Lily is set to undergo surgery early this coming week. Since it's too expensive to use a tow truck (also known as a car ambulance) my dad and I decided to slowly nurse the old girl to the hospital. We drove slowly through the entire city of St. Catharines, from the north end to Thorold.
Now I haven't gone into incredible detail as to what exactly is wrong with our trusty RV, and I don't especially intend to, as I know I could lose a few readers with boring motor talk. However, I will let you know, that the exhaust manifold has a gap which causes her to be EXTREMELY LOUD. Now, when you have an RV that was built in the 70's with graffiti all over and a basketball net on the side, you are bound to turn a few heads. But now, she also sounds like a monster truck revving up to jump 10 school busses, even though she is barely going over 30km/h.
Let me tell you, the people were staring.
I have also come to realize that I thrive when I drive Lily. It's one of the places I feel most at home. Her sturdy, yet zesty steering wheel with the tractor steering knob from Bolivia, her worn in seats that hug all the right places, the way she barrels down the street demanding love and attention from everyone around, the old sound system from my VW Jetta (RIP), simply put: she's the best. Limping her across town was just another adventure as I would shout at her over the deafening engine to encourage her up that tiny hill, or quietly reassure her at every red light that she could make it.
That's why we took her to the right guy, who will fix her up properly. She deserves to have life and have it to the full. I just know she has a few more years (and a lot more adventures) left in her. But as time runs out leading up to when we want to leave, we're still unsure if she will be ready for the weekend. We have faith.