diggitdoggie
Sr. Member
After reading Buckleboy's post about the demise of his auto I remembered what was a short but easily the most hellish albeit painfully funny ride I ever experienced.
Even though my father passed on nearly 20 years ago, this is one of those memories that still make me smile.
I shared this story with a friend several years ago and while sorting through my journals today found the original along with several others of my "writings".
Just thought I would share.
Be aware that this story is absolutely true.
I couldn't make up something this weird.
I was in college at California University. I had loaned my car to my sister so I needed a ride back to the dorm on Monday morning. My dad, having just bought a "new" used pickup decided he would drive me back.
My class started at 8am but my dad (being anal) decided that we would drive back at 6am so I would not have to rush. (good thing that, but you'll see why later.)
I had never ridden in this truck and to be fair he had only purchased it days before.
It was early February and it was freezing. Keep that in mind.
Pennsylvania is a very hilly place. At that time, there were also a LOT of coal trucks on the roads. Coal trucks and hills do not make for speedy trips.
We started out and things immediately began to look dreary.
For some reason, that was never adequately explained to me, the entire cab of the truck began to fill with thick black smoke. My dad, being the worst mechanic on the planet and the most stubborn man alive, decided the best course of action would be to ignore it and continue.
We put all the windows down in the truck as we could neither breathe nor see.
The snow was coming in even as the smoke was billowing out.
This would have been horrific enough, were it not for the fact that the truck's top speed was an astounding 20 mph. and it had decided that now was a good time to begin backfiring.
Undaunted, my father continued our trek through hell.
Coal trucks began passing US.
They seemed to delight in the fact that not only were we slower but we were apparently on fire as well.
So they joyfully blew their horns at us as they passed.
This angered my father who was muttering that somehow my older brother was to blame for all this.
I was too busy disguising my laughter to comment.
At some point, Dad became so offended by the constant harassment of the coal trucks that he, and I think it was maliciously, blew his horn back.
This, as it turns out, was a very bad idea.
The horn would not stop.
We were now traveling at 20mph, belching smoke, and merrily blowing our horn to announce our presence just in case anyone could possibly have missed us.
After what seemed like an eternity, and it probably was, even my father could no longer stand the screaming horn and pulled into a gas station.
The gas station attendant, who was doubled over with laughter, approached my father who was fumbling under the hood.
My father angrily pulled a wire off, and the truck promptly stalled out.
After a heated discussion, the attendant reconnected the errant wire and disconnected the blaring horn. And we were on our merry way.
I arrived at the college at 10 am covered in black soot and sore from trying to hold in my hysterical laughter. It took FOUR hours to get there.
The college was 30 minutes from our home.
As I exited the belching vehicle, my father asked me to please call my mother and let her know that he would most likely be late getting home.
Good old Dad, a master of understatement.
Even though my father passed on nearly 20 years ago, this is one of those memories that still make me smile.
I shared this story with a friend several years ago and while sorting through my journals today found the original along with several others of my "writings".
Just thought I would share.
Be aware that this story is absolutely true.
I couldn't make up something this weird.
I was in college at California University. I had loaned my car to my sister so I needed a ride back to the dorm on Monday morning. My dad, having just bought a "new" used pickup decided he would drive me back.
My class started at 8am but my dad (being anal) decided that we would drive back at 6am so I would not have to rush. (good thing that, but you'll see why later.)
I had never ridden in this truck and to be fair he had only purchased it days before.
It was early February and it was freezing. Keep that in mind.
Pennsylvania is a very hilly place. At that time, there were also a LOT of coal trucks on the roads. Coal trucks and hills do not make for speedy trips.
We started out and things immediately began to look dreary.
For some reason, that was never adequately explained to me, the entire cab of the truck began to fill with thick black smoke. My dad, being the worst mechanic on the planet and the most stubborn man alive, decided the best course of action would be to ignore it and continue.
We put all the windows down in the truck as we could neither breathe nor see.
The snow was coming in even as the smoke was billowing out.
This would have been horrific enough, were it not for the fact that the truck's top speed was an astounding 20 mph. and it had decided that now was a good time to begin backfiring.
Undaunted, my father continued our trek through hell.
Coal trucks began passing US.
They seemed to delight in the fact that not only were we slower but we were apparently on fire as well.
So they joyfully blew their horns at us as they passed.
This angered my father who was muttering that somehow my older brother was to blame for all this.
I was too busy disguising my laughter to comment.
At some point, Dad became so offended by the constant harassment of the coal trucks that he, and I think it was maliciously, blew his horn back.
This, as it turns out, was a very bad idea.
The horn would not stop.
We were now traveling at 20mph, belching smoke, and merrily blowing our horn to announce our presence just in case anyone could possibly have missed us.
After what seemed like an eternity, and it probably was, even my father could no longer stand the screaming horn and pulled into a gas station.
The gas station attendant, who was doubled over with laughter, approached my father who was fumbling under the hood.
My father angrily pulled a wire off, and the truck promptly stalled out.
After a heated discussion, the attendant reconnected the errant wire and disconnected the blaring horn. And we were on our merry way.
I arrived at the college at 10 am covered in black soot and sore from trying to hold in my hysterical laughter. It took FOUR hours to get there.
The college was 30 minutes from our home.
As I exited the belching vehicle, my father asked me to please call my mother and let her know that he would most likely be late getting home.
Good old Dad, a master of understatement.
