So my last night in Golden, we decided to go to a bar down the road. Luke, who fancies himself an Earnhardt, drove like he did for our entire trip. We were driving down a road that is known for having a lot of deer on the roadway. They have fancy sensors and lights on the side of the road that flash when there is wildlife on the road. Pretty neat, except for the fact that the lights always seemed to be flashing and we never saw anything on the road. Luke and Lilly had joked earlier in the week that despite that this newfangled was deemed necessary for this road, they had in fact never seen a single deer on this stretch of highway. This time, the lights were not flashing. Low and behold, we were proving that night that the sensors don't work for shit. As we cruised down the highway doing about 60, a deer darted in front of the car. Luke floored it (apparently this is common practice, if you brake the deer can come through the windshield), and swerved onto the grassy shoulder. He over corrected and as a result we got almost sideways as we slid down the shoulder, nailing a road sign that was in our path. As we drifted to a halt, Luke made sure everybody was alright then we got out to survey the damage. Miraculously, all four tires were still intact. The only things damaged were the front passenger side parking light, and the passenger door. The passenger door (which they had just replaced a month prior) could no longer be opened all the way. Crappy, but it could have been so much worse. We went to the bar, had a couple drinks, took a short walk, then went back home on the early side to relax.
The next morning, Amy and I packed our respective bags and said our goodbyes. I was off to St. Louis, and Amy was going to stay one more night then head back to Sacramento. I gave my hugs and thanks to Luke and Lilly, said goodbye to Amy, and started the first leg of my trip solo. Fast forward 8 hours of driving, and I hit a snag. The overdrive light on my shifter started flashing and my van was shifting at inappropriate times. I pulled over at a rest stop and pulled out my space phone. I Googled Ford E250 over-drive light flashing and was filled with dread. Most everything I saw meant it was a transmission problem. At 1,500 miles from home, this was the last thing I needed. I had to scrap my plan to make it to St. Louis that night, which in retrospect was probably a bit of a blessing. It would have made my total drive time for the day about 14 hours.
I knew I had to get to a reasonably sized town before stopping so I could get to an auto shop right when they opened in the morning. I started the van, the check engine light started flashing, and my 3/4 ton gas guzzler started shaking violently. I killed the engine. Insert a comically long string of 4 letter words, and words that probably don't exist in any dictionary yet published. I paused for a moment, and realized I had no choice whatsoever, I had to press on to the next town. I started it and thankfully, no check engine light, no vibrations, just the flashing O/D light. I pulled onto the highway and was dumbstruck by my luck. Topeka, Kansas: 3 Miles. I putted along driving 30 MPH under the speed limit. I pulled off the highway with what seemed like every motorist in the state riding my ass and ready to strangle me. Who knew 3 miles of slow highway driving could make for so many cases of road rage? I pulled into a gas station and pulled out my GPS. I checked for the nearest Home Depot and Walmart. These are businesses known for being friendly towards travelers. "Super" Walmarts often have 24 hour security patrolling and if you are looking for them, you can see a gang of RVs, and Camper Vans. The Home Depot did not look very inviting, but the Walmart was looking very promising: already a group of campers, and security circling that seemed like a private guard dog for us campers. I pulled up next to the group, took a gander at the surroundings and decided this would be my spot to settle down for the night...just not yet. It was only about 8 or 9, and I was stressed out about what was wrong with my van and decided I was going to treat myself to a drink to relax a little. Once again I pulled out my handy dandy GPS and searched for Pub/Bar/Tavern. First result was Jeremiah Bullfrog's Tavern. This, understandably, got me pretty excited. I was all ready to head there, but then realized it was 5 miles away. Typically, not far at all. However, with a possible bum transmission I was looking for something as close as possible. I then saw a generically named Irish Pub .2 miles away. I headed over, and there was a pub and a sports bar that were the exact same bar, only separated by a single interior door and drastically different atmospheres. I knew trying to get the Giants game on in Kansas wasn't the best idea, so I opted for the pub. Live music, cheap beer. Not a bad place. I decided to wander over to the sports bar just to see what