Headgasket's blown. Richard's says it'd look like $700 to fix it, or I could throw it to the junkyard for a $50. That's the damn-it part.
Talked to Bob and he, Lee and Luke are coming out in the morning, picking up the piece and we're putting it in. "Because," he says, "we're young and stupid and we've never done something quite like this before." It's like 15 degrees outside.
Richard says he'll let us use a bay. I'm holeing up at the Manor - I said I wanted something cheap and they said that's "the dive" - and Richard's wife voluntarily called Chaplin Bob who's paying for the room and $15 eating money. Has a trucker's ministry, they say. She tells me their church is trying to start up something like that, Good Samarat'n, but is short on funds. He tells me they go to the NASCAR truck races every year out by Pittsburg and that for $7.99 I can a steak and all you can eat salad "over the crick from the Manor."
I'm reading Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles tonight. My friend's 'll be here in the morning and I'll be in Hillsdale by Wednesday.