My wife, Julie, and I had greatly enjoyed the vintage trailer rally in Felton, California, displaying our newly restored 1948 Boles Aero. The food, the people, the trailers were all great fun. There was a problem brewing, and I chose to ignore it until the end of the rally. This is but one of the many DOH! moments (Decisions Of Horror!). So, DOH #1 was waiting until the end of the rally to see if a small crack underneath a bolt holding on the trailer hitch would get us home. The small bend in the stress point should have been a clue to look for a welder during the weekday, to reinforce it. But, why interrupt my vacation relaxation with such worries. (note in the camp photo: our trailer and the hitch pointing slightly up.)
This was not good news. Every bump caused the trailer to rock up and down, weakening that top piece of steel on both sides. Julie and I continued to pray. "Lord, help the steel to hold." "Jesus, I could really use a welding shop... within a few miles... and open... on a Sunday."
TomTom got us to the junction of the 156 and the 101. There was a 76 station, but alas, its mechanic bay had been turned in to a mini mart. I could not get my hitch welded, but I could buy gum.
Julie got on the phone to our insurance company that had a free roadside assistance. They asked where they wanted it towed, and the closest we could think of was Salinas. He looked on his computer and found that there was an El Camino Machine Shop in Salinas. We decided to have it towed there. We called the number they gave us for El Camino but, as we suspected, it was closed. However, they did have two emergency numbers. The first was just an answering machine, but the second answered. The person I spoke to suggested I talk with Brian. Brian informed me that any work done on a Sunday would cost a fortune, however, he was five minutes away and would come by and assess the situation.
It was not long before Brian showed up. His first reaction was, "Ahhh!!" His second utterance was to show me all the errors I made in installing the replacement hitch. DOH! #2 was using the wrong style and size steel. DOH! #3 was drilling a hole at a stress point. Brian suggested Marcus to tackle this dilemma... and who (just so happened) to live 5 minutes away. Brian got on his cell.
"Hello, Marcus? We have a broken hitch that needs to be welded... could you do it tomorrow?... uh huh... oh, that's right, you have that thing tomorrow. Well, can you do it today? Ok, great." Brian then told me he was going to come and look at it. When Marcus showed up, his first reaction was, "Ahhh!!" His second utterance was to show me all the errors I made in installing the replacement hitch. Brian confirmed, "Yeah, I told him that already." I was feeling mighty low.
I told him I only needed to get 350 miles home, and then I would chuck the entire hitch and redo it. He said the welds would not hold. He would have to rebuild the entire hitch system, but first we had to get it to his place. Brian said his goodbyes and then Marcus gave me DOH! #4... and it was a biggie. My chains were connected to the hitch. Had the steel failed, my trailer would have broken loose and gone off on its own!!! I quickly prayed my thanks to God for getting me off the freeways. I could have totally lost my trailer to irreparable damage, or worse yet, caused an accident. Then the tow trucks to pull it out... then the storage... the salvage... UGH!!
Marcus adjusted the chains so that if the steel let go, the trailer would stay with the tow vehicle. Emergency blinkers on, we proceeded very slowly down the road to his home workshop. We began to climb very steep hills to what I thought would be Baron Freudric Von Fronkensteen's castle. No, there I found a quaint and modest home on the hill with an ample workshop. The steel did not snap, and we were safe with tires safely chocked.
Our host lifted at the stress point to see if it could be welded together. No... too much damage and not enough strength to take all the stress. He decided that the best thing to do, financially, was for me to do all the work, and for him to "help". This reminded me of my dad making me do a project, but him doing all the work. So, realistically, I was his assistant... unscrewing bolts... putting various tools away... cleaning up the trash. So, I removed the trailer jack and we both removed the bolts holding hitch to frame. Marcus' wife, Robin, brought out delicious snacks of grapes, crackers, and Swiss cheese. Her hospitality reminded me of my years in the South. She made us feel at home.
Along with the payment, Julie gave Robin a bottle of Sweet Riesling wine (which Robin said she greatly enjoys). We said our thank yous and goodbyes then returned back to our Incredible Journey (the book version, not the movie).
It was now 4pm and TomTom told us that we would be home by 1am. So be it. As we drove, we reminded ourselves of God's providence. He purposely made us leave a day early so that we would catch our deliverer at home and not on his Monday project. He had me make a wrong turn so that the failure would occur with no one else in jeopardy (remember, the chains would have failed as well). He made the failure happen in such a way that we would be aware of the urgency, but still able to pull it for a limited distance. He answered all my prayers. He made the steel survive the brutal few, uphill trek; He found me a a welding shop... within a few miles... and open... on a Sunday. And not only that, but a kind and hospitable family.
We drove into the night, dodging all the horrible, SoCal drivers and enduring the eye-burning, high beamers with their rude-blue halogens. We stopped at Casa de Fruta to "regroup" and gather our wits. I wanted to gas up, but I made the mistake of pulling in to a busy Chevron. I waited 10 minutes to get the truck up to the diesel pump. Unfortunately, there were three other pumps down the line and people were driving around my truck to get at those pumps. These people were not in any hurry, let me tell you. I could not drive around them because of the trailer. I just had to wait. I notice that the grumpier people wore 49er gear, and the more jovial were wearing Packer gear. I told Julie, "I'll bet you anything San Francisco played Green Bay and the 49ers lost. I was right. They lost 17 to 3. A sound trouncing. No wonder the 49er fan took his jolly time in leaving the pump. After his gas nozzle clicked, he decided to wash his windows... then his mirrors. Oh, did I mentioned all the people I waited behind payed the cashier inside? Yes... there was a line. I think he bought gum.
It was probably a good 20 minutes until we gassed up and left. But, we were off again. Night fell, and the drive became precarious with all the road work. Feeling fatigued, we stopped at a rest stop at 11pm to nap. Julie slept in the truck while I slept in the trailer. I woke to the night call of someone's car alarm, who seemed not to have a clue how to turn it off. After using the facilities and warming up the diesel truck, we were off again at 3am. TomTom told us we should be home by 7am. So be it, we were moving. The lanes were clear until we got in to Los Angeles where the morning nuts were commuting to their various nut jobs. Yes, nuts! The same nuts who see a turn signal on a trailer and decide it is the right time to pass... all while I'm needing to get to the right to make the 210E turnoff.
Thanks to all who helped and encouraged us along the way. And to the San Francisco 49ers we encountered? "THBBPTHBPT!"
Schneb
