If you have seen the movies "Stranger Than Fiction", you know the character spends much of the movie trying to determine if he is in a tragedy or a comedy. I feel the same way after these last few weeks.
The previous post described how the idyllic and picturesque drive devolved into a grueling and occasionally scary push to get to California on time.
Monday morning, we wake up and I get ready to go to work. At about 8:30 AM, with a half an hour before my start time, I pull my shoes out of my suitcase and the sole has been completely ripped asunder. Kelly and I look at each other in shock. "I know where the Target is." I say. She says "Let's go." More high tension driving as we drive to Target, I run inside while Kelly keeps the car running in the fire lane. No business shoes in size 13.... so I grab a pair of 12Ws and hope for the best. I make it to work promptly at 9. (Those shoes worked okay for a couple of weeks, but I gave in and bought new ones today... just one more hidden moving expense).
If you have noticed a recurring them of bright ideas gone astray with this endeavour, you haven't heard the best part. Rather than try and fit all of my clothes into the already crowded car, I decided to ship them. Two boxes were loaded with about 40 lbs of clothes each. Only one of which has arrived in California. The brown truck company has been searching their facilities for the missing box for over a week now. All of my work pants, work shirts and many other items are in a 20" by 20" by 20" box that apparently has impressive stealth technology.
Combine that with the difficulty of being separated from my wife, knowing that she is overwhelmed with the challenges of school, getting the house ready and still working. As happened in grad school, the time zone difference exacerbates the feeling of distance. By the time I get home from work, it is really late back home.
The new job has been good, though it feels a bit overwhelming at this point. My boss has told me that I have a month to learn as much as I can before I am expected to take over projects myself. The complexity of what I have to learn is daunting. Imagine that I was asked to learn everything about the road system in the United States, from interstates all the way down to surface streets. After my month of learning, my task might be "smooth traffic though such-and-such intersection in western North Carolina". All I can do is try and get a feel for how the types of roads interface and what kind of diagnostic and repair tools we have. Like I said, good, interesting but exhausting.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Safely in California...
Dog and I are in California and lovely wife is back in Ohio. What was supposed to be an enjoyable, if long, drive across the country turned into a bit more of an adventure than we bargained on.
We left Dayton around 10 AM, because we had bought tickets to see Spamalot for Christmas and we were not going to give them up. (BTW... loved Spamalot... wished we could have seen it on Broadway with Tim Curry and David Hyde Pierce).
Day 1 was relatively innocuous. We had a pleasant stop at the St. Louis Arch. Other than that, it was a lot of farms, farms and more farms. We stopped in Kansas City. This wasn't quite as far as I had hoped we would make it, but given how hard we had been pushing ourselves it made sense.
Day 2 was innocuous for most of the day. Kansas is more visually interesting than it's reputation might suggest, but 450 miles of it leave you stumped for conversation. "It reminds me of Laura Ingalls Wilder" "Imagine crossing this in a covered wagon" "What must it be like to grow up out here?" Such scintillating topics ruled the day for a hundred miles or so and then the landscape offered no new insights.
We approached Denver as the evening approached. A few quick calculations encouraged us to go about 60 miles west of Denver to make the next day a little easier. The quick calculations neglected to consider that the Vail pass 30 miles west of Denver is 11000 feet above sea level and the roads up and down it are steep, windy, poorly lit, inadequately painted and full of drivers willing to go around 80 mph. Had a lawyer called Kelly's cell phone with a cheap offer to fill out divorce papers, he might have gained a client.
But, we safely arrived in Edwards, CO and checked into a lovely hotel along the river. The idea of staying at such a place looked much more appealing on the web, before we stepped out of the car into 30 degree air. Again, not Michael's finest planning job.
Day 3 is where it starts to get interesting. We start by driving through some of the prettiest stretches of interstate in the country. The rest stop describes Glenwood Canyon as the toughest 12 miles of interstate to build. Since I slept through most of it in 2001 when I drove back from California, I was happy to see it.
Around noon, we arrive in Green River, Utah. This is a 7/10ths of a horse town, but it is the last gas, food and post-iron age technology for 110 miles. Gas up. Get food. Ritual ablutions. Car won't start. Oh, shit.
In all my life, I have never been turned down by anyone for a jump start. But this day, I get denied by two different people. The first guy says, "I am French. I am a tourist. Can you ask someone else?" As if anyone else at this gas station wasn't just passing through. The second guy says he has too much delicate electronic equipment. Finally, a man in a pickup truck agrees to help and the car starts.
But now we are nervous. With a 110 mile stretch of nothing in front of us, we don't want to be driving a car on the verge of dying. I am afraid it might be the alternator, since we have been running the car for hours, so the battery should be fully charged. (And the guys at the dealership who did the 27 point inspection on Tuesday would surely have noticed a dying battery.)
