July 11, 2024

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 11, 2023, make yourself useful.
Five years ago today: July 11, 2019, an arid moonscape.
Nine years ago today: July 11, 2015, they repackage customer returns.
Random years ago today: July 11, 2012, women are like Marmite.

           Today, I wound up in a Wal*Mart parking lot in Ocala, Georgia. The longest amount of time I have spend, or ever intend to spend, in that town. This was a day to remember. A lady at Kmart kicked us off the lot as we sat on the pavement around 4:30 AM, waiting for the Autozone to open. I went inside and bought us a bite to eat and some drinks in case she really did call the cops. It did look a big funny, who black guys and this redneck sitting and sleeping on the concrete for six hours, but the point it, we were well away from the entrance and the place was otherwise vacant—the gas pumps were all closed.

           The fact is, we were stranded overnight and probably looked haggard. But at dawn, we walked across the street when the lights at Autozone began turning on. There were six or more smaller outlets closer to where we broke down, but this was the one that guaranteed they had the radiator. We were in no mood or position to start shopping around and in the end this was the correct decision despite being so far away. This is the new radiator (and it did not last).

           Why? Because the Autozone people, who had no obligation to us, recognized we were stranded and gave us 100% support to get us back on the road. They allowed us the senior discount (around $88 very welcome dollars) and not only that, gave me a lift to the correct ATM. Then in a totally good-neighbor act had one of their paid employees and hour to give is a lift and delivery back to the roadside and made sure we were good to continue. He gave directions to all the nearest shops that would help out if we got into another jam, this folks, is the America they don’t put on the news every day.
           What happened from now until noon is a classic American adventure. We had only the basic tools in the wrecker jockey box and my small roadside kit. With this and traffic whipping past and 80 mph (everybody speeds in Florida), we replace the radiator and the fan. Allow me to explain they synergy of this event. It was a special big truck radiator which fit—but had two intercooler (oil cooler) couplings at the bottom we did not need. This was dismaying, as the driver had not dealt with this. Ah, but this was no ordinary group. I showed him how to walk around the vehicle until we found two small bolts (in this case off the rear tail light brackets) and file the ends to a taper. (The other three bolts will hold those lights until they get home.)

           Then, how to used a small wrench and a phillips to gently cut a small thread into the brass-like fitting to plug those cooler vents—permanently, but without damaging the outer coupling itself. Back at it, the old radiator was an amazing site. The propeller had enough enough momentum off the broken shaft to spin forward and dig the blades into the mesh of the radiator. It’s a nice pattern, but when that hit, the driver barely had time to coast us to the side of the road. And we shredded whatever it was we hit, so no souveniers this time.
           Next was your classic example of Yankee know-how. This is no longer the 1950s and we are not the 3rd world, used to keeping clunkers on the road. There is no entire generation of hobby mechanics and worse, this job was partly electrical. Aha, as luck would have it, there was this robotics guy on the crew and that means the new fan was working properly in record time. I knew there was a reason I kept those snap connectors and small pieces in my kit. The important concept here was that we were not mechanics or electricians and this was a situation that exceeded normal skill levels. We had to figure out the tricky parts under adverse circumstances and, I’m proud to say, were equal to the task.

Picture of the day.
PPP
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Working against the rising sun and looming rain-showers, we got Sam (the name of the tow truck) into service and got off the side of that uber-dangerous stretch of Florida highway. This is one of those decision-making points reserved by fate. The two drives are 125 miles from home, I am 108 miles from home, and the truck is running at best in a temporary condition. And I’m low on cash. Here is what we decided.

           I pay as if the tow was only to Ocala, and they turn around and limp back to Georgia, only eye on the highway, the other on that temperature gauge. He was not sure how to read it or where the critical moments are, so I gave the crash course—you only super need that fan when stopped, and except for gas, I advised them not to stop. This had consequences later, return tomorrow for that tale from the trailer court.

           It would have been unwise to drive further, so we got to the nearest Wal*Mart and they were back on the road home. At this point, I had not had a proper meal, rest, or even cup of coffee since y’day morning. Taking a survey of my surroundings, I had a fast food joint, movie theater, and shopping center. So no need to rush, it was still morning. I got some sandwiches and tea at the deli, took a much needed three hour nap under the Kodiak-powered fans, then began my search for a tow. The van motor runs fine, so I was in the air-conditioning, through low on gas, the reason I had stopped in Valdosta.
           I now realize that small fans in the van can’t keep up with the Florida daytime, so while I was willing to spend a day finding a tow company for less than $750, I stayed on the phone until 4:00PM working of displays on the GPS. This brought confirmation that what shows up there is not a true representation of businesses near your location, but those who paid Google the most, and their prices reflected it. But whenever I got a friendly response, I asked in Spanish if they knew anybody. I connected on the 17th call.
           This stopover gave me time to assess the big picture. Good thing we had a cohesive team. Nobody got what they planned for at this, being a routine 400 mile trip meant there were no disaster preparations. But nobody panicked or gave up, or went millennial on us, there were not dead ends, everybody moved systematically toward the goal and made sure everyone else got back on board. I learned later they got home with a bit of good news, but that’s tomorrow.

           The lady said just a moment, and came back with the name of a driver whom she knew wanted to visit his sister south of Mulberry. He’d had some recent events and twenty minutes later, he showed up for an agreed price of $520. I discovered the driver gets 30%, which seems fair. He loaded the van and we headed out on a route he said was shorter than the one I found. So we talked a bit about his family, but soon found a radio station playing Johnny Cash hits and wound up the last two hours singing along.
           Turned out his sister was not only on the route, but down the side road where my bank was, by now all the ready-accounts are exhausted, so the money came out of Caltier holding, serves them right. The van is in the driveway and plunked down with the remainder of that Wal*Mart jug of iced tea. Taking quick situational inventory, I’ve decided the expedient thing to do for now is buy a bicycle to get around. Then I lapsed into an 11-hour needed rest.            

 Alas, none of the photos of this last phase of the journey turned out.

Last Laugh