About 20 miles past Ritzville, in the middle of NOWHERE with NO cell phone reception of course, my car starts shaking and rattling like no one's business. Uh oh.
We pull over, I check the oil (the only thing I can do), and call my dad. Who is really not super helpful. (Basically, I want him to tell me the car is fine and I don't need to worry. He does not say this.)
We limp our way to Moses Lake (running on gas fumes as well, as if things aren't hairy enough right now), and head to an Auto Zone to get the check engine code. Which is "not good," according to the guy. Then we limp our way to 2 more shops to find someone open.
Finally, after multiple times where my hopes get really high that things will be fine, we learn that things are not fine. At all. A cylinder with lost compression, apparently. Which most likely means that my wonderful, trusty Volvo will be possibly needing a new motor.
Ugh.
Now to work on my super-duper-favorite-daughter-pouting skills and convince my dearest daddy to come across the country to fix it for me so I don't have to spend all my London trip money on this darn car...
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