The Journey Chapter 71: Broken Down but Doing All Right

BUSTED FLAT IN BATON ROUGE, WAITIN’ FOR A TRAIN

Know the lyrics?  Shame on your if you did not say “Bobby McGee,” and no, this is not a song review; the lyrics came to mind, almost immediately, when I first felt the transmission slip as I was driving this morning. At the time I was about forty miles from the nearest town, but I babied it forward, heading west, until I made it, thankfully, to Cascade Locks on the Oregon side of the Columbia. I had every intention, originally, of going north into the bowels of Washington, but the cold became a problem, what with the propane heater not working, so I had made the decision, this morning, to head west and get myself into some warmer weather. That’s when the transmission chuckled at my plans.

This being Saturday, there really is nothing to do until Monday, so Maggie and I are parked at the familiar KOA in Cascade Locks, waiting until a car repair shop opens Monday morning. The question is, where should I take Puddle Walker?  Fifteen miles east is Hood River, and fifteen miles west is Camas, Washington.  Naturally there is no car mechanic in Cascade Locks.

I really don’t know which I will choose on Monday. I am hopefully going to purchase some transmission fluid tomorrow and hope the problem is minor, but just between you, me, and the moon, the chances of it being minor are almost slim to none.

And that’s just the way the pickle squirts.  Who among us has owned a vehicle and had mechanical problems? I assume you are all raising your hands.  I knew this would happen sooner or later. I’m just thankful I wasn’t in the middle of a desert when it did happen.

Maggie, she doesn’t much care, one way or another, as long as I take her on walks and remember to feed her.  My girl has her priorities straight. And that’s the message I want to share with you all.

I spent decades wallowing in my own excrement and the excrement that life tossed in my direction.  It was exhausting because, quite frankly, being negative drains a person.  It is not our nature to be mad or sad or emotionally weary. I believe those are learned responses to stimuli, just as being positive is a learned behavior after the first few years of life.  We literally choose whether to be happy or to be upset.

I am not going to spend the rest of my life negative. I will not feed that beast.

Today, from the Riverview Lodge in Hood River, Oregon, (it’s now Monday) I choose to be happy.

UPDATE: Here’s the verdict as told by the local mechanic . . . Puddle Walker needs a new transmission.  Cost, $5000 . . . time allotted, two weeks.  Out of the question!

Second option: have it towed to Olympia, cost, $1500.  Out of the question!

Third option: roll the dice and drive it back to Olympia, hoping that the old transmission has 140 miles left in her.  As my dad was fond of saying, God hates a coward. Tomorrow, Maggie and I will hit the I-5 and point Puddle Walker northward.  With every mile we travel, we are closer to Olympia, and if a tow is necessary, it will cost less.  Impeccable logic by yours truly.

I always feel like I need to add this last point: I really am not bummed over any of this.  Compare my life to the homeless or the abused or those with terminal illnesses, and I’ve got it made in the shade. This is just one of life’s hiccups, and it will all work out. I have a place waiting for me in Olympia where I can park, full hookups, and I will just start that gig, save money, and get a new transmission when I can afford it. I keep you all updated because I know many of you are interested and you care; it certainly is not because I’m looking for sympathy.

No worries! I was not raised to be a whiner and I’m sure as hell not going to start whining now.  And, if any of you out there want to say “I told you so,” then you can just say it to yourself. I love this new life, hiccups and all.  Only a fool thinks they are going to get through this life unscathed, and Dad didn’t raise a fool for a son.

SAFE AND SOUND

Full disclosure, I had some serious apprehension as I hit the freeway this morning, wondering how far I would make it before pulling to the side of the road, defeated.

Not a sniff of trouble. The transmission did not slip once.  Mind you, I’m not saying everything is all right with it; I’m just marveling at my good fortune as Maggie and I cruised to Olympia. I was even feeling confident enough to stop at the grocery store to stock up on some food before settling in at my new “home” in Olympia.  We are tucked under a couple towering Douglas Firs, on the edge of a four-acre farm school, and all is well in my little world for now.

I obviously still have some decisions to make. I will need to have my local mechanic look at Puddle Walker. If he says the same thing as they said in Hood River, that it needs a new transmission, I will then have to decide to fix it now or fix it later. Fixing it now will wipe out my money supply. Fixing it later will mean going nowhere for the winter while I save up money (I don’t have a second vehicle, so I’m in a stationary situation right now).  Or should I just use the bus as a home and buy another, smaller vehicle, like a van, to do traveling in?  So many options and contemplations.

But that’s all in the future. For now, Maggie and I are listening to the wind blow, watching the rain fall, and practicing gratitude after dodging what could have been a much-worse outcome.

AND I decided to . . . live in the bus and buy a second vehicle to travel in. I have my two choices narrowed down to a Subaru Outlook and a Ford Transit Connect.  Stay tuned!

THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

I know, strange title, and you might find this totally unrelatable to the rest of this blog, but hang with me while I explain.

The heading of this chapter is often associated with the song “American Pie,” by Don Mclean, and I believe it was recorded in 1971.  It is often mentioned that the song is about the 1959 plane crash which killed early rock legend Buddy Holly, but at a deeper level, the song is about the loss of innocence, and the growing disillusionment of the teens growing up in the Sixties.

It’s a fascinating song, really, the lyrics outstanding, and it’s fun to guess who the singer/songwriter is referring to with many of the lyric references (“the marching band refused to yield).  Because I lived during that decade referenced in the song, I always enjoy hearing it and remembering back to a simpler time . . . but wait . . . we always hear people talking about the late 50’s and early 60’s as a simpler time, but were they really? Dead serious with that question, friends.  Will the teenagers of today look back on 2023 as a simpler time?  Those of you who are forty, will you look back, longingly, at the 90’s and wish for their simplicity?

These are things I think about as I travel around meeting people.  Let’s be brutally honest here: there has always been turmoil and hatred and extreme, misplaced anger. There has always been crime on the streets and rich people taking advantage of poor people.  Always!  So, is it our childhood that we look back at with starry eyes?  Does adulthood complicate lives faster than you can say the IRS?  Working jobs, providing for families, meeting responsibilities head-on, dodging the creditors, living with uncertainty as prices rise and wages fail to meet the increase, are those the things that rob us of our innocence, and not the era in which we lived?

In many ways I had an idyllic childhood, kind of like living in Mayberry in that popular 60’s television show, but make no mistake about it, there was trouble in River City in the late 50’s and early 60’s. Racism was a national disgrace.  Womanizers flaunted their manliness.  Abuse, alcoholism, PTSD, drug addiction, it all existed during the years of my childhood, but during that time those things were not talked about.

So, my point, if I even have one, is I think of that song often while I travel, and I look at towns I pass through with a discerning eye. Do the children look happy. Are the citizens, predominantly, smiling?  Or have they all had their own, personal, music die?

Pure randomness, friends. I hope you don’t mind. Without a car, I have far too much down time available to my mind.