You have transported me back to 1988. I left Sheridan, Wyoming very early on the morning of August 14th on the 3rd day of my drive from Boston to Seattle in my nearly-new Volkswagen GTI 16V. Just a bit over the Montana state line (near where Custer beamed up?) I stopped for gas, checked the oil, and added a bit of Castrol.

Somewhere east of Billings, doing like 100-110 MPH, I remarked to myself with annoyance that the view in the rear-view mirror looked like it had been shot by a tasteless wedding photographer. The vaseline-smeared facts slowly dawned on me. I eased the GTI off on an approaching ramp, pulled over and popped the hood, then saw the filler cap sitting comfily in a gap on the intake manifold.

I counted to 100 and started pulling the dip stick. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I seem to recall that the GTI then let me pour in pretty much the entire rated capacity of oil. I drove to Seattle chanting "I am doomed. I am stupid! I am bad person!"

I forget the mileage, but I sold the still-revving-happily '87 GTI to a nice young waiter from one of our local restaurants in 2001.