We spent the night at that hilltop motel on U. S. 44 near St. Louis, Missouri. The next day my car was delivered back to the motel. They said the carburetor was packed with fibers. They didn't know where they came from. Removed, the car was ready for the trip back home. Since the car was still under warranty, there was no charge.

We collected our belongings, filled the car with gas and started out. Conditions had changed overnight. Six inches of snow had fallen. The road was not plowed and wouldn't be until we turned onto U. S. 70 crossing the Mississippi. Don't they have snow plows in Missouri? By that time we were in a full-blown blizzard. You know, high winds, heavy snow blowing sideways, visibility almost zero. Snow plows were everywhere in Indiana.

I remember in southern Indiana at a spot of wrecked cars, seeing a man carrying his small child, standing in the median. He didn't know what to do. I knew better than to stop. I would probably have been hit as well in the hard driving snow plus stuck and not be able to continue. There were enough snowplows in the area to help him. But I never will forget how pitiful he looked standing there in the driving snow holding his child.

By the time we got to Indianapolis the blizzard was behind us. No snow, no wind, just cold for the trip back home. Our problems weren't over, however. With no warning the engine stopped. I was driving at this point. Coasting off to the side of the road, I hit the starter button. Nothing. We sat there a while in the dark. I tried the starter again. This time, it caught and we were on our way but only at about 25 miles per hour. That was all it would do, coughing and sputtering. We finished this trip from hell by driving until the engine stopped, waiting a few minutes, then continuing on for a ways.

I had missed a days work by this time. My husband was furious. Somehow he figured the car problems were my fault. I never did understand that. Taking the car back to the dealership, they could find nothing wrong with it or so they said. In fact, when I got the car back, we had no more such problems. Several other problems arose, such as the gears jumping out of drive and into neutral. The dealer said I needed to very, very carefully seat the gear shift in place, not just change gears. It was me, they said, not the car. It would take several people being killed when their gear shift jumped from drive to reverse before they called me to bring the car in to be fixed. We never bought another car there.

The moral of this story is don't assume anything. I had assumed it would be an easy week-end jaunt. No way. I figured a new car would have no problems. Another case of faulty thinking. I never understood how they theorized the car's problems were my fault. Just because I am female? Really now!

I did learn one lesson, however. The Ford Fairmont was a new model on the road. It is better to wait a year or so until the bugs are worked out. Our next new car would have problems as well, just of a different sort. That was a cute little Oldsmobile. My pastor showed me how to keep it running.