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capri0mniLong!
It all started when we made our first stop for gasoline, about three hours into the trip. While the tank was filling, dad ran in to the convenience store to pee. When he came out, he asked the woman behind the counter where he could go to get his transmission fluid checked, for the van was making an awful noise and vibrating terribly.
A gentleman (Who, we later learn, is named Mr. Moss) standing at the counter piped up, and said it's easy to check, and asked why Dad thought it might be low.
Dad then described the vibration and noise and explained how it got worse when he accelerated.
Mr. Moss then said it sounded like the universal joint, and it would probably get us where we want to go, but we really should get it checked out soon.
So Dad thanked him, and ran back out to the van, and went to start it up, and ... ... nothing! The poor van was dead at the pump. So, dad runs back in, and said in a slightly panicked voice: "Now it won't start at all!"
Mr. Moss said: "Sounds like the alternator. I can call my son, he's a mechanic, and he can probably fix you up," commenting that it's a good thing he was there, and that he didn't really know why he'd decided to come down to the store right at that moment -- he didn't really need a quart of milk and some beer. ... So he called his son, and dad came back out to get me out of the van, and get me into the warmth of the store.
Sometime later (the passage of time here is a blur), the son (Edwin) arrives, looks over the situation, and says: "This is really a job for my friend Art Majette. He fixes just about everything." Edwin then calls a nearby motel for us, making sure they have a wheelchair accessible room available.
Then he calls Art, and more time passes. Art arrives, and says: no, I may not ride in the van while it is being towed -- that's against the law... The first place he called was wheelchair transport was the police. Their wheelchair transport was unavailable, but the station did send a policeman to help out, if he could. Art then continued calling taxi services, ambulette services, and even his church. No luck. It was almost to the point of calling 911, and explaining that it's not an emergency, but we need the equipment.
Then the light bulb went off above Dad's head, that maybe I could get out of the chair, and ride in the front of the van, while the wheelchair rides empty in the back. So with much heaving and wriggling, Dad and the policeman somehow get me into the front seat of the tow truck, and then, they go to get the chair in the van... the wheelchair lift gets the chair up to the right level, but then the van battery dies. So the cop and my dad fold the ramp up by hand, so they can close the door.
Then dad climbs into the back of the tow truck cab, and we get a ride to the motel. Then, the Van's battery has to be jump started before we can get my chair out of the van... Which gets done, eventually.
And then, Dad and I find our motel rooms. The "barrier free" room isn't, really. The owners of the motel have tried to make it barrier free, but the bathroom is so small, that there is no room for the wheelchair to fit inside, and the wall beside the toilet is so short that they had to squeeze the grab bar in at a 45 degree angle. But luckily, Dad is there to help with the necessities. ... And the motel had cable, so we could watch an episode of Futerama.
Then we slept. Woke up in the morning and ate cracker sandwiches out of a vending machine, and waited. Checkout was 11 am, so around 10:30, Dad called the service place to see when the van would be ready (half an hour), so we bundled up ourselves and our bags and got ready to wait in the motel lobby... On the way there, Art drove up in the van (with a great big grin on his face), sneaking up behind Dad...
As I was getting ready to board, he informed us that it really was the universal joint, and it was so bad that it would not make it all the way to New York... Best to turn around and go back to Virginia. But when he saw how disappointed I was at the thought of missing the Art Garden, said: "Or I could do it now ... take just a couple of hours."
And we both said: "Oh, Yes! Please!"
So back we go to the service station, and wait while the van was fixed. Art's wife, Louise, or as she likes to be called, Wheezle is the receptionist there, and she regaled us with tales of her auto accident 20 years ago and how it was God who got her through (You and God together, we suggest... Oh, no, she insists, all God [okay]), her family, and her favorite Thanksgiving recipes (yum! her leftovers sure do sound tasty!).
And when the van was finally fixed, 2 hours later, Wheezle sent us on the road with bigsqueezy hug each, and a wish that we "be blessed" and a "come back and say 'hello!'"...
Then we continued on to our usual meal stop at Wendy's (only 18 hours later than we had originally planned), and rode back up North... in a van that drove smoother than I ever remember... Makes me think that maybe that universal joint had been failing since we bought it, 6 years ago...
So, these are the things that make me an "inverse paranoid" (someone convinced that the universe is conspiring to do her good): 1) that Mr. Moss Senior got the urge to go to the convenience store just as we were about to arrive, and 2) the alternator failed before we could drive away... forcing us to stay put until the critical universal joint got fixed. That second leg of the journey was a third shorter than it would have been, otherwise, and we got extra hugs in the bargain!
Aren't we lucky?!
It all started when we made our first stop for gasoline, about three hours into the trip. While the tank was filling, dad ran in to the convenience store to pee. When he came out, he asked the woman behind the counter where he could go to get his transmission fluid checked, for the van was making an awful noise and vibrating terribly.