A few phone calls connect us with a tow truck driver/mechanic whom I will call Cletus because it makes me feel better. He tests the battery and pronounces it dead. He drives over to the Napa parts store (which is closed due to a car show somewhere nearby, but Cletus' friend who owns it lets him buy the items). A replaced battery, the car starts and Cletus checks the current from the alternator. He tells us the alternator is bad. It is putting out current, but not much and it doesn't increase when you increase the throttle. My heart sinks. He says he can get us alternator by Tuesday. (It is currently Saturday, work starts Monday and I don't even want to drive through any place which I would less enjoy a 3 day vacation than Green River, Utah.)
A few discussions of options reveal that by the time we make it anywhere there is likely to be a mechanic with an alternator said mechanic will be closed for the evening... and likely until Monday. The best option seems to be to buy a second battery and try to make it to Las Vegas (still about 400 miles away). Cletus recommends that we not use any unnecessary electronics and says that driving slow won't make it last any longer. We also want to make it there before dark so we don't have to turn on the headlights.
So, day 3 closes out with a mad sprint across the desert. Driving at about 80 mph (speed limit 75), canceling the previously planned potty breaks for humans or animals, worrying that the car will sputter to a halt, sighing in relief when the car restarts after we have to shut it off to fuel it up, calling ahead to Vegas to try and find a mechanic who is both open on Sunday and able to acquire the appropriate alternator.
With great relief, we arrive at the hotel, check in and collapse. Less than a mile from the Strip, neither of us can be bothered with it.
Day 4 dawns with us trying to figure out any way to get to California. As we wait for car mechanics to open, we are calling truck rental places to price out a truck and trailer combo to tow the car. They have a trailer but no truck. We try to rent an SUV with a trailer hitch from another company.... no can do.
Finally, at 10:00, I find a mechanic who is open and can get the alternator. We install the spare battery to be safe, and I drive the ten miles to the Sears Auto Center in Henderson. An hour later, he tells me there is nothing wrong with the alternator. The whole white knuckle panic of the previous day was for naught. But, at least I have the joy of dealing with this mechanic. I was just passing through town and I was ready... nay, eager... to purchase a $250 alternator. Mike the manager sent me on my way with peace of mind and a bill for $13. If you find yourself in the Vegas area needing car repair, head to Sears Auto Center in Henderson and ask for Mike.
Of course, all of this delays the start for us out of town. We find ourselves smack in the middle of the end of weekend traffic jam as all the Angelinos head home. One of whom may have been in too much of a hurry, since they got into an accident bringing traffic to a crawl. Three hours later we accomplish the 100 mile transit to Barstow, CA. My main solace is that at least we weren't in a U-Haul, towing the car, with a dog on a lap having spent hundreds of dollars for the truck and trailer which we would later find out were unnecessary.
Once again, though, I push on a little further than I should. I think I will just pick the first exit after we get on route 58. When we get on 58, the advertisement for the Burger King specifies that it is 27 miles ahead of us. The wife who really needs to pee and get out of the car considers calling the divorce attorney herself.
To make a long story short (too late!), we arrive in San Jose at 11 PM exhausted and more stressed than when we started the trip.
The apartment is gorgeous. For a one bedroom it is very large and laid out nicely. The furniture is top quality. There is lots of grass around in which to walk the dog.
That is enough for now. In another post, I will tell you a bit of the stories that have happened since (including why I haven't been able to blog until now).
We left Dayton around 10 AM, because we had bought tickets to see Spamalot for Christmas and we were not going to give them up. (BTW... loved Spamalot... wished we could have seen it on Broadway with Tim Curry and David Hyde Pierce).
Day 1 was relatively innocuous. We had a pleasant stop at the St. Louis Arch. Other than that, it was a lot of farms, farms and more farms. We stopped in Kansas City. This wasn't quite as far as I had hoped we would make it, but given how hard we had been pushing ourselves it made sense.
Day 2 was innocuous for most of the day. Kansas is more visually interesting than it's reputation might suggest, but 450 miles of it leave you stumped for conversation. "It reminds me of Laura Ingalls Wilder" "Imagine crossing this in a covered wagon" "What must it be like to grow up out here?" Such scintillating topics ruled the day for a hundred miles or so and then the landscape offered no new insights.
We approached Denver as the evening approached. A few quick calculations encouraged us to go about 60 miles west of Denver to make the next day a little easier. The quick calculations neglected to consider that the Vail pass 30 miles west of Denver is 11000 feet above sea level and the roads up and down it are steep, windy, poorly lit, inadequately painted and full of drivers willing to go around 80 mph. Had a lawyer called Kelly's cell phone with a cheap offer to fill out divorce papers, he might have gained a client.
