Thursday, August 10, 2006

I got the call, again.

As if the first time wasn't bad enough. Last November I was about 10 minutes into my workout at the gym when Nina's phone started ringing. It was Ryan - frantic because he was stranded on the side of the freeway near Lynnwood. He had run out of gas. He even admitted thinking that he had to get gas, passed about 20 stations on his way to the freeway and just spaced it. So I rescued him - releaved he was ok but a little upset that he doesn't pay attention to such critical details.

And then last night after track, while preparing a fabulous feast of chicken indian food - I got the call.

"The van just died. I don't know what's wrong."

"What do you want me to do about it? If you're stranded call 911 to let them know you're there."

"No, I'm going to see if I can get Maggie (the van) going again - it was wierd, she just powered down all of a sudden. No warning - nothing."

He hangs up. I continue cooking - things are smelling really tastey in the kitchen. My mouth starts watering. Two minutes later the phone rings.

"I'm out of gas."


Luckily this time he was on I-5 right at where the 520 exit merges off of the 5. I looked in the garage - and voila! A full gas can ready for rescue.

A quick cruise to the freeway - and there was poor little Maggie - deader than a doornail in the split between the two roadways. I was a little pissed at first - next time - well, there's not going to be a next time. What's up Mr. Triplett?

We got home and had our great dinner around 11pm and I got to tell him stories about my race night. He told me he had climbed 4 pitches of 13c. We went to bed and dreamt of sugarplums. ;)

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