Part 2 goes something like this: I toss and turn all night while trying to sleep in the S-10. At one point a police car is sitting in the entrance not far from me with his headlights pointed in my direction. I thought for sure he would ask what I was doing, but after about an hour he left. Go figure.
I woke up and, on a whim, cranked up the truck. It purred. Since there was a McDonald's not far away and I wanted to take a bird bath and change clothes, I went there. Then I decided to just start my route and see what happened.
I completed the route with no problems at all. There was roughly 275 miles from my last stop to the house. With about 120 miles to go, the truck starts acting up. I would be holding down the gas pedal, but all it would do it stop and go. Believe it or not, I made it another 32 miles like this, with the last stretch spent driving in the shoulder at 10 mph. I swallowed my pride and called AAA. Hey, that's what they are for! Two hours later the driver dropped me and the S-10 off at my mechanic's shop. I walked the mile or so home.
Now, if only those 22 reports would magically enter themselves, all would be fine!
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