We made it there without much of a problem. The dealer was quite nice about talking with us. There was only one car in before us, not counting any that were key-dropped before we left. He got right on it; the car was hoisted within ten minutes and a technician was under it immediately.
We sat in the Volkswagen waiting room contemplating our lot. The Passats and Jettas were even cheaper than I thought. I toyed with the idea of buying one, driving it for the rest of the trip, and selling it in Seattle. It would only cost me, net, about $5000 to do so. I figured that wouldn't be a bad price for all of our fun.
To calm my nerves (and to answer all her questions) I sat with Liz and discussed how oil really works. We talked about viscosity and grades, and I made crude drawings of how the parts fit together. There was a copy of Hot Rod magazine there, so we had pictures of some of the parts, too.
Just as I was getting to the hydraulic valves in the Porsche, the service representative came by. He said there was good news and bad news. He said that the car was done, and that they had found the seal on the oil filter had torn. They replaced it and fired-up the engine, and it hadn't leaked in five minutes. What a relief. I almost got sick again. They had topped-up the car; I lost more than two quarts.
The guy went on to say that the bad news was that the car wasn't done being washed yet, and it might take a while since the oil was just everywhere. But we were out of there by 830am.
Before Liz and I went back to the hotel, I wandered around to see if there was a state store or a distributor so I could by the guys at the shop a couple of bottles or a case. We wandered around for about half an hour and couldn't find anything; we ended up in a couple of bad parts of town, and needed the navigation system to bail ourselves out. Thankfully, our little hotel was on there and we made a break for it.
I couldn't believe my luck, that the car leaked oil twice, now. And I couldn't believe my luck that Barrier Motors, the dealer who services the car who had fixed it so badly botched the oil change. Letters would be written, yes they would. To Porsche, for not returning my calls. To the dealer here in Harrisburg, for handling me the right way (like Barrier never has). And to Barrier, of course, for never doing things right.
Well, we went to the hotel and packed-up everything. I had figured we'd end up asking for another night and then end up trying to make travel reservations. But here we were, earlier than we'd normally be, getting ready to leave.
We hopped into the car and checked out. Back on the highway, we rattled around a little and then boogied east on PA-283 towards Lancaster. Liz wanted to see the Amish country. But a ways out of the town Liz decided we would go to Hershey. She just wanted to drive down the streets and see the Kisses for lamp posts.
I was really eager to see my brother, so we got into a little fight about the detour. Liz couldn't find the center of town, and then we decided to blow it off. But finally seeing the factory and the lamp posts on the way out made things better. The town reeks of chocolate smell, like when you open a pouch of instant coccoa.
We ended up at some diner-type place that had signs very similar to Denny's. Dempsey's, I think. We each had a greasy omlette. For me, it really hit the spot. My stomach was just settling after being so upset all night. There weren't many people in the restraunt, except for this old couple that hobbled to their car. The guy helped the lady down the steps and across to the handicapped spot under the sign. Right when the old man fired it up, the turn signal was on.
There was still no sign of an oil leak.
We blew out of there and kept cutting east. Just past Intercourse, we decided to stop at a little Amish shoppe and buy some souvenirs and a book on the Amish. Liz read from it as we drove until she had a headache.
From Intercourse, we grabbed PA-41 southeast towards Wilmington. Just after we crossed the state line, it started raining. I stopped for gas and we got some sodas. We kept pushing towards the state line, and found DE-7 and then DE-1. My plan was to keep on US-13 south and then cross at the Chessapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel.
Since the last time I'd been down here, US-1 became a toll road and US-13 was widened. There was an amazing amount of construction, and lots of new shopping centers and buildings. The area along US-13 was really booming.
At the border between Maryland and Delaware, we stopped at a rest area in the welcome center and called my brother at work. He was still around, and we'd be there around 8pm.
Just a few more miles later, we stopped at an Applebee's near Salisbury and had some dinner. Applebee's are great restraunts, and they're fun to be at. We brought in our bag and sorted out some CDs into the cartridges and got going again.
After dinner, Liz and I played the Alphabet Game a couple of times. We sailed over the Virginia border and were on the eastern shore of the state before 7pm.
It really didn't take long to get the rest of the way down to Virginia Beach; probably just less than two hours. The bridge was much nice than I remember. It was great; the bridge now had two spans and was only one lane each way in the tunnels. All these improvements, and the toll was down to ten bucks!
There was a cop on the bridge.
We hopped on to US-60, which all the locals call Shore Drive. We drove past a few of the restraunts and I told Liz some of the stories of the place as we went. I've visited many times.
We crossed the bridge at Lynnhaven Bay, and I caught up to a four wheel drive truck painted up for the Virginia Beach Police Department's Marine Patrol. Liz warned me not to pass him, but I was going less than the speed limit.
When I took a left turn to get into the signal lane, the truck jumped behind me. My radar detector went nuts, so I turned it off. When the light turned green, sure enough, he flipped on his lights and stopped me.
The guy was a real prick. He took my license and registration, and insisted that I knew what I was being stopped for already. I told him that I didn't, and he said it was for my detector. "I saw you switch it off back there".
He asked what kind it was, and I'm not sure why that mattered. Maybe he already had a BEL 745STi in his collection, because he said he wouldn't confiscate it but would write me a ticket.
I know that detectors are illegal in Virginia, but I simply forgot. We didn't see the sign at the border, somehow—even though we were playing the Alphabet Game for most of that part of our trip. I signed the ticket, and I'll fight it if it is a moving violation. Otherwise, I guess I'll just pay it off.
It's not as if I live in Maryland and was trying to sneak by. I'm from the other freaking coast. Traffic cops are jerks.
I pulled into the condos and my brother was waiting with his girlfriend. We made a few calls and went off to Bay Billiards to drink and shoot pool.
Last modified on 26 June, 1999.