It being the Feast of St. George, I rose with the sun, got everything squared away, said Morning Prayer, walked the dog and put some rods in the back of the rig; the plan being to go fishing. Good plan, eh? Simple, clear, realistic, doable. But you know what they say, as soon as you make contact the plan goes all to hell. That's what happened to me.
Everything was fine until I got to Whitney and picked up some bait. Then, as I pulled away from the bait shop filling station, the dash pinged me with a check radiator warning and the gauge went into the red like a voracious Bass on a juicy worm.
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| The Plan |
Sure enough, the radiator was leaking coolant like a good 'un and the reservoir was empty. I filled it up and drove home, hoping that, as if by magic, the leak would stop when I got back to the compound. It hadn't, and I resisted the temptation to get a quick fix with Stop Leak and folk remedies like black pepper, eggs etc.
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| St. George Makes Contact. Note: Princess, Humpback Hill, Your 9 O' Clock. |
It can go to the shop on Monday, and in the meanwhile I console myself with the thought that the fish will still be there when we get back in the fight.
All for Texas and St. George,
LSP
