[This is Part 1 of The Plattsburgh Saga.
Here's Part 2.
Here's Part 3.
Here's Part 4.]
I'm writing this one from the front seat of my (stopped) car.
I had this whole thing written in my head, see. I'm on my way to visit my favorite Adirondackian, and for some reason the GPS sent me a different way than usual. It's not longer, so I took it, and it led me down lots of smaller country roads, places where I could think and enjoy amazing views of Lake Champlain. I was thankful, I thought, for roads less traveled by.
And then the transmission died, about an hour from my destination.
I mean, probably.
No one's looked at the car yet, but when the car stopped accelerating and then slowed nearly to a stop, I pulled over. I called my friend and asked him for the name of a mechanic closer to him I could have the car towed to. I called the mechanic, who wasn't going to be able to take me for a week, but who recommended a transmission-specific place I could call. I called that place and arranged for a tow, and then called my friend back to arrange for him to pick me up at the garage. I called my mother so she wouldn't worry that I hadn't let her know I'd arrived yet.
And now I am in my car, scribbling* out blog posts on a notepad, safe and waiting for the tow truck.
Day 22 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for roads less traveled by — and also for cell phones and AAA plus.
* I think "scratching out" sounds more like printing, and "scribbling out" sounds more like handwriting. Thoughts?