My parents, my three children, my husband, and I  had a lovely vacation in Hannibal, Missouri last week.  And we were having a lovely drive home along scenic highway 36 when my husband said, "Why did the battery light come on?"

"Maybe we overloaded the battery with the radio and the headlights and the VCR (yes, we have an actual VCR in our van) all running at the same time," I suggested.

Unable to grasp my automotive brilliance, his next words to me were, "Now the oil light is on."

And then the grinding noise started.  I listen to Car Talk enough to know that it is never good when your car makes weird noises.  I called my parents who were following us: "We have to stop.  We'll just take this exit."

"This exit" being New Cambria, Missouri, population 225--or so they say.  We pulled into the parking lot of the only New Cambria business establishment we could find, First Bank of New Cambria (which, believe it or not, has a branch).

I went into the bank.  "Our van broke down.  Is there a service station around here?" 

The very polite receptionist's first response was to laugh. Her second response was to say, "no."  And her third response was to call over some guy who was making copies.  He said he could look at the engine and make sure all the parts were there. 

Said guy's diagnosis of the van was, "Not good."  Which I could have figured out based on the quantity of smoke coming from our engine.

Thank goodness for AAA.  One phone call, fifteen minutes on hold, half an hour waiting, and one more phone call later we had the good news that a garage about twenty miles away could look at our van in four days.  AAA lady helpfully informed me that said town had a hotel and a Taco Bell. 

But seeing as our vacation was supposed to be over, I politely requested she find a garage that could look at our car TODAY.  O.K.  A place in Macon (the opposite direction from home) could probably get it in today.  And if not, Macon had more than one hotel!

The tow truck would be there at 11:30.  Make that 12:45.  And at 1:00 a phone call came from the tow truck supervisor asking if the truck had picked us up yet.

Fortunately, the First (and only) Bank of New Cambria has very nice bathrooms.  And friendly tellers. And a surprising number of customers.  My husband's theory is that word got out about the out-of-towners stranded in the bank parking lot.

We took a walking tour of the town and found that, in addition to a bank, it also has a post office.  And three parks.  One of which has two working swings and a slide my children were not brave enough to test.  If it weren't for my son's repeated declarations of boredom, the three hours in this fine city would have virtually flown by.

Our stay did eventually end with the arrival of a tow truck.  We were towed back to Macon where we had the luxury of a SubWay, a Dollar General, and a WalMart. After we had exhausted the fine shopping opportunities, we camped out in the service station/dealership waiting room.  We read car magazines, watched Leave it to Beaver, and told the salesmen that yes, we were being helped.

When we got back on the road a mere seven hours after the breakdown, we entertained ourselves with the "it could have been worse" game. 

It could have been raining the whole time.  The shop could have needed to order a part.  We could have pulled into a town of only 125 people without even a First Bank of New Cambria branch office.