But, we safely arrived in Edwards, CO and checked into a lovely hotel along the river. The idea of staying at such a place looked much more appealing on the web, before we stepped out of the car into 30 degree air. Again, not Michael's finest planning job.
Day 3 is where it starts to get interesting. We start by driving through some of the prettiest stretches of interstate in the country. The rest stop describes Glenwood Canyon as the toughest 12 miles of interstate to build. Since I slept through most of it in 2001 when I drove back from California, I was happy to see it.
Around noon, we arrive in Green River, Utah. This is a 7/10ths of a horse town, but it is the last gas, food and post-iron age technology for 110 miles. Gas up. Get food. Ritual ablutions. Car won't start. Oh, shit.
In all my life, I have never been turned down by anyone for a jump start. But this day, I get denied by two different people. The first guy says, "I am French. I am a tourist. Can you ask someone else?" As if anyone else at this gas station wasn't just passing through. The second guy says he has too much delicate electronic equipment. Finally, a man in a pickup truck agrees to help and the car starts.
But now we are nervous. With a 110 mile stretch of nothing in front of us, we don't want to be driving a car on the verge of dying. I am afraid it might be the alternator, since we have been running the car for hours, so the battery should be fully charged. (And the guys at the dealership who did the 27 point inspection on Tuesday would surely have noticed a dying battery.)
A few phone calls connect us with a tow truck driver/mechanic whom I will call Cletus because it makes me feel better. He tests the battery and pronounces it dead. He drives over to the Napa parts store (which is closed due to a car show somewhere nearby, but Cletus' friend who owns it lets him buy the items). A replaced battery, the car starts and Cletus checks the current from the alternator. He tells us the alternator is bad. It is putting out current, but not much and it doesn't increase when you increase the throttle. My heart sinks. He says he can get us alternator by Tuesday. (It is currently Saturday, work starts Monday and I don't even want to drive through any place which I would less enjoy a 3 day vacation than Green River, Utah.)
A few discussions of options reveal that by the time we make it anywhere there is likely to be a mechanic with an alternator said mechanic will be closed for the evening... and likely until Monday. The best option seems to be to buy a second battery and try to make it to Las Vegas (still about 400 miles away). Cletus recommends that we not use any unnecessary electronics and says that driving slow won't make it last any longer. We also want to make it there before dark so we don't have to turn on the headlights.
So, day 3 closes out with a mad sprint across the desert. Driving at about 80 mph (speed limit 75), canceling the previously planned potty breaks for humans or animals, worrying that the car will sputter to a halt, sighing in relief when the car restarts after we have to shut it off to fuel it up, calling ahead to Vegas to try and find a mechanic who is both open on Sunday and able to acquire the appropriate alternator.
With great relief, we arrive at the hotel, check in and collapse. Less than a mile from the Strip, neither of us can be bothered with it.
Day 4 dawns with us trying to figure out any way to get to California. As we wait for car mechanics to open, we are calling truck rental places to price out a truck and trailer combo to tow the car. They have a trailer but no truck. We try to rent an SUV with a trailer hitch from another company.... no can do.
Finally, at 10:00, I find a mechanic who is open and can get the alternator. We install the spare battery to be safe, and I drive the ten miles to the Sears Auto Center in Henderson. An hour later, he tells me there is nothing wrong with the alternator. The whole white knuckle panic of the previous day was for naught. But, at least I have the joy of dealing with this mechanic. I was just passing through town and I was ready... nay, eager... to purchase a $250 alternator. Mike the manager sent me on my way with peace of mind and a bill for $13. If you find yourself in the Vegas area needing car repair, head to Sears Auto Center in Henderson and ask for Mike.
Of course, all of this delays the start for us out of town. We find ourselves smack in the middle of the end of weekend traffic jam as all the Angelinos head home. One of whom may have been in too much of a hurry, since they got into an accident bringing traffic to a crawl. Three hours later we accomplish the 100 mile transit to Barstow, CA. My main solace is that at least we weren't in a U-Haul, towing the car, with a dog on a lap having spent hundreds of dollars for the truck and trailer which we would later find out were unnecessary.
Once again, though, I push on a little further than I should. I think I will just pick the first exit after we get on route 58. When we get on 58, the advertisement for the Burger King specifies that it is 27 miles ahead of us. The wife who really needs to pee and get out of the car considers calling the divorce attorney herself.
To make a long story short (too late!), we arrive in San Jose at 11 PM exhausted and more stressed than when we started the trip.
The apartment is gorgeous. For a one bedroom it is very large and laid out nicely. The furniture is top quality. There is lots of grass around in which to walk the dog.
That is enough for now. In another post, I will tell you a bit of the stories that have happened since (including why I haven't been able to blog until now).
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