I ended up with a broken down Bus eating rotten apples there.
We pulled over in this picturesque neighborhood of Portland, Oregon suffering what we diagnosed as trouble with the fuel pump. I say suffering and that is, in part, due to the way my synaptic transmission works. We were in the midst of a heat wave and I always relate that in some form or another, to misery.
I remember my great-grandmother (Granny Goose, respectively) talking about her grandkids going crazy over VW’s and that they seemed to be able to be repaired with nothing more than a string and a bobby pin.
While I can not relay the technical aspects of what happened that day in Portland, I do know that at the end of the day we were back on the road without even making a stop at the auto parts store.
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