Business took me down from Woodstock to areas south of Chicago last week. For those down that way, if you’re not familiar with Woodstock, we’re just beyond the Sacred Elephant Graveyard. In other words, we’re a bit off the beaten track. While casually cruising southbound on Highway 355 in my father’s Lincoln I suddenly smelled something akin to burning rubber as I saw a sign for the Route 34 exit. Then, the battery light came on just as I noticed an marked stiffness in the steering wheel. I know these symptoms of automotive malaise well. In fact, it was only 24 hours earlier that, like déjà vu, I experienced the same symptoms in my own car (hence the need to borrow my father’s car for the day). What are the odds of throwing a serpentine belt on two cars in consecutive days? It has to be some kind of a record. Contemplating the irony of the events was secondary to my immediate problem as I turned off of 355 onto westbound 34. The prominent issue plaguing my mind was what to do now. Whe...