A gentleman (Who, we later learn, is named Mr. Moss) standing at the counter piped up, and said it's easy to check, and asked why Dad thought it might be low.
Dad then described the vibration and noise and explained how it got worse when he accelerated.
Mr. Moss then said it sounded like the universal joint, and it would probably get us where we want to go, but we really should get it checked out soon.
So Dad thanked him, and ran back out to the van, and went to start it up, and ... ... nothing! The poor van was dead at the pump. So, dad runs back in, and said in a slightly panicked voice: "Now it won't start at all!"
Mr. Moss said: "Sounds like the alternator. I can call my son, he's a mechanic, and he can probably fix you up," commenting that it's a good thing he was there, and that he didn't really know why he'd decided to come down to the store right at that moment -- he didn't really need a quart of milk and some beer. ... So he called his son, and dad came back out to get me out of the van, and get me into the warmth of the store.
Sometime later (the passage of time here is a blur), the son (Edwin) arrives, looks over the situation, and says: "This is really a job for my friend Art Majette. He fixes just about everything." Edwin then calls a nearby motel for us, making sure they have a wheelchair accessible room available.
Then he calls Art, and more time passes. Art arrives, and says: no, I may not ride in the van while it is being towed -- that's against the law... The first place he called was wheelchair transport was the police. Their wheelchair transport was unavailable, but the station did send a policeman to help out, if he could. Art then continued calling taxi services, ambulette services, and even his church. No luck. It was almost to the point of calling 911, and explaining that it's not an emergency, but we need the equipment.
Then the light bulb went off above Dad's head, that maybe I could get out of the chair, and ride in the front of the van, while the wheelchair rides empty in the back. So with much heaving and wriggling, Dad and the policeman somehow get me into the front seat of the tow truck, and then, they go to get the chair in the van... the wheelchair lift gets the chair up to the right level, but then the van battery dies. So the cop and my dad fold the ramp up by hand, so they can close the door.
Then dad climbs into the back of the tow truck cab, and we get a ride to the motel. Then, the Van's battery has to be jump started before we can get my chair out of the van... Which gets done, eventually.
And then, Dad and I find our motel rooms. The "barrier free" room isn't, really. The owners of the motel have tried to make it barrier free, but the bathroom is so small, that there is no room for the wheelchair to fit inside, and the wall beside the toilet is so short that they had to squeeze the grab bar in at a 45 degree angle. But luckily, Dad is there to help with the necessities. ... And the motel had cable, so we could watch an episode of Futerama.
Then we slept. Woke up in the morning and ate cracker sandwiches out of a vending machine, and waited. Checkout was 11 am, so around 10:30, Dad called the service place to see when the van would be ready (half an hour), so we bundled up ourselves and our bags and got ready to wait in the motel lobby... On the way there, Art drove up in the van (with a great big grin on his face), sneaking up behind Dad...
As I was getting ready to board, he informed us that it really was the universal joint, and it was so bad that it would not make it all the way to New York... Best to turn around and go back to Virginia. But when he saw how disappointed I was at the thought of missing the Art Garden, said: "Or I could do it now ... take just a couple of hours."
And we both said: "Oh, Yes! Please!"
So back we go to the service station, and wait while the van was fixed. Art's wife, Louise, or as she likes to be called, Wheezle is the receptionist there, and she regaled us with tales of her auto accident 20 years ago and how it was God who got her through (You and God together, we suggest... Oh, no, she insists, all God [okay]), her family, and her favorite Thanksgiving recipes (yum! her leftovers sure do sound tasty!).
And when the van was finally fixed, 2 hours later, Wheezle sent us on the road with bigsqueezy hug each, and a wish that we "be blessed" and a "come back and say 'hello!'"...
Then we continued on to our usual meal stop at Wendy's (only 18 hours later than we had originally planned), and rode back up North... in a van that drove smoother than I ever remember... Makes me think that maybe that universal joint had been failing since we bought it, 6 years ago...
So, these are the things that make me an "inverse paranoid" (someone convinced that the universe is conspiring to do her good): 1) that Mr. Moss Senior got the urge to go to the convenience store just as we were about to arrive, and 2) the alternator failed before we could drive away... forcing us to stay put until the critical universal joint got fixed. That second leg of the journey was a third shorter than it would have been, otherwise, and we got extra hugs in the bargain!
Aren't we lucky?!
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-27 11:39 am (UTC)Glad everything worked out okay. :)
Heh!
Date: 2003-11-27 01:51 pm (UTC)(I'll probably be back in #dwc on Tuesday)...
no subject
Date: 2003-11-27 03:45 pm (UTC)Happy Thanksgiving!
indeed...
Date: 2003-11-27 07:54 pm (UTC)I'm reminded from that line from Streetcar Named Desire: "I've always relied on the kindness of strangers." What makes me feel truly blessed, however, is when those strangers stick with me long enough to become friends.
And so, to All of You: Thanks!!
no subject
Date: 2003-11-28 02:37 pm (UTC)Pronoia!!