The Jones's or the Waltons?

Lest we believe that life might slow down, or get a bit more mundane – Garden, Cleaning, Housework, Kid, etc. – we must remember that our lives need a bit of spice. Thankfully, we don’t have to go far to find it. Just about six hours.

Monday the sale became final and we said goodbye to our old “new” truck. That same day, we headed to Illinois (yes, Illinois) to pick up our new “old” truck.


We had decided to sell our truck oh, about a year ago. We drug our feet on the ordeal- too much work, there were a million trucks for sale already, we didn’t have a replacement, etc. Plenty of excuses to wait and continue to pay our loan company the high rate of interest. Finally, one day, I became tired of waiting and looking at the truck as a big item on my “to do” list and posted it on Craigslist. Being that Craigslist is not a well-visited site back here, I thought we would have no takers. Within two days, we had been contacted by a potential buyer, and had to make the hard decision to actually sell the truck.

Now the hard part came- we needed a truck…but what kind? How new, how old, where from? Phil fell in love (ok, had been in love for awhile) with trucks from the 1950’s. I, however, was drawn to trucks with say, heating, air conditioning, and seat belts. We ended up deciding on going with an older truck if we could find one in our price range- because, among other reasons, it gains, rather than loses value, has a wonderful flatbed for delivering furniture and picking up wood, and is a great advertising tool. (Besides, it gets us just one step closer to becoming the Waltons) We began searching for a truck that would fit, and to our delight found one in Illinois – only a six hour drive – a mere day trip away.

So, Monday morning, we drove our old new truck down to Des Moines, said goodbye (sniff), and headed out to a small town outside of Chicago. We were rushed – already behind schedule – and didn’t get our morning Starbucks, even though we were less than three blocks from the wonderful pick-me-up. We drove straight through, and only about half way through did we discuss how this could be a fun trip if we would just relax and allow it to be.

We finally picked up the truck- for the price we had planned on spending. We felt good about it, and then started the trek home. It was about 5 in the afternoon, but we figured we would still make it back by about midnight. Perfect, as there was so much work to be done at home.

About 20 minutes into our drive, we stopped to get gas. After filling up, the truck refused to start. We exchanged a nervous glance. Phil got back in the truck, and was a bit more persistent with the starter. It gave in, and we were back on the road. Tentatively maneuvering out of the “big town” and waiting for the slow pace of the two-laned country roads. We still had a long way to go.

We decided to pull off and take a dinner break at about 7:30. We had been driving awhile, and thought that we all could use a break (including the truck). The light was turning red as we drove up the off ramp. When it was time to go again, we all waited. And waited. The truck was not moving. Following behind him in my little car, I used the walkie-talkies we had brought along to ask what was going on. It had died.

After the second light and more persistent attempts to start the Chevy, a nice man helped us push it off to the side of the road. Phil called the man who had sold it to us to see if he had “any ideas” as to what might be going wrong. He was told that the carburetor was probably too hot, and the fan belt might be slipping (we knew it was the wrong size to begin with, but we didn’t exactly expect trouble from it this soon). He suggested we let it cool down, and then go a bit slower.

Ok, we were willing to give it a shot. It was, in fact, a very old truck, and a very hot day. After writing a note promising to return in 30 minutes, we all piled into my car, and we continued down to find a restaurant. Two blocks in, I hear “Pshhhhh”. I look at Phil – “What was that??” He looks puzzled, and we decide to check it out when we get to the restaurant. But we didn’t get that far. My car begins to make the “thump thump thump” sound that could only mean something was wrong- and we needed to stop right away.

We pulled over into a “Firestone Tire” parking lot. The business was already closed, but if it had been open, they might have been able to help me with my ever-so-flat front tire.

So, here we were, with two vehicles a mile apart, broken down, in the middle of a city in Illinois. We just had to laugh over the whole thing. What were the odds?

