Porn Shops, Truckstops and Disappointment.

"Trailer for sale or rent -- ROOOMS to let -- Fifty cents..."

I'm singing at the top of my lungs, flying down the highway with the window down and my sunglasses on. The radio is blaring Roger Miller at a level not safe for human ears. My daughter, if she were in the car, would say that my singing isn't safe for human ears. Everyone's a critic. Porn Shops and Truckstops blur past me at 75 mph.

Then it happens.

My previously purring engine now sounds like someone pulled the plug on it. After a minute or so it revs back up and runs fine.

Lather, rinse, repeat X 3.

"SON OF A ...."

Well, you can fill in the blank there.

Here's where I spent the next hour pondering my choices. It had a great view of the vending machines, the dog walking area, and the bathrooms.

Do I take my chances and continue on? What happens if I break down and end up being the first female some insane escaped convict sees?

Hrmm. Is he wearing a flightsuit? I love a guy in a flightsuit.

I decided that the mature, responsible, level-headed Epi should probably get her ass back to NW Ohio while her car (hereto named Esmerelda, Mistress of Disappointment) was still able to. Regardless of how disappointed she is. And she is disappointed.

Just call me the Queen of the Road.