Rush hour slows all four northbound lanes of highway traffic to twenty miles an hour…fifteen… ten…and holds at a five-mile-an-hour crawl. I’m boxed in by cars, SUVs, and a few semis. No off ramp in site. No way to cross to the shoulder. Not two minutes later, even the crawl ceases. The engine idles roughly in my fourteen-year-old ride that’s clearly feeling the aches and pains of its two-hundred-thousand plus miles. In the last year, this van has stalled at a major intersection, blew out two tires in one day, and purged its radiator in the middle of a highway construction zone. And I just know I’m going to get…