It Was an EMU, That's What it Was!
My cousin Matt had an adventure in Feb 2019 that sounds like a tall tale. He posted the story to Facebook over several days once he returned home and recovered. His story deserves to be preserved for future generations of Daniel men to appreciate. I asked if I could put it on my website and he agreed. Below are his postings to Facebook exactly as he wrote them.Enjoy.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Four years ago my friend Dwayne Lewis and I heard about a group of off road enthusiasts on the west coast known as Ultra4 Racing. After some cosponsored events between Southern Rock Racing Series and Ultra4, we heard about the kick off event for the Ultra4 racing season held in Johnson Valley, California each February, King of The Hammers.
A race that originally started with a bunch of guys betting who's rig could make the planned path/trail all for a case of beer, is now touted as the toughest race on earth. Held early in February each year, King of the Hammers is held in the Mojave Desert. The terrain looks like a backdrop to a Mad Max movie and it is no surprise that the 96,000 Acre OHV area backs up to a Marine training facility specifically to train for Middle East deployments such as Afghanistan.
Intrigued and always up for an adventure, Dwayne and I flew to Vegas, rented an SUV and lived in it for a week while we enjoyed one of the best off road events we had ever attended. We met some great people there and made some lifelong friends. The next year we decided that rather than live in an SUV for a week, we would rent a CruiseAmerica RV. That worked well, but as I stated before this is a 96,000 acre OHV park. The RV got around okay, but wasn't ideal.
One of the friends we had made in California brought a Jeep Cherokee for us to drive around and advertise for him to sell. The next year, Dwayne could not go so Mark Murphy joined me. Again, we flew to Vegas and rented the RV. However this time, we ran into a little bad luck since we only had the RV to drive. After getting the RV stuck to the frame rails in soft sand, we vowed to drive out the next year and pull our trail Jeeps so we could go anywhere we wanted to spectate and could try some of this awesome terrain out with our own creations. So, the stage was set for King of the Hammers 2019.
Chapter 2
Dad was more than willing to help and was more than helpful. We stripped the trailer down, painted it, installed new LED lights, serviced the wheel bearings and even fixed the brakes on the trailer. I had convinced dad we needed to build a platform from 2x6s and OSB to put the tent on and camp. Although my suggestion drew some strange looks in Kentucky, it was more than welcome some 8 weeks later in the Lake Bed. I always stress before trips and this one was no different.
We had determined that Mark's 2001 Chevrolet Silverado Duramax dually would be the better of our two truck to take. The dual wheels would provide stability in towing the load and his interior was much more comfortable than my 1997 F-350 (Foreshadowing?). The night we finally finished prepping the trailer, my dad says "I ought to just go with you boys, keep you straight."
I thought he was joking at first, but then realized he was serious. "Can you sleep in a tent for a week in the Mojave Desert?" I asked. "No problem" dad replied. Inside, I was thinking "Are you sure dad? You know how my adventures go sometimes." However, this was an opportunity to share a road trip, offroading adventure that dad and I had never experienced together and it would be an event we would never forget (Yep, got that last one right .).
Two nights before we were leaving we had all talked about what we were going to bring and had most of it loaded on the trailer with the Jeeps strapped down and ready to roll. We just needed to hook up the truck and hit the road. As I was packing the Thursday night, all I could think about was the fact that for the first time in a long time, probably ever, I was actually ready to head out on a trip before the last minute. Probably should have taken that as a sign.
Chapter 3
Not to mention, this might have qualified as one of a few vacations I actually got to spend with my dad. Real bonding time. Couldn't wait. So Friday morning February 1 rolls around. Dad, Mark and I meet up, shove the last of our supplies, clothes, coolers and last minute tools, parts and snacks into Mark's truck and we hit the road. It's cold, there is a forecast of freezing rain for parts of Kentucky, but when we leave it is just cold.
Our planned route out of the state was to follow the Mountain Parkway to 64, then to the Bluegrass Parkway, then onto the Western Kentucky Parkway, leading us to Fulton, KY and on to Dyersburg, TN. We would follow US highways from there and a few state routes and dodge a very narrow and busy section of I40 we had experienced in May on a trip to Dallas, TX.
After getting onto the Western Kentucky Parkway outside Elizabethtown, we began running into slow moving oncoming traffic. We soon realized it was because of black ice. The parkway was covered in it. We ran up on 6 different accidents and finally caught up to a very serious one that held us up for 3 hours in traffic (not too many places you can turn a 53' pickup and trailer combo around).