As we begin to hike up the hill past bars and gentleman’s clubs, we began to get a bit concerned- it was evening, and there was not a whole lot of light left in the day

To our relief, within a few blocks we found an auto parts store, and bought some fix-a-flat. We explained our situation to the clerk- who ended up even looking up hotel phone numbers and recommending a nice place to stay (without hourly rates) for the night.

We walked back to the car, but the hole was too big for the fix-a-flat to actually stay in the tire and do its job. We could drive on it, but it left little white spots where the goop was leaking out. It did, however, give us enough “tire” to get back to the auto parts store before it closed. We hurried in, and decided on buying 8 more cans. Two to get us to the truck to see if we could get it running, two more to get to a hotel, two for the morning so we could get to a tire store, and two extra, just in case.

Phil walked confidently up to the counter to this same clerk- Chris. Chris looked at Phil a bit warily, then at the cans, and then back at Phil. He shook his head and smiled “I could sell you those, but I wouldn’t be a very good guy.” Chris informed Phil that he was going to sell him a patch, and since we had no way of pumping up the tire, he was going to use a display model so we didn’t have to buy that. This man took an hour of his time knelt down next to our car, patching our flat tire, just to be nice

When we went back to the truck, we were able to start it just fine. However, it was late, and dark. We had recollections of the trip OVER to Illinois (corn, beans, corn, tiny town, corn) and were a bit concerned that we might not have the access to mechanics we might need on the return trip if anything else were to go wrong. We decided to call it a night, and landed a hotel room. The next morning we were able to get a new tire, and though they did not have time to fix the truck, the nice man called around to find a mechanic who had time, and that could be trusted.

We could tell that this mechanic, John, had been working on cars and trucks for some time. It was obvious that it had been awhile since anyone had cleaned or dusted - although the tool organization was impeccable. The office area was total utilitarian – a Costco-sized container of red pepper flakes sat next to the microwave. The couch was probably from 1972, and had the distinct feel of having gone through a couple of “bachelor houses” before it landed here, for customers. There must have been 20 phone books stacked in piles, in and among delivery packages, invoices, car manuals dated to 1981, and the outdated computer. His shop had the distinct lack of attention that came from his passion for his “real job”.

Unlike any other mechanic I have been to, John invited Phil to watch everything he did. He walked through the truck- noting the things he saw, explaining how things worked. He hooked up machines to the truck, tested the engine. He highly recommended a new fan belt, because it not only runs the fan, but also the water pump. The fact that it was skinny (something we thought less-significant) was actually the source of our entire overheating problem. Other than that, he was confident that the engine sounded and looked good. But, the belt would take another day to order, which meant another night in a hotel.

Up until this point, we thought this town was pretty small (and a bit seedy)- maybe the size of Marysville, a medium-sized town with a couple of hotels, maybe a restaurant. We asked for some more recommendations on places to eat, sleep, etc. And he just kind of looked at us, and said, “Drive east a bit, you should be able to find something.” So, we left the truck with him, and hopped in the car. At 2 pm, we were set on staying for the night, and decided to just enjoy our mini-vacation. The small town of Rockford turned out to be very large. There must have been 13 hotels to choose from, many, many dining options (including Red Robin, which we had not had in a long time!) a Borders and a Barne’s N Noble. We were thrilled to find the “good” side of the tracks.

The next morning, we hopped in the car, picked up the truck – new belt installed- and started the drive home. We took a smaller road home than on the way there, which turned out to be very scenic. The truck drove beautifully the rest of the way, as did the car

There is an amazing sense of relief that comes when you drive up to your home, which had previously been the source of much stress and worry (garden, projects, etc) just to be thankful that you are even there. That you aren’t stuck in the middle of Illinois, with no working vehicle and only your feet to take you places. It’s wonderful to meet unassuming people along the way who make your stay a bit more pleasant- and help you get from point B back to point A.

But seriously, a horse probably would have been easier.