Just outside of Richfield, the Suburban started hesitating going uphill around seventy miles per hour. I thought perhaps it was something wrong with the speed governor. I wasn't really worried, just annoyed.
Heading up the dugway just inside the southern border of the Navajo reservation outside of Page, Arizona, the dern truck wouldn't go much faster than sixty, then proceeded to buck along as if starved for fuel. You can imagine my thoughts at five in the afternoon while heading into an auto-repair oblivion consisting of around one hundred miles of desert and sage, sans Checker, AutoZone or NAPA. But as I reasoned it out, I reckoned that it wasn't getting much worse very quickly, so we'd be just fine, if not a bit slower and my nerves a bit more frazzled.
To make a too long story shorter, we made it to Phoenix by around nine thirty last evening, and this morning, I went through the fuel supply chain with a fine tooth comb, replacing filters, checking pressure and cleaning carburetor. After a couple skinned knuckles and a quick lap on the local freeway keeping up with a 300Z at silly rates of speed, I have declared the Suburban fit too run. We shall have to test that out more surely on the trip home, of course.
Beautiful day today, after all that car repair shin, we took a trip to the park for the kids and to the local merchants for the adultos for to browse and marvel at the productive and consumptive capacity of our little society.
Jenna and Ryandavid are well, their son is due any time now. Nevertheless, Jenna still gets down on the floor and plays games with the kids, to the point that my mom gets worried about her getting mauled by my overactive children. What a girl. It was good to hang around with my brother for a while. I miss that living so far away.
It is fun to let the wonderful grandparents do the cooking and kid attending a bit, a true godsend I wish upon all sweet parents everywhere as often as they can get it.