The delay behind, we pushed on, stopping only for fuel/bathroom/snack combination stops. I drove the first leg of the trip which was from West Liberty to west of Fort Smith, Arkansas. Mark drove the next jaunt, across Oklahoma. I took over again in Texas. We were making great time, it was Saturday and we hoped to be in the Lakebed on Sunday evening.
As we rolled across Texas, hopes and spirits were high. In New Mexico, I was still driving, dad told me to find a rest stop soon. I pulled off at the very next one, just outside of the town of Moriarty, New Mexico. As dad made his way to the bathroom, I rolled down the window to take in the desert air, only to notice the distinct odor of antifreeze. I get out to discover that we had a lower radiator hose leaking on the truck. Nothing catastrophic but pulling 10,000 pounds means we had to find fix and find it soon.
After a quick Google search, I called the Napa in Moriarty. I waited on a hold a few minutes, they were busy. It was 6 miles away so dad and I topped off the reservoir on the Duramax and headed on down the road to talk to them in person. Very helpful, very friendly and wouldn't you know it, he had a lower radiator hose for a 2001 Duramax (it looks like some kind of balloon animal made by a clown at the fair). We went to work right there in the parking lot and replaced the lower hose with ease. On the road again and bound for California!
Chapter 4
After a whopping 3 hours of neck breaking upright sleep, we roll out and start the process. Unloading all this stuff and finding what we really needed was a lot easier than I thought. We set up our prefab deck on the trailer and then screwed down my 6 man tent that would house us. We set up the grill, heck dad even broke out the coffee pot the first thing that morning to get us started. It was all crazy, but we had a blast doing it.
After setting up camp we settled in for the weeks events and everything ran pretty much as expected. Tuesday evening, Mark and I decided to make a run to town, a 45 minutes, 25 mile trip to Yucca Valley, CA. It's 45 minutes because it takes us 20 minutes just to get out of the lake bed and onto the highway. I'm telling you, this is the middle of nowhere.
After getting all the necessities in Yucca Valley, we are heading back in the cover of darkness. As we crest this one particular hill, I'm horrified to realize there are people in the road and cars on both shoulders with flashers and headlights! Cramming the brakes, I divert into the oncoming lane a bit to avoid the pedestrians, only to my horror as I feel the truck hit and roll over something in the roadway.
Now my attention was on the people who were on my right, I did take note there was no oncoming traffic but I have to admit I didn't know at all what I had hit. Being from the south, we all know what it feels like to hit a deer or a large dog. Not to be too graphic but you always can tell you have rolled over something alive because of the thud, roll, thud kind of sound. As soon as humanly possible, I pull off the road, heart racing, sweating and in a panic.
Mark says, "What's wrong?" I look at him intently and a say "I'm not sure what I just hit. I hope it wasn't a person. It was definitely a body of some kind." I jump out of the truck and rush up the shoulder to the stopped vehicles. A gentleman is getting a jacket from his truck seat, catches me in his peripheral and says "Wild, ain't it?"
"Yes, yes it is. What's going on? I think I hit something," I stammer. "Oh no, she hit it first (pointing to a young woman holding her nostrils to stop the flow of blood). Destroyed her car. Even set off the airbag!" "Oh," I say relieved, "Well what did we hit?" (We hadn't seen any wildlife since we crossed the state line, LOL). "It is an EMU."
"A what?" "An EMU, you know big bird. It was someone's pet on the loose."
As I stand there dumbfounded, I began to notice the blood covered feathers blowing across the pavement. Relieved I hadn't killed a person but still dumbfounded by the whole EMU thing, I muster a good southern offer of "Well, do y'all need anything?" The gentleman assures me they have it under control and so Mark and I head back to Camp Daniel.
Chapter 5
After watching racing for the day, we returned to our camp and Dad and I began to cipher a plan to help keep our little abode from blowing off, especially with us in it. Now, this was my 4th trip to the Lake Bed and I was well aware of the weather possibilities. Ultra4racing's page even suggests to not use soft sided campers much less tents due to the windy conditions. But ya know, us three Kentucky briar hoppers have a few tricks up our sleeves.
