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795 Miles
Nathan Hahs
1.
Las Vegas
C.G. rented a moving truck for her belongings. This truck was fourteen feet in length, a Ford F-350 with air conditioning. We packed up on the evening of the seventh. The next morning we stopped back at the same business to attach a trailer to tow her pick-up.
Attaching the trailer turned out to be a little more difficult than expected. The customer service was atrocious. We waited for over ten minutes for the woman who was helping us to finish a personal phone call. Not good. Then we were directed to a man who was to hook up the trailer to the truck. He noticed that the brake lights on the trailer did not work. After replacing a fuse, we discovered that the turn signals on both the truck and the trailer did not work. Also not good. A second fuse was replaced and now we were ready for the road. All of this did nothing to minimize my anxiety over having never pulled a trailer before.
After an hour of issues, the clock in the truck read 11:00am and we were ready to go. We had seven bottles of water, two packs of cigarettes, some fruit, some candy, potato chips, and beef jerky. The odometer read 112,140 miles.
2.
Mesquite
The weather was scorching. Even with the AC on, it soon became apparent that our water supply was insufficient. Our first ninety minutes were uneventful, which was fantastic. At 12:40pm, we stopped in Mesquite for lunch. Half an hour later, we were walking back to the truck, soft drinks in hand. On a complete whim, I decided to walk around the truck to check it out. To make sure everything was fine.
Everything was not fine. There was a large puddle of green liquid under the front of the truck. Radiator fluid. Very not good. At the moment there was no leak. Perhaps the leak had already stopped. Perhaps everything had already leaked out. Just to see what would happen, I started the truck. The CHECK ENGINE light came on, so I turned it back off. I am no mechanic, but I know a radiator problem can be a quick end to any road-tripping. Feeling a bit exasperated, C.G. called the moving company to report the problem.
She was told a mechanic would be there in an hour.
When we pulled into Mesquite, we had parked in the lot of a casino. Now that we had an hour to kill, we went into the casino to do a little gambling and maybe have a beer. We ordered a round of drinks. I put a twenty into the poker machine and managed to double my money. Although this was not how the day was supposed to progress, we were not in any real hurry. We estimated that the drive would take twelve hours. We had two days to make it. Surely, this coolant leak would be the end of our troubles.
As we walked out of the casino to meet the mechanic, we were shocked at how hot it was. The AC had spoiled us. The sun was directly overhead and the temperature was in excess of 110 degrees. Once the truck was fixed or replaced or whatever, we would have air conditioning and would be okay for the remainder of the voyage to Denver.
3.
Good News And Bad News
C.G and I chatted in the cab of the truck while the mechanic fiddled around under the hood. After a few minutes, he called us over to the engine, while he added some water to the radiator.
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said. “Which do you want first?”
“The good news,” I replied.
“The good news is the radiator is okay. All that’s happening is this: as this little truck heats up and then cools off, the radiator pulls fluid from the overflow tank. If it does this too often, it can overflow the overflow tank. If the overflow tank gets empty, the CHECK ENGINE light comes on. You can add water anytime to the overflow. So, just make sure you have plenty of water, check the overflow whever you stop, and you’ll be fine.”
“Huh, I...,” C.G. started.
“What’s the bad news?” I interrupted.
“The bad news is that this truck is really too small to pull another vehicle. So, to keep the engine from oveheating, you’ll have to keep the AC off and downshift on the bigger hills.”
“Fuck,” I grunted.
“It’s over a hundred degrees,” C.G. added. “We’ll roast.”
“You may be able to use the AC when the engine isn’t working so hard. When you’re not going up a steep incline.”
Well, that’s great, I thought. We’re going into the fucking mountains. When will there not be a steep incline? And, if we have to downshift, we may end up going, like, forty miles an hour. This trip is going to take...
“Let’s go buy some water from that gas station over there.” C.G. suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” said the mechanic. “Next time just get a bigger truck.”
“Next time we’ll get a different moving company,” said C.G. “This one sucks.”
“Thanks for your help.” I shook his hand and the mechanic turned towards his truck.
“Have a safe trip.”
We drove over to the gas station and bought three gallons of water. I expressed my concern to C.G. about having to downshift. She was doing her best to keep up a good attitude. I smoked a couple of cigarettes and at 2:45pm we left Mesquite.
4.
Dinner
Around 5:00pm we passed St. George. It took us most of the day to realize that we had crossed into Mountain Time zone. I think it actually happened back at Mesquite.
We stopped at Denny’s in Salina. It was 9:15pm (or 8:15 if you looked at the clock in the truck) This turned out to be a Twilight Zone-esque experience.
