Not exactly how I was planning to spend my Thursday, cooped up in my car outside of a Lifetime Fitness parking lot waiting for a tow truck. Oh that's right - car trouble yet again rears its ugly head like a damn plague.

Day started off nice and fine, with an alarm going off barely beating dawn, pulling me to the gym for a good workout and steam before a long day at work, only to come out and not have the engine start. Two separate cars and jumper cables later, the call to the trucking company starts the eventual path to the shop. I think the "tow truck ride to the mechanic" is essentially an adult "walk of shame." At least for a guy that works on his own vehicles.


This, of course comes after a constant berating from my parents to sell the cars and bikes and just buy a new car with a shiny warranty each time anything goes wrong with any of them. Which, by the way, really doesn't help when you're wokring to solve something and people tell you that you doing things totally wrong to begin with.

But for all the pains and nuances that come with them, I love my vehicles. I love that the Mustang is the car that my mom travelled cross country in with her sisters. I love that the Thundercat (motorcycle) gives me control and lets me get out and be with the outside world when I'm riding. I love that the Firebird is the car I always wanted as a kid, and that I can drop the top when it's beautiful outside. And they all look damn sexy.

But they are a lot of work, and (especiallly recently) evaluating where to spend my time is a non-trivial task. Oops tow truck is here, time to go.

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