Our camping neighbors were a couple from Washington state. Very nice folks, had come over a couple of times just to talk and hang out. They were in a motorhome so our redneck camp was probably a great source of comedy for their trip. Anyway, back to the solution. We had screwed the tent down to the deck where normally it would be staked to the dirt. That seemed to work very well. We also had used 2 x 2 inch wide ratchet straps to secure the deck to the trailer and had applied a couple of legs for stability.
The best we could come up with was to take a 20'x20' blue tarp (very redneck) and put it over the entire tent, bungee cord it down and hope that took some pressure off the attachment points of the tent. Well, we looked like a bunch of groundsmen trying to land the Hindenburg in that 30 MPH wind with a 20'x20' tarp! We were making some progress when our Northern neighbor came to lend a hand. I'm sure he looked out the window of his stable, warm Winnebago to say something like "Honey, these hillbillies are trying to take flight!"
Anyway, after about 30 minutes of work, we had our security blanket installed. Good thing too, that night felt like we were on a high ledge attempting to climb Everest.
Chapter 6
The last race is the actual King of the Hammers race for the Unlimited Class. It begins at 8:00 AM on Friday. This is rally style start and racing. Staggered start, elapsed time, pits, et cetera. No chase trucks, meaning if you break down you have to fix it yourself or limp into a pit to get help. Other drivers can help but no one from your pit crew can come to you with parts. It is a trophy just to finish this punishing race of high speed desert, short course, loose rock/sand hill climbs, endless whoops and rocks the size of Volkswagens to traverse.
By 3:00 PM on Friday, the top finishers had crossed the podium and we were ready to make trails East toward home. We had everything packed and ready. We had dropped a good 500-600 pounds from our load between fuel, food, water and ice. We felt good and were hoping to roll into home on Sunday evening. As we said our goodbyes to our Georgia and California friends, we left with spirits high and bodies nasty.
Did I mention there are no showers out here? All we could think about was getting on toward home. Maybe we stop at a hotel on the way and get a good shower, say around Amarillo or something. Yeah that sounds nice. I took the first leg of the trip, rolling out of the Means dry lake bed in Johnson Valley, California bound for home. We had decided to hit I10 on the way home, it was closer than getting back on i40. So we make our exit and are East bound and down.
California goes well, I10 was short and flat. By the time we were into Phoenix, dad was convinced we should head north to Flagstaff and pick up I40 there. And so we make the journey into Flagstaff, running into a bit of snow thanks to the 8000 or so feet of elevation change from Palm Springs. Leaving Flagstaff we journeyed on, staying on I40. Daylight the next day we are nearly 750 miles down the road, 1/3 of the way home and we are looking for a fuel stop and wouldn't you know it, we just passed Moriarty, NM. You remember from earlier, where we broke down on the way out.
We stroll off the interstate to Cline's Corner's New Mexico, home to Cline's Corner's 66 Fuel stop and that is it. NOTHING ELSE. They have an expansive gift shop, which we purveyed while filing up the truck. When we came back out to hit the road again, I started the truck, put it in gear and it just humped up like I had the parking brake set.
Hmm. Wonder what's up, I try it again and there comes a distinctive bearing needle CRUNCH/PING from underneath. We survey the driveshafts, rear axle, transmission .what could it be? Again we try to pull the truck forward and CRUNCH/PING CRUNCH/PING .oh its coming from the transfer case. That's not good. So we sit at the fuel pumps for over 2 hours trying to figure out how to get the truck out of the way of the pumps.
I spot a gentleman cutting across the parking lot in a 3/4 ton ford truck and flag him down, explain and he obliges us in pulling us away from the pumps. It is at this point that hopes of getting home by Sunday evening begin to fade.
Chapter 7
Now, removing a transfer case in a 3/4 ton pickup is a piece of cake for experienced folks. You simply remove the driveshafts, any wiring, vents, sensory cabling and remove usually 5-6 nuts and the 100 pound behemoth comes off in your lap. Into the toolbox we dive, drag out a couple of bottle jacks and get the truck a little more off the ground. At this point, it's about 35 degrees with a cold wind blowing because, well there is NOTHING TO STOP THE WIND.
Anyway, after getting the truck up about 6 more inches in the air so we can move, I start on one end, dad starts on the other. Now, my dad is an experienced mechanic as I've stated before. About the time I have the front driveshaft out, he has the rear 1/2 and lacks the front 1/2 with the carrier bearing attached to a frame crossmember. I go on to the transfer case, removing cabling, vents, speedometer cabling and electric shifter wiring. I even loosen and remove all but 2 of the nuts holding the transfer case on.
