On my last day as a 32-year-old, my dear Suki (sweet little car o' mine) decided she simply couldn't carry us any farther than the 1200+ miles she'd come from Colorado, so she protested by randomly and violently waving her windshield wipers (despite the controls being in the off position), and then losing all forward momentum when I turned off the air conditioner. I let her idle and rest on the side of the road for a bit, in the hopes of raising her spirits a bit, but her tantrum wasn't over. When I coaxed her into going forward again, the windshield wipers flailed in proportion to the weight of my foot on the gas pedal, and she randomly flashed some display lights on her dash.
Thus, the kids and I spent several hours on the side of the road on Snoqualmie Pass, pictured above. It's beautiful, and looks idyllic from a distance, but the roar of the 70mph traffic mere feet away is still in my ears almost 24 hours later. I hauled all our Colorado possessions a hundred feet up the road into a minuscule pull off, where we set up camp. Our Van Gogh car sunshades, giant wicker picnic basket, and rainbow and Buddha canvas bags festooned the side of the rode and passersby gawked as we sweated in our insufficient shade. Once AAA towed the car away, we were on our own, and likely mystified more than one human hurtling through the mountains in their obedient hunks of steel and plastic. We passed the time with songs and silliness, stories and shade-seeking, furtive toileting and Bigfoot-watching. Leo is certain he saw branches mysteriously move as though someone were keeping an eye out for us.
We're now safely ensconced at my parents' house in Tacoma, sans car. Interestingly, the shop where Suki was towed lost power about the time she arrived, and in spite of being a major business (the Toyota dealership, in fact) in a metro area, word says that they won't get power back before Wednesday. Who'd'a thunk it? So, in the meantime, I'm sending healing vibes to Suki and preparing to bid farewell to the laptop who has been dreaming of coming back to Colorado with me. C'est la vie.