And THAT is How We Roll. Or Coast.

We had a wee bit of car trouble on our vacation to Virginia.  As in, our transmission on our beloved Toyota station wagon totally died. (Hey, it’s a 1992, give the car some credit!)  Did I mention we were kind of, ok, TOTALLY on a mountain at the time? On the Blue Ridge Parkway, specifically.  It’s a *smidge* windy and narrow! Not ideal.  Luckily we were following my sister-in-law and were able to get her attention and we pulled off at an overlook.  By some miracle, we were able to get the car back up to my parent’s house, which is even further up the mountain, and up a VERY steep driveway.  This driveway as a matter of fact:

Let’s just give God all the credit for that one! I was Me of Little Faith. I don’t exactly, um, *do well* in these situations so I was pretty much a nervous wreck by the time we made it back up to my folks’  house.

So, then, we had to figure out what to DO.  Bobby is a mechanic, and could certainly put a new transmission in the car if he were not seven hours away from his shop and tools. It would have cost us a small fortune to get it fixed there in Virginia if we could even find a shop that could do it before Sunday when we needed to leave to come home (this was Thursday.)  So, Bobby started looking around for towing companies, figuring we could get it towed home to Ohio for much less than the cost of getting in fixed in Virginia.  He finally found a company (thanks to a recommendation from his boss at his dealership here in Ohio) that would do it for a reasonable price, a price that would still make you want to crap your pants, but much better than what it could have been.

But of course, to get the car picked up, we’d have to get it back down the mountain.

EEP!

Once we get out of the steep gravel-road forest which is my parent’s “neighborhood” (and I use that term very loosely), and actually got onto the main mountain PAVED downhill road, that would be ok. I mean, a car doesn’t need a working transmission to go DOWN a mountain.  Just good brakes.  So my dad and Bobby loaded up the next morning and I followed with my Italian Tuxedo-wearing brother in his mini-van.

The car made it a very short distance before it died the first time.  Then another short distance.  Then another. And…another.  Four times Bobby was able to get it going again and then FINALLY we made it to the main road.

And Bobby COASTED that baby FOUR MILES down a mountain.

And then we left it in a thrift store parking lot to wait for the transport truck.

And Bobby and I bought my niece and nephew smoothies at an outdoor sandwich place called “Frank’s for the Memories” while my dad and my brother went to the GUN STORE.

All in all, just a typical day in our family vacation!