I"m ready to go and notice that dad is still working on this carrier bearing. What the heck? The conversation goes something like this: "Need help?" "No ...ugh ..of all the piece of ..ignorant ...engineering ...who the heck ...what ...are you kidding me . ..." "What are we going to do dad?" "I ain't licked yet."
You see, in the infinite wisdom of the automotive engineers, process analysts, cost down reduction technicians and people who actually don't try to remove a carrier bearing from a 18 year old truck in the parking lot of a truck stop in the middle of nowhere New Mexico while the wind and snow nip at their ears 1800 miles from home, instead of using bolts and nuts they have used what some call a CAPTURE nut. Essentially, when it's new, a fixed nut is inserted into a base plate and bites into place due to splines in it interfering with the hole in the base plate, creating a quick easy installation, new, at a factory, where it's warm and you have tools. However, after 18 years of use, abuse and something we call road salt in Kentucky, the base plate has corroded and degraded such that the capture nut now is just a seized obstruction that you cannot get a grip on to remove the offending bolts holding the carrier bearing on, which in turn prevents removal of the transfer case, which in turn prevents us from getting some progress toward getting ourselves UNSTUCK from the middle of nowhere!!
Alas, as I said before, there is nothing like 45 years of experience. We are armed with a minor set of hand tools, the essentials along with a couple of battery powered impacts for the trip and dad's battery powered Lowe's special drill. After several attempts to hold the capture nut with a pair of vise grips while we loosen the bolt, dad grabs the Hitachi battery powered drill along with the small 12 drill bit kit he threw in there for good measure and begins to drill. In just a few moments he has a 3/16" hole about 1/2 deep into this bolt. Next he breaks out the Harbor Freight special stepper bit and begins to hog out the bolt. Before you know it, POP! There is one! He drills the other one out, POP! There is the other. "Dad?" "Yes son." "That . .was . ..awesome." "Yep, that one is going with me. Nobody will believe this."
With the transfer case out of the truck, we climb out, clean up our tools and turn our attention to assessing the damage on the case. We find the now famous PUMP RUB hole in the transfer case and realize it likely has no oil (Own an early Duramax?, Google Search "DURAMAX PUMP RUB"). Well, either way it's scrap so dad and I break the transfer case apart and discover the quote of all quotes. "There ain't nary a teaspoon of oil in that thing."
Soon after we discovered we weren't going anywhere especially away from the fuel pumps, I put out a request on Facebook for help finding replacement parts. That request begins a response I was not quite ready for.
Chapter 8
Perhaps one of the most interesting calls came from my paternal cousin's maternal cousin (go figure that one out why don't ya!). He tells me that a lifelong friend of his dad's lives in El Paso, a Montgomery county Kentucky native and he is going to be calling me to try to help. So Donnie gives me a call. Tells me that he's going to find us parts. Although he is in El Paso, TX, some 6 hours away, he is confident he can find us a transfer case today, on a Saturday and get us on our way.
He does make a valiant try, all day Saturday we go back and forth with 20 questions to figure out what we need. How many spline input? What year model? What transmission? Finally Saturday afternoon Donnie tells me he is not able to find a case today, but he knows a guy (born and raised in Oldham County, Kentucky) who rebuilds these exact transfer cases in his garage. He lives in Truth or Consequences, NM, about 3 hours away. He's going to call you.
He and I go back and forth with texts and calls and pictures and spline counts and the ins and outs of this Duramax. He believes he may have a good case that he can rebuild, goes through the process of rebuilding a case, only to get to one of the last bearings and discovers the case is no good. Highs and lows today. It's nearly 10:00 at night on Saturday.
We've been in the parking lot now 12 hours. Emotions are still a buzz as we are still not closer to a solution. Should we ask someone to come get us? Who is wiling? Who has vehicles? Can we borrow a truck and leave Mark's truck here? Can we come back next weekend with parts and fix the truck and drive it home if we can get the load home now? Question, question question!!!
By 10:30, I ask the gentleman in Truth or Consequences if he thinks he might have enough parts including new seals and bearings to possibly come to us and rebuild the transfer case right here on the trailer. Unsure but willing to try and help, he sets out. About 2:00 AM Sunday morning, we awake to a tap on the window. Now, let me explain a mechanical issue we have at this point and why sleeping in the truck is a chore in itself.
