we piled into a huge diesel truck - kind of a driving oxymoron...
There was a parade before the races. We were somewhere after the fire trucks and somewhere before the people in pioneer getup and blanks in their guns. Fun times. Crowd reactions ranged from cheers to cat calls (from women, from jesting men and from men too uncomfortable to know how else to respond) to questions such as, "isn't wearing a dress kind of gay?" (Colin's response: [innocently:] "Isn't that okay?" - silence -) The parade over, we chugged some overly sweeted iced tea, and loaded up on power food - i.e. corndogs and funnel cakes.

The actual race was somewhat of a disaster. We hadn't actually practiced synchronizing our running while carrying a jockey-laden outhouse. To make matters worse, we learned about 3 minutes before the race that due to the small racing area (only about 75-100'... great planning, guys...), each outhouse would race against the clock, going down the field, rounding a pole and returning to cross the finish line. Unfortunately, even with two physics majors on the design team, lack of information ultimately left us hosed. We accelerated very well, yet upon trying to round the corner with our superior speed Evan (the outside-back runner) simultaneously felt all the weight of the Queen and her Latrine shift into his hands and was accelerated (think crack the whip) and flung outward toward the crowd. He dove into the ground - out of respect for the crowd's probable wish to not make physical contact with a running transvestite - and the rear of the outhouse crashed down.
Jonathan and I looked back, saw why our progress had been so suddenly arrested, looked at each other and drug the Queen the remaining 40' over the finish line. We finished last, yet were only 2 seconds behind the winner, despite our humiliating wreck. We recieved the "flimsiest outhouse" award - a mini plywood outhouse, housing a roll of toilet paper.

• Outhouse race entry fee: $5
• Acrylic paint: $10 (sorry, art people, that this estimate is probably so wrong...)
• Utility costs to launder sweaty sun dresses: $0.40
• Providing comic relief for the entirety of a rural mountain community: priceless

Wow, so much for a short post...

A Few Post Titles...

So... I've been in Colorado for 2.5 days now, and I've worked two full days at the winery already. I've already learned to prune vines, use tractors to plow and how to turn off the main irrigation source in case some bumbling newbie worker breaks off one of the irrigation pipe heads, leaving water gushing out all over the vines. My how time flies. I have also come to realize that I have not written for quite some time, especially in regard to my epic journey out west with a packed out little car. Nor have I even so much as called my mommy to tell her that I made it safely (Sorry Mom, I'll get around to it soon enough, just like I always do). Anyway, as a form of atonement, I will go as far as to just list some of the post titles I was tossing around in my head on my way out - how best to sum up my trip in an annoyingly cute, yet gripping way. So here they are - with fleshing out hopefully to come later (when it's not past my bedtime...). [Huh. Maybe people can vote on which they want me most to write a short essay on...]

1. The Rest Areas of I-80: numerous as they are helpful [not sarcastic]

2. Q: How are my car and the U.S. alike? A: They both have an insatiable thirst for oil!!

3. On the Effects of Using Bicycle Wheels to Reduce Global Carbon Emissions

4. Dried Pears are Awesome [this would actually be a short essay, but very convincing...]

5. Does this mountain make me look fat?: The Effects of Altitude on Sealed Pretzel Bags.

6. My Car Loves Mountains, My Car Hates Mountains: How both can be true.

7. Iowa v. Nebraska: The Boring Battle!

8. Home is Where the Hea... Sound System is.

To wrap up, I made it alive, I love Colorado, and I'm going to bed!

Lazing Around, Biding my Time

I'm terrible at getting things accomplished on the internet. Example: I should update my blog. Whoa, those strumming patterns and bar chords on that fiddle tune are groovy! Google search: Irish style guitar chords. [read read read] Ooooh. DADGAD tuning, that sounds cool! [several tens of minutes and chords chart pdfs later...] Wow this stuff is so fun. Hmm, need more coffee. What was I doing before. Oops, blog. It's almost 11 now. Crap. Back to it. And that's all if I don't have any interesting emails to reply to. (Oh, and check out Liz Carroll's music, by the way. She's a phenomenal fiddler...)

So I'm back in Goshen for a few days. I got back from Kentucky a few days ago - no further troubles with Guinevere. It was pretty in Kentucky, and though I didn't get to go horseback riding this time it was very nice outside. AND on my drive from Tennessee to Kentucky, I took some gorgeous, really tiny roads up through so

me national forest and then through some nice, rolling pasture land. Below behold the fruits of my experimental photography technique (slow shutter speed while driving - don't try this at home kids...)

I guess I should at least touch on some of my other adventures...

In Charlottesville I drank lots of tea with Kimberly, and even though it was mostly rainy, we had a wonderful excursion into the town where we looked in bookstores, browsed galleries, ate gelato and took lots of pictures (yay DSLRs!).

