Well that just about cracks it...

The other day the car stalled out. Papí was transporting the boy to go pick up Mrs. papí. At the time I thought the gas was low and it was just possible that the thing ran out (it seemed a little unlikely...).

I was in downtown Oakland and Mrs. papí (we stalled nearby our meeting place) joined the boy while I ran to buy a gas can and to bring back a gallon of gas. The car started and ran fine all the way back to home---after filling up the tank a little more.

The next day, I went with the boy to pick up Mrs. papí once more, for we planned to drive about on errands. The car then stalled again at about the same distance from home (just cut out with no warning)---about 2-ish miles.

All the while baby boy fervently awaited his mother's attentions, so I imagined his disappointment; though again we were within a short distance from the meeting place. Bad luck, I thought, and I prepared to call AAA (we were stuck in traffic at this time where there was no way to get the car over due to the line of cars on my left). Grrrr...

On a lark, I tried the key once more and the car started and ran just fine. By now, Mrs papí joined us and we made it home together.

Now, I must tell you that papí must drive the car through a tunnel to get to home from these meeting places. Otherwise we might just walk to pick up the Mrs. Those tunnels are smoky and sooty and very loud places. Cars turn on the jets and fly through there, and they are joined by semis and other deliver vehicles all roaring through.

This finally hit home to me as I researched the car troubles online. I never claimed to be the swiftest horse in the race, nor to be the brightest light in the box. But I must say that this dawning realization did not come over me until I contemplated the journey to the friendly auto service people. That journey would be around 8.7 miles by google maps estimation.

Initially the thought came upon me in subtle trepidation: Should I really just knowingly stall out and then expect to wait until the car starts? Sure, but if so then where should I stall out? Papí's hometown is much less dense than the big inner city downtown. Wasn't that just putting unnecessary risk into the situation?

Remember, the very point of this blog is that I am with the child during the very time I must deliver the vehicle to service. Recall again that I must get around nine miles and there is a question about how many times the car must stall before we actually arrive. Those of you who drive even a little will note the many stupid contradictions even as I did not at the time take them into consideration.

The upshot of all this: I was getting ready to ford the vast urban distance---no I never once planned to take the freeway, and for that I am at least a little proud---and the boy securely in the back. His mood was so excited. He seemed up for the adventure. Little could he expected the disaster approaching.

Of course not, he relies on papí in everything. Everything papí does must seem like the cat's meow to the boy (at least when Mrs. papí is not around, as he much prefers direct feedings instead of the express bottles papí furnishes).

Papí drove the car towards the tunnel. The tunnel that might well be one mile in length...

...hold it! As a large SUV pulled up behind us at the stop light just before the lane to the tunnel, Papí decided against it, and at the last possible right turn we went towards the land route (a bridge some three miles out of the way, but much safer to stall out on if that be the case). Only about five or six blocks into this detour, the car stalled. In the event we kept our heading into the tunnel the car perhaps might stall at 50 mph in front of a too-close SUV...

...Ouch! That was really too close. Papí regrets his temporary insanity and gladly welcomes the fresh perspective of sensibility!

The whole situation compounded as papí and the boy waited by the side of the road and the vehicle (with blinkers on) sat in a little left-turn only lane in the middle of the road. Thankfully, the AAA arrived within a half-hour to strap the car, yet the tow driver forgot to secure the front wheels rolling on the road behind the harness and papí and the towdriver were surprised by a grating sound as the driver-side wheel scraped along the curbside with the car at a 90-ish degree angle from the towtruck (on a straightaway).

Well, that is something for yet another blog. I only bring it up here as the boy was now strapped into the tow truck's middle seat. That was a loud experience and the papí felt fortunate to have some of that express bottle at hand for the startled boy. What with the bounding and the loud radio music, we left our little safe place.

We stepped out of the quietude of papí's ragas and piano music. And once we got out of the tow truck and papí managed all the paperwork at the mechanic's place, papí and the boy went to the café where papí had a cappuccino and the boy had more mommy express. We sat in the shade of the bright sun on the super loud corner and the boy stood on the table and on papí and belched, and then we jogged across town a bit to shop for home; and then we jogged across town a bit to get to the bus home.

Papí arrived home sweat soaked and a little delirious while the boy just at that time---after an eventful bus ride of shadows and light and people and colorful things---began to feel his tummy a bit empty and his head a bit sleepy.

Cheers.