Our Ride

We’re driving in a gray Ford Focus hatchback. It’s not a bad car with the exception of the fact that our two large suitcases don’t both fit in the trunk lying flat, the dashboard has left its mark on Scott’s knees on more than one occasion, the armrest won’t fold up enough to stay out of our way. It’s got nice pickup, it handles the mountains no problem, we have no trouble passing the odd triple tandem trailer hauling hay, really, it drives great.

Problem is, it doesn’t seem to like us anymore. True, it may have reason. First, it’s a pig sty. We’re essentially living out of it and the attempts we make to clean it up really just serve to keep things barely under control. Second, we’re not exactly traveling on paved roads 100% of the time. OK, make that much of the time. Our campground at Seven Devils, for instance, while recently re-graded was still 17 mostly vertical miles from town on an increasingly narrow gravel road complete with sharp dropoffs and no guardrail. We ended up 7500 feet or so above sea level.

So we can understand that it has developed a horrible squeak most noticeable at slow speeds. It does seem a little rude, though, that the left front speaker has quit working. Maybe that’s just to make sure we know it’s squeaking.