In Chapel Hill I hung out with Whitney and Aaron and their brilliant doggie Raj. 

In one day Whitney and I took Raj for a romp in the woods, we picked strawberries, we went grocery shopping, we grabbed Aaron and went to a climbing gym, and we made strawberry shortcake for supper - even though it was past all of our bedtimes.

                 Raj dries off                                                                                            Layer 2 - Go!

In Knoxville I forgot to take pictures, but David and I went for a nice long bike ride, baked approximately one bazillion monster cookies and at them for lunch and supper.

So, now the only news left is that I'm packing, saying goodbye, packing, saying goodbye and packing until I leave sometime in the next couple of days. Then we can all just hope that after Guinevere puts on a few hundred pounds she'll still be up for making it over Vail Pass...

Things I'm Learning about Myself and/or Life

1) I don't really want to live in a big city when I grow up. If I never do grow up, I still don't really want to live in a big city...
Everyone I've visited so far has lived in or near a big city, with the exception of Kimberly perhaps. Charlottesville is apparently smaller than Goshen population-wise, but the city still feels larger than Goshen. Anyway, what I'm trying to get to is observing how I'm just not a city person. I think I had always kind of known this about myself, but in the last year or so, so many of my friends started moving to big cities, and so I started to wonder if maybe that's what I wanted for myself too. And visiting these friends in these big cities has been eye-opening in some regards; the possibility of having numerous ethnic restaurants, grocery stores, public transportation and other such conveniences all within walking distance is certainly enticing... But there are so many other things that turn me off of big cities: not knowing anyone walking on the street, having a city so large where you need to drive or bus-ride to get even half way across it, definitely needing a car to get to any sort of forrested area... So many things I do value are just not found in a city. So will I be more content in Middle Of Nowhere, CO? Good question. My guess is that my ideal living environment will be a small town somewhere... I'll just have to get around needing to move somewhere where I already have friends... (Anyone wanna pack up and move to Average Size Town, USA with me?)

2) Even though I have grown comfortable with the fact that I have a BA in physics and no immediate plan to use it, that is not normal...
In my own thought progressions and life-planning sessions, I have come out of college enthused about exploring the world. All the jobs that sound really interesting to me have little or nothing to do with the world of academia. College was something I did... (I don't know for what reason, exactly, as I found out trying to explain it to David Bontrager's housemate) for the learning experience? Because it's what came after high school? Because my mom wanted me to? Man, how privileged is this experience?! But it's true, though I graduated being extremely greatful for my experience at Goshen, I didn't come into college knowing I wanted a degree as a means toward a future career. And though college was a good and stimulating environment, I just don't see myself as an academic. I like to work with my hands. I like to be outside. And while I can probably find a job that lets me do these things and use my degree, I don't find this necessary when there are plenty of other things to do. My grampa likes to say, if you have potential you should use it, but I'm not sure I buy this philosophy. For me personally, I'm going to want to do whatever I'm most interested in, even if that means doing something less than what my potential allows. If the arguement is that I owe it to society, then what should I do? pursue higher education until I reach the highest limits of my intelligence? My research internship 2 summers ago gave me doubts as to the usefulness to society of some (not all) of the research and work that goes on up in academia land. No, if I do owe something to society I feel that I could give to society better while following a passion, even though society might not view that passion (whatever it will end up being) as me using my full potential. ... Oh yes, all that to say, I've felt awkward a few times in the last few days answering the question, "So you were studying physics in college. Where are you going with that?" Uh, to a vineyard...? [cringe]

3) Being a dude, having long hair and wearing short magenta athletic shorts - while par for the course on Goshen's campus - is not normal...
This is something that hit me as I began to climb at the bouldering gym in Knoxville, TN with David and his housemate. Country music in the background, southern accents all around, short haircuts and trimmed facial hair... I felt a bit self-conscious - something I don't usually feel. Thank goodness for the buffer of somewhat atypical climbing culture...

4) I love tiny rural roads. I dislike interstates.
Driving both for extended periods of time yesterday helped solidify this awareness. Compare meandering roads, slower pace, restaurants right off the road with actually good food, the smell of trees or flowers or pasture land versus fast, noisy, smelly, gross, congested roads. Who cares if they take longer...

Relationship Troubles with Guinevere

When I purchased Guinevere, my white? yellow? '89 Honda Civic back in February, my housemate Tyler liked to make fun of it, or rather he would declare his skepticism of her reliability and make comments about not even wanting to go to South Bend in her. I was chuckling at his lack of faith as I was happily chugging up and down the mountains of West Virginia. Now, in North Carolina (my 5th stop in my journey) I'm still in high spirits, though I am a day behind my original schedule, and I feel a bit more humbled with regards to Tyler's opinions of my car. Let me tell you now the unabriged (and completely true) tale of my recently troubled relationship with Gwen. It all begins last Saturday, as Christy, Kyle and I were heading to the grocery store to buy some ingredients for a meal... 

