Marta, Haydn and I set off on a snowy Boxing Day for an extended holiday. I had completely forgotten about the Appalachian chain of mountains in New York and Pennsylvania when I chose the route. Towing a vehicle behind her, she struggled valiantly to get up and down the mountains. When she breathed hard, we held our breath and felt in our bones how ardently she tried to perform. Marta panted as hard as Atlas, God of Burdens, must have as he toiled with his weight. The feelings she evoked when down to her lowest gear, clawing her way in the frigid outdoor temperatures on twisty, corkscrew, snow-ladden roads were agonizing pity for her plight.
Marta’s heart was her original engine that Haydn had overhauled, and made improvements that he believed were necessary for the added ten feet of length. The amendments were to give her more strength and lengthen her life.
Night one, we were able to give her respite on a flat, restaurant parking lot in the Alleghany Mountains.
Marta performed stoutheartedly the following day through the mountains in Pennsylvania. She, unfortunately, exerted herself beyond her strength and vital fluids erupted. After her temperature returned to normal, we picked up the necessary antifreeze in a small town, in case she needed another life-saving coolant transfusion.
Before entering Virginia, Haydn saw the bronze tablet on the shoulders of the road informing travellers, “Geological feature, Pennsylvania’s highest elevation west of the Mississippi.” There was no need to add to my guilt by reading the words aloud.
We had been Marta’s cheerleaders over ascents and were gleeful when she was able to control her speed down the descents. Her curriculum had been rigorous and to us she had graduated Magna cum laude when she reached the Virginia rest stop at the end of day two.
As night fell, on day three, just before the rest stop, Haydn questioned, “What is that sound?”
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s getting louder!”
“Shit!” “Since we left the last gas station, I’ve been driving in second gear at highway speeds.”
“Boom!” As the rod in the engine blew!
We had to leave when the tow truck arrived, because we would have bawled like infants at the sadness of seeing her crippled and being towed on a hook.
Marta had not warranted her doom. There had been a Herculean urge to place a pacifier in her grille.
Marta's construction: http://www.geocities.com/sylley2000/
Before her re-birth:
