After departing Estepona, we stopped for our first fill up with the Fiat Cuisinart that we’d rented. Mind you, if a couple of thieves just picked the entire little dude up and carried it away, it might set you back as much as a two-stage snow blower, yet the car came with a key locked gas cap whose mechanism could have protected Fort Knox.

Cliff diving anyone?

  After a solid five minutes of me trying to unlock it, it somehow unlocked.. (I doubt that “g@dd@@nsonofab#$%h” was the secret command to release it, but there it was finally off in my hand.)

  Getting it back on was just as hopeless. Even Carol’s usually magic fingers for getting things apart or put together failed us. Our gas stop is now approaching fifteen minutes of which just two were needed to fill the Fiat’s gas tank, which no doubt could double as a shot glass.

  “I knew we’d have to fill up one more time before turning our slurry machine in, so watching the gauge fall toward empty was like Dorothy watching the hourglass in the witch’s castle.”

  A biker pulled up next to us and I asked him for assistance. There are two words in Spanish for help: ayuda and auxilio. Since auxilio is usually followed by an exclamation point, my guess is that is the one you use when you’re on fire. “Auxilio,” I said to the biker, whose facial expression suggested I may have given him the impression I was on fire.

  Bikers are generally handy folk when it comes to the road, but even he couldn’t figure out how to get the cap back on. Meanwhile, Carol (are you even remotely surprised) was burying herself Googling YouTube videos on how to unlock and lock a key locked gas cap. Surprise: there are several such videos. I wonder why.

 
 A typical scene along the drive.

She chose the one that explained it as if he was talking to a six-year-old. Unfortunately, when it comes to mechanical things, I’m a four-year-old and I still couldn’t get it to lock. Carol took over both with and without the video and finally succeeded. (I think she might have invoked the “g@dd@@nsonofab#$%h” secret command but I didn’t ask.) The good news is we could drive off with our thimble full of gas totally protected from theft. The bad news was neither one of us knew how we managed to get the cap off and back on again.

  I knew we’d have to fill up one more time before turning our slurry machine in, so watching the gauge fall toward empty was like Dorothy watching the hourglass in the witch’s castle.

Our view for the bulk of the road trip.

And that final battle with the gas cap went about as well as the first, but at least no one was behind us waiting for the pump. 

  Oh, the road trip itself went very well with gorgeous views of Spain’s Costa del Sol, as some of Carol’s photos here will attest.

We did break our rule about not trying to drive our belt sander up any mountain sides, in order to visit one of the country’s famous “white towns.” Getting back out of the parking garage was a bit of a tight squeeze for anything larger than an orange crate, but it was no problem for us. 

  When we turned the car in, it did feel a little like we’d been at a go kart track for a week. It felt good to stretch our legs and get our knees back down from our chests. 

  Nah, it wasn’t that bad. If you rent one of these Big Wheels, though, practice with the gas cap before you leave the rental agency.