it was like. I picked up my drink, wandered through the dividing door, and bellied up to the bar in the corner to get a peek at the KS Royals game. As I sat watching the game, wishing I had the guts to ask for 1 tiny screen for the Giants game in Royals country (people kinda scare me with the vigorous loyalty they have towards sports teams), a Samoan man hovered behind me, straining to not tip over. I ignored it for a few minutes, then realized I was blocking the video machine at the bar. I turned around and asked the man if he wanted to play. He managed to get a out a grunt and an awkward nod, which I felt was safe to interpret as a yes. I scooted over a stool so him and his friends could play. He shouted to the bartender to get me a beer on his tab. The bartender noted that my beer was already more than half full, but the man would have none of this kind of logic. After all, beer was at stake. I finished my beer and was poured my second. I thanked the wobbly gentleman which, to my despair, roped me into a conversation I was not up for. He began to spit on me as he shouted about how just a few years ago he would have just knocked me off the stool and played the game. I said that I was glad that he had learned to use his words (grunts) when he wished to play an overpriced arcade game. He kept talking, I feigned interest and nodded accordingly without saying a word. All on his own the man started working himself up just reminiscing about his glory days of barroom brawls. I could see he was starting to get a high off this sudden surge of testosterone and nostalgia, and decided I didn't want to be around when the big man peaked. I again thanked him for the drink, but I had to be on my way. I left before he could think of a response.
Now that I was relaxed a bit, I decided it was time to turn in for the night so I headed back to my Walmart sanctuary. I put up my window coverings, cracked the windows, dropped the curtain, turned on the fan, and opened up a book as I settled into bed. I immediately heard tires squeeling, and peeked out the window to learn a little something about Topeka, Kansas: There is nothing to do on a Friday night at midnight for teens and 20 somethings. So, they create their own fun...by drag racing and doing donuts in the Walmart parking lot. As they made high-speed loops around the cluster of campers, I noticed an elderly man peeking out the window of the biggest of the campers. He was frantically shouting at another occupant to stay away from the windows, obviously concerned by these crazy kids and their imported cars. I couldn't help but compare our situation to wagon circles of the old west. Our campers being the wagon trains, huddling together and praying to not be overtaken by the savage Indians circling like vultures (vultures with squealing tires and after market exhaust pipes). That madness lasted about an hour, but then the storm rolled in. Pouring rain, thunder, lightning, and high winds to a degree that this California boy had never seen. I cannot stress these high winds enough. My van rocked back and forth violently all night, and I would swear upon waking that my van had been moved over a few inches into the adjacent parking space. To me, this seems ridiculous, but I made a serious effort to make sure I only occupied one parking spot when parking that night. Maybe I am just crazy.
Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep. About 3 hours worth of shuteye is all I could manage. I woke up at 6am, determined to be the first in the door when Jiffy Lube opened. I rolled past, and saw it didn't open until 8am. I was still in the middle of a torrential downpour, but felt disgusting from the previous days drive into the humidity that is the Midwest. So, I decided to take a shower in the rain. I pulled into a hotel parking lot, it was early so nobody was around. I pulled in so my side doors opened towards a wall, and found myself with a nice little makeshift shower stall. I grabbed my bar of soap and towel, then set them on the floor at the side doors. I hopped out into the rain and started rinsing off. It was not nearly as cold as I thought it would be. Just as I was about to soap up, I saw a enormous lighting bolt streak towards ground not 50 yards away. I paused, looked up, and just now noticed I was standing underneath a large metal billboard...in the middle of an electrical storm. I couldn't help but laugh at my own stupidity, and could hear my mother's voice calling me a dumb shit.
So after abandoning that stupid idea, I grabbed some Sonic and waited for the shop to open. I was due for an oil change, and as usual they tried to up sale me like crazy. I walked out minus $112, but my van was fixed! There is a small tranny fluid leak, got my fuel filter replaced, and all other fluids replaced. As soon as I paid the man, I hit a gas station and headed towards St. Louis.
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