Some towns just look better in your rear view mirror. My pal Tommy says never break down in Rapid City, South Dakota. My next door neighbor Ide has similar feelings about Kingman, Arizona. In our case, it’s a stretch of Highway 101 near Garberville, just east of Nowhere, California.
File this one under 20/20 hindsight. A perfect weekend topped by a bad drive home. A few weeks ago, we headed north and spent a lovely evening at the Benbow Inn.
We drove into Humbolt County on Saturday. On Sunday, two of my favorite people in the world, Cat and Patrick, were married on their property overlooking the bay. Patrick and the groomsmen were escorted by the couple’s dogs (said dogs were adorned with flowered leis). Cat arrived in on a horse-drawn carriage. (The girl knows how to make an entrance.) After they were officially hitched, they serenaded us with a duet of Flatt and Scruggs’ Til the End of the World Rolls Around. That was followed by a great party and jamming late into the night.
Then on Monday, we naively headed home.
It was near Garberville (an hour plus south of Eureka) that our van’s panel lights started blinking, followed by the temperature gauge pegging itself to the right (“to the right” is bad, by the way).
We immediately pulled over, got out of the van, and watched the steam clear. I then opened the hood in time to hear a “POP…HSSS” from the back of the radiator (“POP…HSSS” is bad). I poked my head in the engine compartment and then calmly removed the shredded fan belt, which was recently installed by our (ahem, former) local mechanic. (More on this one, later.)
We were in a cell phone dead zone, so luckily a timely CHP drove up, asked if it was “smoke or steam” coming out of the engine (“smoke” is bad), and called a tow truck for us. AAA said he’d be there in 20 minutes. An hour later, the Tow Truck Driver from Hell arrived. (Literally. I think he really was from Hell.)
I tried to start the conversation by saying, “Hello”, but he interrupted. The first word’s out of the driver’s mouth were, “EVERYONE IN TOWN IS THREE MONTHS BEHIND. NO ONE’S GOING TO FIX YOUR CAR!”.
Besides my wife and I on this lovely excursion, we had a new friend in tow (pun intended): Bela, a pal of Cat’s, needed a ride back to San Francisco. He got to enjoy this little adventure with us, as well. Regarding the tow truck driver, Bela put it best: “He had a cloud of NO around him as soon as he stepped out of the truck.”
Mr. Hell strapped our van precariously to the bed of his truck, and Bela and I got in the cab. My wife climbed inside the van on top of the truck (it sorta looked safe). She preferred riding alone over more quality time with Mr. H.
And off we headed Garberville, Land of the Busy Mechanic…(Click here for Part II.)