Since I bought Guinevere, she has often had a bit of trouble starting after sitting for a few days. After running for a bit, she seems to do okay, though, so I just figured her battery was on its last legs. On Saturday, my car had been sitting for a day and a half, and though it started, it required a bit of cranking first. I decided not to turn it off as I waited for Kyle and Christy to come down from the apartment. We make it to the store no problem, but on the way the radio flickers on and off a few times. Not much current? Kinda scary. We do our shopping, load up the car and get ready to head for home. Nothing. The battery is stone cold dead. We begin asking all of the people we see in the parking lot for a jump. No luck. Are there cables for sale in the grocery store? Nope. Finally, I find a man in his parked car. Do you have jumper cables? Yeah, man I do. Let me tell you, for you my friend I will do anything to help my friend. 10 minutes later and the car is running and we've had a nice little conversation with our new, slightly inebriated, north African friend, and we all wish each other the best.

On the way back to the apartment, idling at a light, Gwen suddenly dies. Uh oh. I turn the key. Nothing. [expletive] The light is still red. Do we push? We are off major roads (thank goodness) and it's mostly downhill to the apartment... What about pop-starts? Could we try that. By the time the light turns green, Kyle is behind the car, pushing, we head down the hill, I let out the clutch, it revs... and dies. Several more attempts, all to no avail. Guinevere is not starting again. We push her into a parking lot (next to an ominous "non-church vehicles will be towed" sign), and walk away for now. The plan: to keep on with the supper plans, borrowing Christy's aunt & uncle's car and trying to jump my car while Christy begins the supper-making. We begin the short walk from the dead car to the apartment. The thought hits me - no keys. Sure enough, they are in the ignition of my locked car. I guess I'll bring a coathanger too.

An hour or so later and I'm having little luck with the coathanger. Kyle looks on as I fumble and get nowhere. In desparation, we call Christy who gets us campus police's number. A receptionist (who sounds stoned) answers - sure we can dispatch someone to help get it open. (Yes!) As Kyle goes to figure out just what parking lot we are in ("No. Latter Day Saints. No. Not Jewish...") I accidentally break part of the window guard, making it much easier to lift the lock. Before he is finished talking, I'm in. Uh, thanks but we've got it. We jump the car, I rev it, I turn on the lights, it dies. We jump the car, I rev it, I don't turn on the lights, I back it up, I pull up to the end of the drive, it dies. Something is very wrong. I push my car, to the amusement of onlookers, back to the visitor parking lot. We eat a late supper (it's 11pm 'til we eat) and brainstorm. Is it a bad battery? Bad alternator? We call Kyle's dad, and I post a question on a mechanic forum.

Sunday afternoon. We drive my battery to Autozone in the borrowed car. They charge it and say it's still good. Must be the alternator. The car forum guys say if I have a good battery I can probably drive a few miles even with a bad alternator. I shop online for a mechanic. Not many places open, and none that can take me today. I make a list of places to call on Monday.

Monday. I wake up early, call the first place on my list - C & D Auto - 2 miles away. I install the charged battery, get my book, start up Guinevere and pray the whole 2 miles. After a few wrong turns I make it to the shop. The get it in right away. Yep, we'll need to replace the alternator and we recommend the battery too. I sit and read and get hungry for about 4 hours. The damage is ~$400. Ouch. I pack up at Kyle & Christy's and make a beeline for the nearest Indian restaurant, where I eat a very satisfying meal. On the road again!

One mile onto the beltway and my speedometer stops working. So does my odometer. The turn engine light comes on. Fortuneately I took the card of the shop and I still remember how to get there. Yes they can look at it again. In only 20 minutes and for only $25 this time, I get a loose wire diagnosed and fixed. It was an expensive loose wire, but no harm done. Phew. By now Kimberly is probably getting sick of me calling to say I'm coming! No I'm not! Yes I am! No I'm not!... I ask the best way to the interstate. A customer overhears and interjects to give me directions. They sound confusing. He says he's a limo driver in the area, and this way will help me miss the traffic. I get out a pen and paper.