I had been craving a breakfast type of meal: sausage, eggs, toast, and especially hash browns. That’s why we chose Denny’s. As we approached the door to the restaurant, there was a young kid, maybe four years old, puking on the newspaper vending machine. His mother was standing by us. Even though C.G. and I were chatting, neither the mother or the kid seemed to notice us. We got not a glance, not an acknowledgement, not a hello. I was having a feeling of déjà vu that would last until we left Salina. Strange.
When we were seated, the very first thing our waitress said to us was, “I’m sorry, but we are out of hashbrowns.”
“Oh,” I replied. C.G. shook her head.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress asked. We replied that we would like only water.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
We decided on burgers. I didn’t want sausage, eggs, and toast, if I couldn’t have the hash browns. I mentioned the déjà vu to C.G. She said that I might be going crazy. I allowed that that was a possibility. Maybe it was heat stroke. We decided that, in the interest of simplicity, we would leave the AC off for the entire trip. When you add the frustration of, at times, only going thirty-five miles an hour, and my apprehension of never having pulled a trailer, it began to seem logical to me that I seem out of sorts.
C.G. motioned for me to look across the aisle from where we were seated. Two adults were sitting there, a male and a female. In front of each of them lay a coloring book. A dozen or so crayons were on the table. They were engrossed in their little art project. Very strange. We watched them until a tiny white mass flew over our heads.
In the booth behind us was an older couple. The man was tearing the wrapper of his straw into little bits and shooting them at his wife. It was one of his stray spitwads that we had seen. I think his vision must have been very bad. Strapped to his head so tightly that it deformed it was a pair of glasses. The lenses looked like the bottoms of Coke bottles.
Our waitress returned with our drinks and took our order. It was then that I noticed everyone had blond hair and blue eyes. Very, very strange. The cook, our waitress, the couple with the coloring books, the old couple, even C.G. is blond and blue. I was the only person with dark features. I felt like a Jew in Nazi Germany. Was everyone staring at me? Was I a freak?
Here in Salina, I definitely was.
5.
Green River
At midnight we pulled into Green River- which should be sung to the tune of “Moon River.” During the day we had come up with a few games to play while on the road. 1) We began counting the number of moving vehicles we saw. 2) We started a list of every state license plate we passed. 3) Every time we passed a Flying J gas Station, we would yell, “Fucking A Flying J,” hit the ceiling of the cab, and then do an armpit fart. This proved to be quite entertaining, because C.G. did not know how to do one and also because I had much difficulty doing one while driving.
The only motel we found in Green River with any vacancy was a ma-and-pa enterprise. A large boat race was in town and nearly everything was booked up. The roads seemed very busy for such a small town at this hour, I thought. I waited in the truck on the side of the road while C.G. ran into the lobby/home of the owner to get us a room. We had tried two other motels in Green River and I had almost jack-knifed the damn truck pulling in and out of their small parking lots.
6.
Colorado
We woke up a little past seven and were on the road by eight. We crossed the Colorado border at 9:41am (8:41 according to the clock in the truck).
By now we were down to the three gallons of water from Mesquite, less than a pack of cigarettes, and the fruit. The fruit never did get eaten. I threw it away in Denver.
We stopped in Grand Junction, more appropriately entitled The White Trash Nation, for breakfast. That’s all I’ll say about Grand Junction.
At 2:04pm the driving deteriorated. Before that, we even reached a top speed of 78 miles per hour. By 2:30 we were moving at a sloth-life 25mph. The hazard lights were really coming in handy now. The temperature gauge in the truck was in the red and the roads were getting steeper and steeper. When we were coming down a hill fifteen minutes later, the truck died. Right on the fucking interstate.
I pulled over. My frustration level had been quite low on this second day of travel, but now it skyrocketed. I cursed the truck, the mountains, the truck, the people in Salina, the truck, the people in Grand Junction, the moving company, and the truck. I smoked a few cigarettes and decided we would wait half an hour and then try again.
Using C.G.’s cell phone, I called a friend in Denver who was going to help us unpack. I told him that wewere running late and that I would call him when we got into town. He asked what moving company we were using. He said everyone has trouble with them. He said that Ford stands for ‘Fucked Over Rebuilt Dodge.’
C.G. called her parents to give them an update. They also said that this company was trouble.
Live and learn, I guess. Now we know what moving company to not use. And, C.G. has learned to do an armpit fart.
7.
795 Miles
At 6:00pm Mountain Time, we arrived in Denver. We had stopped every thirty minutes to allow the truck to cool and we never made it above twenty-five miles an hour. We counted 120 moving vehicles and saw thirty-seven different license plates.
We spent $150.00 in gas and what should have been a twelve hour drive took us twenty-two.
I was frazzled and bug-eyed. I would have fallen part if C.G. hadn’t been there to keep me company. As long as I never make that drive again, I’ll die a happy man. The odometer read 112,935. I called my friend back and we all went out drinking. Unpacking can wait until tomorrow.