When you remove a transfer case from a transmission, there is an open space to the last seal in the transmission. This area is sometimes meant to be wet with oil. Unsure of whether or not pressurized transmission fluid might be in this void with the engine running, we could not let the truck idle for heat. I mean, we wouldn't want to destroy the transmission while we look for a transfer case. But we do have a generator and a small space heater.
We've unloaded the generator and padlocked it to the side of the trailer and have an extension cord ran into the cab with the small, ceramic space heater on the console keeping the cab quite toasty. Oh yeah and 3 grown mean are trying to sleep in the cab of a truck!
Back to the knock on the window. He arrives around 2:00 AM with a milk crate full of New Process transfer cases for just about every Chevrolet from 1998 to 2008, with the exception of one that has 29 spine inputs of course. It turns out we seem to have the unicorn of GM truck equipped transfer cases. After 2 hours or so of attempting to get the transfer case apart to determine the worst issues, we give up the solution. The gentleman politely tells us he has done all he can do, but it's almost 5:00 AM and the scrap yards in Albuquerque will be opening around 8:00 AM on Sunday. He has to travel back that way home and offers to check all the yards in ABQ that will be open for transfer case.
And so we retire once again to our tiny Duramax home to await daylight and what tomorrow might bring.
Chapter 9
Can we use Uship and get the load home? Can we rent a truck with a gooseneck hitch? Can we get a shower? Yeah, I didn't mention before but we had spent the entire week in the Mojave Desert sans shower facilities. Our HGTV style Tiny Duramax Home we are living in is getting a bit of a funk to it. Now, we had bathroom facilities, we are in the parking lot of a fuel stop with a gigantic gift shop. Did I mention that before? The only real problem with the bathroom facilities is every time we need to go pee, it costs us $10.
You go in to relieve yourself, figure on something to drink or maybe a cup of coffee and $10 later you are back to the Tiny D House. $10 pee breaks. Probably the only memory we will hold on to for that place.
So back to the no shower no rest issue. It's Sunday. Even though we know places that show stock of a transfer case, we can't be sure they have one. Donnie is still searching the state of New Mexico for us one and the Oldham County native has reported back that there are none to be found in ABQ. To say our spirits were low is an understatement.
Sometime around mid day I get a message from a friend from home. She tells me that her nephew, who is a Morgan County native, grew up like 5 miles from me, lives and works in ABQ. He is more than willing to drive the 45 minutes and take us to a hotel or food or whatever we need. Grasping at straws and really needing something positive to happen, I contact James.
I asked him if he would be wiling to drive out to us and shuttle us the 16 miles back to Moriarty to a hotel for a shower. We can't leave our stuff at the truck stop as we fear theft and pillaging (not sure by who, there is NOTHING AROUND to house anyone). So James comes and shuttles Mark and I to town. We rent a couple of hotel rooms, get a shower, a bite to eat and fill James' truck up. Mark has had back surgery and I know he needs to get some good rest.
I tell Mark, sleep here tonight, we won't know if we can get a transfer case until tomorrow morning (Monday). I'll go back to the truck and sleep there and have James bring dad back here to get a shower and a good nights rest. So James is the ever pleasant chauffeur for us (thank you again brother!). We catch up a bit and send him on his way Sunday evening. Dad and Mark sleep in the hotel that night as I cuddle up in my sleeping bag in the Tiny D House, praying for miracle on Monday for parts.
Monday morning, 8:15 or so I receive a call on my cell. It's a lady who has been on the trail of a reman transfer case for me since Sunday morning. She has confirmed a newly rebuilt transfer case in stock in El Paso and Lubbock Texas. I thank her over and over, elated that we actually know where to get parts. Now what? I can't drive these Jeeps 4 hours to Lubbock. I've got to have a rental car. I'm in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE! The closest rental car facility is in ABQ, 45 minutes back West. Mark and Dad are at the hotel.
So, I call upon James again, can you come to Moriarty again, pick up dad and Mark and shuttle me back to ABQ for a rental car? James gladly obliges. As he and I are traveling back to ABQ, I break out the smartphone and pre-rent my rental car. When we arrive at the facility, I waltz in expecting them to just toss me the keys. "Yes, Matt Daniel, I have a reservation. It's prepaid. I'm in a bit of hurry. I have to drive 5 hours into the next time zone to pick up a part to fix a truck that's been stranded @ Cline's Corners New Mexico for the last 3 days. It is noon now, so I need to leave ASAP."
