I was all serious in my previous post. I tried to change gears in mid-blog, but my bloggy clutch pedal is broken. I ended up with a wretched stink of burnt oil and confused metaphors.
If you were reading back in May when I was lamenting how nothing had gone right with the move, I mentioned that I had shipped out most of my clothes with the shipping company associated with big brown trucks that say UPS in gold letters on the side. In this Coke vs. Pepsi style competition, I had always been a UPS guy, though not for any particular reason. Not anymore. If I have to ship something important, I am a FedEx man.
When last we left the story of shipping incompetence, the company was unable to find a 8000 cubic inch box which I had entrusted into their care. Their not being able to find a box containing all of my work clothes and a piece of wedding memorabilia that I thought would be safer with them than with the moving company was only part of my frustration. The biggest frustration was that UPS would not talk to me about it. You see, despite the fact that I boxed it up, it was my stuff and I paid to have it shipped.... I was not the shipper. No, the shipper of record was the manager of the store that I had shipped it from.
And so begins a recurring pattern. I call the store, manager isn't there, I call back, manager isn't there, he calls me, I can't take call, call back, not there. Miracle of quantum mechanics occurs placing manager and me on the same call at the same time. I explain that the tracking data for one of my boxes stopped in Illinois whilst the other box continued to California. Manager says he will call to put a trace on it. Which is exactly what the lady on the phone said should be done, except she couldn't do it for me because I wasn't the shipper. Apparently having a box addressed to California be stuck in Illinois for a week isn't enough to institute a trace either.
Two weeks pass with me compulsively checking the tracking data every day. The only change has been the addition of a line saying "Trace in progress". I call UPS frequently, to hear one of two answers "It takes a while to search all of our warehouses", or "I can't tell you anything because you are not the shipper." Finally, while on the phone asking how they could lose a massive box and would it help if I gave them a list of the contents, I am told that they found it. The story-du-jour is that the label fell off. I am given the helpful advice to put the destination address on a piece of paper inside the box also, so that if the label happens to fall off they can figure out where it is supposed to go by opening it.
A wave of relief passes over me. I had bought extra insurance on the box, but not enough to replace everything. The relief is short lived.
A box arrives. It is a different box that the one I shipped with a different tracking number. I open it up. It is my stuff, but the memorabilia item is damaged. The stuff is packed differently and not as well as I had done. Then I notice something else. A significant portion of my stuff is covered in a dried black crud. My best guess is that it was ink.
You see, the label didn't fall off the original box. The label must have been obscured by a FREAKING GALLON OF INK being poured on it. Seeing how it ruined a bunch of my clothes, I am betting that my hypothetical backup address inside the box would have been obscured as well. I am just fortunate that the topmost item in the box was a cheap beach towel and that took the worst of the hit. UPS apparently has a motto "We think our customers are freaking idiots", because rather than tell me what happened, they repackaged my stuff in a new box and hoped I wouldn't notice black stains the size of my head.
So begins the new cycle. The dance of "pay me some money for the items you ruined". I call UPS. They send me an email. I fill out the email and include digital pictures. They email back to tell me to call the shipper. (Insert wait for quantum synchronization complicated by time zone difference). Manager asks me to send him digital photos so he can submit them to the same place I have already submitted them. Weeks pass. I call UPS, they tell me to contact the manager. I call manager (quantum synch time), he says he doesn't know anything.
Finally, after much delay and many wasted hours trying to persuade either UPS to talk to me or the store manager to act like he cares that the box was marinated in ink during transit and get some answers for me, I finally get a check. In case you missed the meme here, the money to reimburse me for what I lost due to UPS incompetence is actually written to the manager of the store. He, in turn, has to write me a check.
We used the check to open up our new bank account out here.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The End of the Journey
The four month saga is now over. Kelly and I are officially Californians and only Californians. Our house in Dayton sold on Thursday.
At the moment, I feel okay about that. I think on one hand, it hasn't completely sunk in. Hell, there is a part of me that doesn't really believe my parents moved out of the old homestead. I know they have been living in a new place for six years, but there is a part of my brain that thinks I could swing by the old place and walk in the back door like nothing had changed.
On the other hand, the house had become a source of worry and frustration. The challenge of trying to sell it while at distance has been very frustrating. Getting it ready nearly finished off my wife. And the size of the rent payments out here made selling it imperative.
On the left foot (I ran out of hands), I think I may have had my bad moments. The worst was the day that I signed the lease for our new house. I woke up at 2 AM, and something about the sounds and the light through the doorway made me think I was back in our bedroom in Dayton. When I realized I wasn't and that I never would be again, a wave of immense sadness swept over me.
On the right foot, we are finally getting our feet under us out here. I am glad that we grabbed this house when we had the chance. We were lucky to get it. It is also to good to finally stop feeling so impermanent. As nice as the corporate apartment was, the knowledge that it was temporary kept us from settling in. Now we have a place we know we will be for a while. Our stuff is out of storage and around us. With every passing day it feels a little more like home. It is a place we can start bringing friends into and building new memories with.
