Poor, poor Betty!
The indignities she suffered at Calgary's Beerfest were too numerous to mention. Her beauty, lost amidst the haze of beer goggles worn by Friday night's horde of revelers, led to her gas cap being stolen and someone generously feeding her beer (via the open gas tank).
Now--Betty's not so genteel as to deny herself a drink now and then--so the small sample of beer in the tank (and maybe some curry chicken, I don't know) had little effect; engines from her era can blow through almost anything. What was truly inconvenient, was the gas that gurgled out of her when the ignition was engaged. Gas that bubbled and spewed with every engine rev. Gas that I inadvertently deposited all the way down Macleod Trail on my way to Canadian Tire to purchase a new gas cap. Gas whose collected vapors in the cab created a nice warm glow within me as I drove. Which is perhaps why the following exchange took place (but imagine it all yelled over the din of wind, moving at 60kms/h):
B- (singing joyously along with the radio--likely to Gowan)
A Civic pulls up alongside Betty, at cruising speed, a passenger's head out the window.
C- "Hey! Hey! There's gas coming out of your truck!"
B- "I know! I'm doing a stunt! I'm going to light it on fire!"
C- (a look of obvious concern and surprise)
B- "I'm kidding! Someone stole my gas cap! I'm going for a new one!"
C- (no response--still kind of uncertain)
That's the last time I try to be funny about leaving a trail of flames down a highway.
Maybe the second last time.