Vacation Woes - Part one - Jan 19, '05

Some of you have made the mistake of encouraging me to write about our recent car troubles.  Happily I tried to comply but I found the recital long and tedious - therefore I've decided to feed it out in installments......

Our recent vacation to attend a grandson's birthday in Colorado has been totally devastating!  I gained 7 lbs over the course of about 10 days.  But our scale at home is a notorious liar, much like an automotive service writer; so I'm not quite sure just how bad the damage has been in the weight department.  Perhaps this heavy spike in bulk will soon pass along with the remnants of last Saturday night's dinner from The Outback. 

Actually upon reflection, I take more than a little pride in that third sentence above - I was able to use the term "service writer" without the on-set of severe facial tics and without  seeking guidance from a therapist - a considerable display of resolve and self control given the events of the past week.  By the way, I do know a therapist - she is an old school chum with whom I am renewing acquaintances; so if I ever do follow up on the prevailing advice to "seek professional help" as many of you have freely suggested, I will at least have someone to turn to for a discount.  In the meantime, you might ask, "Why the irrational fixation on service writers?"  That's a fair enough question and I promise to get to the answer in due time. 

The trouble began when, without notice, the Chrysler's water pump seized causing the engine to superheat similar to the core of the sun; whereupon the car's fragile, plastic water reservoir ruptured and spewed forth a fog of steam all over Eastern Colorado.  Nearing it's final death spasm, the engine blew a gasket and pumped the remaining precious coolant out through the exhaust pipe onto the highway.   Too bad, we had been making good time - about an hour and a half from the end of an otherwise uneventful trip but now our ancient and mortally comatose land schooner was becalmed atop I-25's exit ramp on the Monument Hill summit, just a few miles north of Colorado Springs.

As we sat there blocking the ramp's left turn lane, dozens of cars carefully worked their way around us while I sat in a cationic state for several minutes trying to grasp the gravity of our situation.  Looking under the hood I spotted the plume of steam which seemed to issue forth from a hose. Clutching at a false premise founded more on hope than fact, I superficially decided that perhaps all we needed was a new hose and a lot more coolant.  Still, even with the hood up no one stopped to offer aid.  After blocking the lane for about 15 minutes and with the hood lowered, I prepared to push the car off the exit ramp and out of the way.  Just then a good Samaritan pulled along side, locked his door, rolled down his window but an inch or so and inquired if he could call someone for me - disgustedly I informed him that I had a cell phone too!  Geez!  Do I really look that scary?  Maybe I should get the hair-cut.

While Sharon steered, I called forth a Herculean effort to push the car over a small rise from which it rolled down County-line Road under the influence of gravity.  As the car gathered momentum, I sprinted around to the passenger door and reached out to open it in order to jump in.  Just as I opened the door I realized that Sharon had no idea what I was planning to do and my actions might give her a fright.  The thought occurred that if she hit the brakes in panic, I would die, smashed into the passenger door - fortunately she didn't.  At the bottom of the hill we found the driveway to a small pump-house which would afford us safe harbor - an eerie silence fell over us as the wheels rolled to a stop on the gravel.  All-the-while, Sharon was easily fighting down creeping waves of hysteria - we had stopped at Starbucks in C-Springs a few miles back and she was well fortified against the forces of impending doom.  I, on the other hand, had again slipped into my stupor - what on earth were we going to do? 

Well, the first thing we needed to do was to call our son and family and let them know that we probably would be a day or two late for supper. 
"Where are you?", He asked.
"On Monument Hill,"  
"Where's that," he quizzed. 
"It's only an hour and a half away, just north of Colorado Springs."
Obviously the boy works too hard - he needs to get out-n-about more!  We hang up after promising to keep them posted. 

Next I called a nearby cousin - the phone rings and rings - no answer - he lucks out and avoids being ensnared into the debacle by not being home. 

So then I called information and asked for the phone numbers of any towing companies in Monument, Colorado - after a bit the operator informed me that there were no listings under "Towing" in monument!  Really!  Sharon suggested that we call Triple-A, not that we are members but certainly they could give us a phone number or two for some local towing companies.  Instead their operator efficiently patched us through directly to their "contractor in the area" - our car was on the truck within a half hour.  While we waited I had managed to start the car and turn it around in the drive to ease the tow truck driver's task.

So that's the way the fun began - and yes there is more fodder for another episode or two in a week or two. 

Hoofing it in Phoenix,
Sharon and Rog