Hypertech Programmers Prevent Horror Stories
Posted on June 16, 2008
I awake in a large grassy field. The body aches from spending hours on the cool moist earth. From the position of the sun it must have been around noon. The blinding sun stings my eyes as I frantically try to decipher to my surroundings. I roll over to discover my hands bound together - duct tape. The taste of blood and sweat lingers in my mouth.
"What the...?" It hurts to think. It feels like I jumped out of a speeding car. I can hear footsteps. The silhouette walking towards me slowly comes into focus. My memory comes flooding back...
Kara and I are speeding down route 66 in our sparkle blue retro van - fully equipped with a disco ball, black light and enough albums to entertain us for days. What else could two twenty year olds ask for? I'm manning the wheel, focusing on the seemingly endless road in front of us. Kara, official road trip navigator and DJ, sits Indian style in the passenger seat next to me.
We left California yesterday sometime around noon on our way to a three-day-long music festival in Tennessee. We are looking at a 4 - 5 day drive. It really depends on how many road side monstrosities tickle our fancy. Would we be able to resist the world's largest ball of yarn? Only God knows.
"How about we change drivers when we fill up?" Kara asked. "Um...I actually wanted to make it to the concert, so I think I'm good," I responded.
"Well if I drive now, you can take a nap and then put in a few hours when the sun goes down. I hate driving in the dark anyway," she said. "And if we want to get a decent campsite, we should get there as soon as possible. That is unless you don't really care about being able to see the bands?" I hate when she's right.
Cruising down the highway, we pass a small makeshift sign for Moe's Gas, 3.1 miles away. I flip on the blinker, pull off historic route 66 and head down a dirt road towards Moe's. As we pull up to a desolate dilapidated building, Kara said, "Looks like Moe hasn't been around for a while." The abundance of overgrown weeds and spider webs were proof.
"My turn!" she said. I could tell she was itching to drive, so I threw the van in park and plopped down on our make shift bed in the back - a cozy combination of bean bag chairs, sweatshirts and pillows. "Wake me up when the sun starts to set," I said and closed my eyes.
I'm woken up by the sound of the engine stalling. "What'd you do?" I ask. "So... the little check engine light came on...around 200 miles ago," Kara softly mutters.
"What!" I shout. I run around to the driver's side and pop the hood. The engine hisses and exhales a cloud of smoke. I grab the oil dip stick and yank it out - bone dry. "I think I found our problem," I say, holding up the long thin stick. Frustrated, I slam fist onto the hood. "What were you thinking? Now we're stranding in middle of..."
"Texas," she adds.
"Texas! Great! How the hell are we going to get..." I'm interrupted as two dim headlights peek over a hill in the distance. As the car approaches, it slows to a stop right front of us. Through the blinding lights a voice yells, "You guys need a jump?"
"We need oil," I yell back. "Do you know of any auto shops around here?"
"Yes sir, but the closest one is 'bout twenty miles down the road," replied a full, deep voice. "Want a ride?"
Now I know what you're thinking - we would have to be out of our minds to accept a ride from this mysterious stranger, right? But turns out the guy played keys for one of the bands in the festival. Not only did we make it to the festival on time, but he tossed us some backstage passes and we hung with his band after they played.
Those guys know how to party. Apparently I wanted to take the van to do donuts in a field, so Kara and some of the guys, pulled me from the van, taped me up, and left me in the field. Back to present time. As my eyes adjust, I see that Kara is the one walking towards me. As she kneels down to help me up, I joke, "I guess this is what happens when you let a woman drive."
She wasn't amused. She gets up and starts walking away. "Oh come on, I was joking. Kara. Kara!" I yelled, but she just kept walking.
How could I have avoided this whole mess? If only we had a Hypertech programmer, we would have known what the check engine light meant. Instead I spent my money on these awesome Power slot rotors. Rock on! - Mike Rosania
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