The middle eastern limo driver was dead on, though my last turn was a bit tricky. I turn around in a gas station, a bit flustered, and as I merge into my turn lane I merge into a car... [expletive] The driver gestures behind me - pull over over there. We turn onto a side street and get out to survey the damage. Not much. Just a loose bumper and light. I really want to be on my way. I really don't want to have this happen. I don't want to be there. ... There's not much damage (and my insurance won't do much to cover it anyway). Can I just give you some cash to help cover it? He thinks it over. We settle on $100 cash (thank goodness I carry traveling cash, although that pretty much spends it!), and I give him my phone number in case it doesn't end up being enough. I feel a little bit shady making this transaction, but I figure it's win win. Easier for all parties and doesn't make my premium go up... (Mom, you're not supposed to read this paragraph.) I do at least think to get a signed receipt to cover my butt. He drives away. I drive away, terrified of all cars - a.k.a. death machines - and I just want to be in Charlottesville. No more driving for me. The car lists to the left. [expletive] I pull onto a different side street. Sure enough, it's a flat. I call my friends at C & D. They are open for another 50 minutes (it's after 5pm by now). I'll be right over.

By now I'm friends with the guy behind the counter (Marcus). I swear, I'm trying to get out of this city. He replies,  "Well it's good it's just a small hole or you'da been shit outa luck. We don't have no tires here. And don't you go breakin' down again because we're closin'!" I promise not too, and he wishes me the best. The bosses are gone, so my only payment is $10 cash... more of a tip that goes into the pocket of the guy who patched my tire. I'm cool with that. It was Marcus' idea anyway. Kimberly, I'm coming for real this time!

I accidentally used the directions from limo man to write my phone number on for car accident guy. My memory guides me back to the highway. To say that I was on edge would be understatement. I was the epitome of paranoia. But now I could just drive. Surely nothing else could go wrong. In 2 1/2 hours I'd be drinking tea with Kimberly. Congested traffic ahead. I guess a car accident pushing traffic into one lane was not part of limo man's speedy directions. As I inch along, I notice what seems like too much steam coming from the anterior end of my car. Is it exhaust from the car in front? The car in front pulls away. Still steaming. I look at the temperature gauge. [expletive] It's beyond the hottest temperature it can register. And I'm stuck in traffic. I don't know much about cars, but I know this is not good. 10 minutes later I finally get to a side road. Neighborhood doesn't look too bad, but it's getting dark and this is ceasing to be an adventure... more the worst day of my life...

What to do. I open the hood and steam billows out. I hear my coolant reservoir boiling... I get out my laptop, and look at the repair guide for my car in pdf form. Not much help. I turn the car on again. The temperature is more reasonable. I rev the engine and watch it climb right up again. And off I turn it again. I turn to the ultimate backup plan. I call mom. She puts Tim on the line. He tells me how to wait, let it cool down, check the fluid, add more water (it's okay in the summer), check for leaks and analyze from there. I might be able to inch it to a shop tomorrow if it's a slow leak, but if it's major I might have to get it towed. [expletive] A low battery warning prompts me to end the call prematurely. I call Kim. I'll be even later. She begins to tell me she is very sorry, but the phone dies. And I don't have a car charger. I wait. In the meantime, I select a house. I choose the one with the BMW in front. A nice African American woman opens the door. I ask for some water. She more than happily obliges and comes out with a gallon jug of water. She wishes me well, and tells me if I have to leave it over night I should push it in front of her drive so nobody calls the police (with the stress on "Po", not "lice"). I thank her heartily and she wishes me luck. I check the reservoir - very low - and add some water. It doesn't take that much and I'm hopeful. I turn the car on and rev it. The temperature stabilizes halfway between C and H. So it's driveable? I debate trying to drive it back to Kyle & Christy's to get it looked at the next day or trying to make it to Charlottesville yet. I don't really want to mess with a tow truck if at all possible. I decide I should try driving it a few miles at least. It's about 15 miles to Christy and Kyle's. I hesitate, but head in the opposite direction. Charlottesville or bust! 20 miles later and I pull into a gas station. Still cool enough and the coolant level hasn't changed. A guy in the service station says as long as it's not overheating I should be okay. Well then. By 11pm I'm drinking tea with Kim. Her housemate has made chocolate cookies. Good end to a bad day. (By this morning, some coolant had disappeared, but I decided to just add more, keep monitoring it and keep moving. Hopefully that decision won't come back to bite me halfway to Tennessee...)

Epilogue:

My windshield wiper fluid pump has never worked. I guess that's just one other cute little quirk that makes Guinevere so endearing. Also, the wipers don't have an intermittant setting. Fortunately, pushing the lever down (what should make cleaner come out, according to the diagram on the lever) also makes the wipers move. So I have my own little manual intermittant setting. I was reflecting on how this "setting" will be less useful once I get my pump replaced as I drove the last hour of my trip to Chapel Hill. But shouldn't there be a way to just get the wipers to move without the fluid? I tried pulling the lever toward myself. Wiper fluid shot out. Man I'm dumb. I laughed out loud for a while.