At the moment, I feel okay about that. I think on one hand, it hasn't completely sunk in. Hell, there is a part of me that doesn't really believe my parents moved out of the old homestead. I know they have been living in a new place for six years, but there is a part of my brain that thinks I could swing by the old place and walk in the back door like nothing had changed.
On the other hand, the house had become a source of worry and frustration. The challenge of trying to sell it while at distance has been very frustrating. Getting it ready nearly finished off my wife. And the size of the rent payments out here made selling it imperative.
On the left foot (I ran out of hands), I think I may have had my bad moments. The worst was the day that I signed the lease for our new house. I woke up at 2 AM, and something about the sounds and the light through the doorway made me think I was back in our bedroom in Dayton. When I realized I wasn't and that I never would be again, a wave of immense sadness swept over me.
On the right foot, we are finally getting our feet under us out here. I am glad that we grabbed this house when we had the chance. We were lucky to get it. It is also to good to finally stop feeling so impermanent. As nice as the corporate apartment was, the knowledge that it was temporary kept us from settling in. Now we have a place we know we will be for a while. Our stuff is out of storage and around us. With every passing day it feels a little more like home. It is a place we can start bringing friends into and building new memories with.
Friday, July 4, 2008
PHENOMENAL COSMIC LOCATION.... itty bitty living space
After writing one more massive check as part of the moving process, Kelly and I now know where we will be living for the foreseeable future. We did some searching for apartments last weekend. We didn't see anything that we were particularly excited by. The combined challenge of space, dog, cost and location made it clear that it would be a tough challenge.
Then, on Tuesday, I saw a house for rent on Craigslist. It was in our price range and only 1.5 miles from work. It has a garage, which I think will be very nice and a big improvement over an apartment. It also has a nice dog-friendly back yard with a peach tree and a cherry tree. Go out and pick your own breakfast! The competition for the place was fierce, but thanks to a good credit rating and writing a cover letter to the application that helped us be more than names on a piece of paper, we won.
My prediction for moving to California was absolutely true... half the living space and twice the monthly payment. It is also a little earlier than would have been ideal. But I think the quality of life will be much better than it would have been in an apartment. The odds of a place like it opening up in the next month... and winning that competition... were too slim to pass on this chance.
Don't send us any housewarming gifts just yet. We will probably take most of July to move in and set it up like we want. After that we will be open for visitors. Check your email for snail mail address updates.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Meta-posting
With a little luck, the life updates in this blog should get a little more boring. Kelly joins the dog and I in California today, and should be able to get some well deserved rest and relaxation. The house is still on the market, but that is a worry for another day.
I expect to fill this space more with my philosophical ruminations, which I find more fascinating than most of my daily life. Hopefully, you will too.
I came up with the title for this blog almost two years ago. Samwise Gamgee has always been my favorite fictional character ever since seeing the animated "Return of the King" at a very young age. ("Where there's a whip... there's a way..."). In some ways, it is odd that I grabbed onto him rather than Frodo. It could be that by starting with the RotK (it took me a couple more years to finish the books for the first time), my first impression of Frodo was a whining, tired and indecisive hobbit while Sam did all the real work.
While my appreciation for Frodo has grown with the dozen or two times I have read the books, so has my admiration and identification with Sam. I have always seen myself as the able assistant rather than the leader. I tend to be the practical minded supporter who figures out how to make it happen rather than the idea creator.
Which brings me to the quote... "Where there is life, there is hope, as my gaffer would say. And need for vittles, he'd mostwise add." When I was younger, and EVEN more idealistic than I am today, I think I only focused on the first part. Just having hope in the middle of Mordor surrounded by a million orcs is a significant achievement. But the power comes from the second part. Without a practical mindset, hope is an ephemeral and transient entity.
The challenge comes in finding the balance... how much practicality and how much idealism. Samwise knew when to stop saving food and water for the return journey from Mount Doom and to just concentrate on keeping Frodo going. The challenge is finding the balance that you can live with in your own head.
That was old Hamfast's advice for his son. My dad offered advice from the confusing "You can't have your cake and eat it too" (what else do you do with cake?) to another of my life mantras "There are two things in life worth their money every single time... education and travel." On this Father's Day, anyone reading the blog is encouraged to leave comments with good, bad or humorous tidbits their fathers passed along to them.
I expect to fill this space more with my philosophical ruminations, which I find more fascinating than most of my daily life. Hopefully, you will too.
I came up with the title for this blog almost two years ago. Samwise Gamgee has always been my favorite fictional character ever since seeing the animated "Return of the King" at a very young age. ("Where there's a whip... there's a way..."). In some ways, it is odd that I grabbed onto him rather than Frodo. It could be that by starting with the RotK (it took me a couple more years to finish the books for the first time), my first impression of Frodo was a whining, tired and indecisive hobbit while Sam did all the real work.
