Ragnar and I realized our car wasn't the blazing tank it used to be, ever since we converted it to run on vegetable oil. Already in upstate New York, we knew we needed to find someone to fix it. It was losing power and we were headed into thunderstorm territory, and we still had to cross the Rockies. We looked online and found Mark in Trumansburg, New York, a small town on a finger lake. He was willing on his day off to pencil us in between helping his friend build a straw bale home and putting in his own fence. A true helper this guy was. We found him at his small home, a true tarp mechanic, and he took one look at our car, realized air was getting into the fuel system, cut some hoses, waved a wand, and whatever he did it worked. He explained our car's system to us in a way that clicked and I learned more about cars from him in one hour than in my whole life. He had two dogs that sat in my lap, Ziggy and Fidel, while he and Ragnar did the dirty work. After that, we sailed smooth out towards the West.
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