It all started with Walker Kennedy, a student we got to know over four years through Bowdoin’s Host Family program. When Walker graduated last June, his parents kindly gave us a week at their beach house in Seaside, Florida. We happily scheduled a week in mid-March.

We later learned that Alicia Lima, our current first-year Bowdoin Host Family student, planned to spend her two-week spring break with the Bowdoin crew team at Lake Marion in Summerton, South Carolina. We offered to drive her down and back, as our schedules meshed.

Shortly after offering to take Alicia, Gil Birney, Bowdoin’s crew coach, asked if we’d be willing to take along Tanisha Francis, a second year student from Great Britain. We agreed. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

So on Thursday afternoon March 10, we loaded up our 2008 Toyota Prius and headed south. And I do mean loaded up: four people in a small car plus suitcases, sleeping bags, etc. I might add, for good measure, that Tanisha is 6’ 1”.

Everything went smoothly until mid- morning on Saturday in North Carolina. I felt the car missing a little, but said nothing. Ignore the problem and it will go away, right? We stopped for gas, but after we were back on the road, the car really started acting up. The dashboard flashed red exclamation marks and other dire visual warnings. Tina “suggested” that we stop so we limped into a gas station and called AAA.

The tow truck driver arrived with a flat- bad truck, essential for towing a Prius. The young man failed to start the car, muttered something about “these electric cars” and told us to get into the truck. Tina, Alicia and Tanisha piled into the back seat of the cab. I got in the front seat, only to discover that the driver had brought along his girlfriend. This sun-glassed, gum-chewing, blond babe was well armed for the expedition. She had a pack of cigarettes, a Coke, an energy drink and two Snickers bars in her lap. Tina later reported that she wore an engagement ring, which might have explained why she had her hand on the driver’s thigh as we drove. Or, perhaps, why he seldom took his eyes off her (as we drove).

They only had eyes for each other. I, however, only had eyes for the truck, which was no more than six feet in front of us. No lie. That’s a tad disconcerting when you’re barreling down an interstate at 75 miles an hour. Oh well, we were on our way to the Fayetteville Toyota dealer to get the problem solved and continue our journey.

Not so fast. After three hours at the Toyota place, our service man told us that our car was fine to drive. They could find nothing wrong. “We won’t have a problem an hour down the road?” I asked, feeling skeptical. “No,” he insisted, “ I wouldn’t let you take it if I thought you would.” To top it off, they charged us nothing for the diagnosis. That seemed fishy. In retrospect, it was. (See “Note” at the end.)

Fifty miles down the road the car started missing again. I said nothing. “Why create panic?” I reasoned, feeling panicky. Then it got worse. And the car started to buck a bit. “ We have to get off the road,” Tina “ suggested” again. So we stumbled into the lot of a Travelodge on West Palmetto Street in Florence, South Carolina. By now it’s 7 p.m. I called Gil, the crew coach, who agreed to pick the girls up the next morning at 8 a.m.

The next day was Sunday, which dashed all hopes of getting the car fixed. The motel clerk told us that there was a Toyota dealer nearby (“ Just one mile down the road.”) After Gil picked up the girls, we decided to walk the one mile to check out the place. To be honest, there’s not a lot else to do on the outskirts of Florence on a Sunday morning if you don’t have a car. Or, in fairness, even if you do!

So we walked. And walked. The “ one mile” turned out to be 3.7 miles, according to my Fitbit. It seemed even longer, given the humidity and the smorgasbord of trash strewn along the road: McDonald’s wrappers, beer cans, parts of tires, a pair of pliers, odd articles of clothing, a discarded condom wrapper — or three, and so on. In addition to the trash, we were blessed with the sight of several churches, gun stores and check-cashing places. And many Trump signs.

After we arrived at the Toyota dealer, we debated whether to get a cab back to the Travelodge or walk. We decided to treat ourselves first to a hot fudge sundae at the drive- in across the street. After we finished eating, Tina asked our server where the recycle bin was. Her question fell on deaf ears as Florence, South Carolina is not exactly recycle-friendly. Or even recycle- aware. Then Tina warned the server of the dangers of global warming and so on. More deaf ears. So we walked back on the other side of the road, thinking it might be less littered. It wasn’t.

The next morning we called AAA and had the Prius towed to the Toyota dealer ( 3.7 miles away), hoping this dealer could fix the problem. While waiting in the service area, a jolly new car salesmen named Chris came bounding in, greeted everyone and passed out his card, just in case we ever wanted to buy a new car. “Shrewd move,” I thought to myself.

Five minutes later, the service guy came into the service area looking very solemn. He told me that the major Prius battery was dead and needed to be replaced at a cost of $3,500. The warranty had expired as we had 160,000 miles on the car. Tina and I debated for a nanosecond before deciding to buy a new car. We wandered into the service area and found Chris who was talking on the phone. He saw us, smiled, and beckoned us to sit down. Two hours later we drove out with a brand new silver 2016 Prius.

The rest of the trip went better: Scratched the Florida plan and spent a week at Hilton Head Island. Visited good friends on Pawley’s Island. Drove over to Summerton to watch Bowdoin’s crew team work out. On Friday morning, March 25 ,we headed back to Maine.

The messages? That old life-lemons-lemonade saying rings true. Tina, Alicia and Tanisha were amazingly upbeat and resilient throughout the entire saga. And I’d much rather live in Maine than South Carolina, thank you very much.

NOTE: I’ve spent much time talking with the Toyota service people in Fayetteville about their missed — or non — diagnosis. I’ve also spoken with Toyota’s national customer service center to launch a complaint. We’ve had no “satisfaction,” although it’s hard to demand compensation, when we weren’t charged anything in the first place!

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David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary or suggestions for future “ Just a Little Old” column at [email protected].