While my appreciation for Frodo has grown with the dozen or two times I have read the books, so has my admiration and identification with Sam. I have always seen myself as the able assistant rather than the leader. I tend to be the practical minded supporter who figures out how to make it happen rather than the idea creator.
Which brings me to the quote... "Where there is life, there is hope, as my gaffer would say. And need for vittles, he'd mostwise add." When I was younger, and EVEN more idealistic than I am today, I think I only focused on the first part. Just having hope in the middle of Mordor surrounded by a million orcs is a significant achievement. But the power comes from the second part. Without a practical mindset, hope is an ephemeral and transient entity.
The challenge comes in finding the balance... how much practicality and how much idealism. Samwise knew when to stop saving food and water for the return journey from Mount Doom and to just concentrate on keeping Frodo going. The challenge is finding the balance that you can live with in your own head.
That was old Hamfast's advice for his son. My dad offered advice from the confusing "You can't have your cake and eat it too" (what else do you do with cake?) to another of my life mantras "There are two things in life worth their money every single time... education and travel." On this Father's Day, anyone reading the blog is encouraged to leave comments with good, bad or humorous tidbits their fathers passed along to them.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Power of positive thinking time....
I am trying not have this blog be subtitled "Michael bitches and moans about having to work at a really cool job in the spectacular weather of the Bay Area", so I have held off posting until I can temper the challenges of moving with some positive thoughts.
I want to give a big shout out to my wife. As hard as this has been on me, this has been seven times harder on her. She managed to juggle working, school and getting the house on the market and has done it all very well. I went back to Dayton over Memorial Day for a brief fly-by and the house is amazing. We have had some interest and foot traffic, so hopefully that will pay off with a sale before too long. Kelly will be out here in about a week and finally able to take some long deserved relaxation.
Another shout out goes to Carol. She made me a phenomenal scrap-book of Dayton sights, stories and histories. It really is a work of art that captures what makes the place so special. Then to cap it off, when I thanked her she added some great wisdom.
I could feel that most strongly when "other" Michael and I went to watch the San Jose Earthquakes play. Standing in the crowd, screaming my lungs out with my great friend by my side reminded me of some of the positive memories of my previous California adventure. And there will be more good memories to come.
I am looking forward to finally going on my ultimate date (with my ultimate woman) to watch Shakespeare under the stars at a winery in Sonoma. I am looking forward to lots of friends coming to visit (hint, hint). I am looking forward to lots of tennis, biking, hiking and other things that are so often weather precluded in Ohio. I look forward to lots of mini-vacations to places that were too far to visit from back east, like Yosemite, San Diego or even Hawaii.
It is hard to stay focused on the future when the present is so turbulent, but calmer waters are ahead.
On a side note... Mazel Tov to Stephen and Hannah who got married in New York last weekend. That was one of the most fun weddings I have ever been to. The circle dancing and partying was like a scene from a TV show or a movie, and the ceremony was a wonderful blend of traditional and personal.
It also gave me the opportunity to utter the immortal words... "A wife is like an adventure person".
I want to give a big shout out to my wife. As hard as this has been on me, this has been seven times harder on her. She managed to juggle working, school and getting the house on the market and has done it all very well. I went back to Dayton over Memorial Day for a brief fly-by and the house is amazing. We have had some interest and foot traffic, so hopefully that will pay off with a sale before too long. Kelly will be out here in about a week and finally able to take some long deserved relaxation.
Another shout out goes to Carol. She made me a phenomenal scrap-book of Dayton sights, stories and histories. It really is a work of art that captures what makes the place so special. Then to cap it off, when I thanked her she added some great wisdom.
So, in San Jose, . . . you will appreciate the little things that you will find in your new home. ... but you have to earn all the memories. And you can't give up just because there aren't any memories there yet.That is so true. A place has meaning because of the stories associated with it. Some of those stories are personal experiences and others are curious pieces of history that one has to learn. I need to be open to those experiences here.
I could feel that most strongly when "other" Michael and I went to watch the San Jose Earthquakes play. Standing in the crowd, screaming my lungs out with my great friend by my side reminded me of some of the positive memories of my previous California adventure. And there will be more good memories to come.
I am looking forward to finally going on my ultimate date (with my ultimate woman) to watch Shakespeare under the stars at a winery in Sonoma. I am looking forward to lots of friends coming to visit (hint, hint). I am looking forward to lots of tennis, biking, hiking and other things that are so often weather precluded in Ohio. I look forward to lots of mini-vacations to places that were too far to visit from back east, like Yosemite, San Diego or even Hawaii.
It is hard to stay focused on the future when the present is so turbulent, but calmer waters are ahead.
On a side note... Mazel Tov to Stephen and Hannah who got married in New York last weekend. That was one of the most fun weddings I have ever been to. The circle dancing and partying was like a scene from a TV show or a movie, and the ceremony was a wonderful blend of traditional and personal.
It also gave me the opportunity to utter the immortal words... "A wife is like an adventure person".
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Continuing Adventures in California
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.
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.
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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