"Yes Mr. Daniel, we have your reservation but it will be about an hour, there are 5 people ahead of you and we have to get the cars prepped for rental."
Insert balloon deflating noise here. I crumble and nearly crack. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. Instead, I gather my emotions, thank the lady for her honesty, tell her I understand that there are folks in front of me and would appreciate anything she might be able to do to expedite my rental. Meantime, I call the shop in Lubbock, TX. The gentleman on the phone there tells me if I arrive after 5, no worries. "Here's my personal cell phone. Whatever time you get here I will come in to meet you."
Relieved, I sit down and take some needed deep breaths as I wait on my rental. The gentleman next to me is on the phone with his insurance company and I can't help but overhear. He's been sideswiped on the interstate by a wanted felon who has no insurance. Guess my day could be worse. Finally I get a car, move over the scattered transfer case parts to the rental (there is a $300 core and even though it's in 100 pieces now, I'm going to get the $300 core charge back), tell James I have no idea how to thank him and hit the road. As I approach Moriarty and Cline's Corners, it begins to snow. Yep. Desert. Snow. 26 degree air temp. White out. Black Ice. Really? Come on, no way!
Deep breaths. Soon I get to Santa Rosa, NM and turn off of I40 to US84 bound for Lubbock. My journey takes me through Fort Sumner and West Texas cotton country. I'm pleasantly surprised when US84 intersects US60, a familiar sign here for us Kentucky folk. That pleasantness is soon lost in the RED DUST storm from the high winds off the cotton fields! Blizzard and a dust storm in the same day! Thanks to 75 MPH posted speed limits in Texas (God bless Texas), I arrive at 5:10 PM in Lubbock at the differential shop.
As they are doing the paperwork, I relate my whole story up til this point with the folks in the store. Pretty sure a tear came to their eyes in sympathy. They took the scattered pieces of our old case and gave us the core. I turned and burned to get back to Cline's Corner's in just over 10 hours round trip (from the time James and I left that morning for ABQ). I gave Mark and dad a heads up call and so when I arrive we are ready to put this thing in and get on the road.
Remember the blizzard earlier I drove through? Well turns out it hit Mark and Dad. Actually turned the parking lot white. The sun came out and melted the snow, but it froze back as a sheet of ice anywhere the sun wasn't shining. Places like DIRECTLY under the Tiny D house where we have to lay and reinstall the transfer case! So dad and I power through it with a couple of warm up breaks (ceramic heater in the cab remember).
Fill the transfer case with oil, driveshafts back in, all the wires and vents back on, everything tight, check, recheck. At this point we can start the truck and let it get up to operating temp and double check fluid level in the transmission. We do all this and hallelujah we are actually ready to go. I'm still in the rental, figured there was no reason to back track to ABQ, I'll just drop it Amarillo. So we roll out of Cline's Corner's! Finally! 1:49 AM Tuesday morning we are back on the road, east bound baby!
Just a couple of miles down the road and Mark is driving pretty slow for the interstate. I call dad.
"What's wrong?"
"Transmission isn't acting right. It's shifting hard. Doesn't seem happy."
"What do we do?"
"Go East young man. Let's see how it goes."
Turns out, it goes about 58 miles and then stops. Literally the truck stops pulling 1/2 mile past the Santa Rosa exit on I40. After three days of stranded work, we make it 58 miles and kaput. Really? Really? I mean really??????? Deep breaths. Deep breaths . . .
Chapter 10
So there I was, stranded, 1/2 a mile past Santa Rosa, NM exit of I-40. Sounds like a song doesn't it? Most of this story sounds like a bad ballad of the 1/4 Dirty Duramax Dozen or something! When we left off, I was behind the truck in the rental. I step up to the truck, look dad and Mark in the eye.... "It won't do anything?" "Nope." "Crap. Well I guess I'll take the rental and double back and get us a wrecker. Can't sit here and wait for help." Conveniently our 53 foot contraption broke down right at an emergency only U-turn area. The entire trip we had visited numerous Loves truck stops and there was one back at the exit. I rush back and ask the gentleman behind the counter if he has a trusted tow service he calls when folks are in need.
"Yes. What kind of vehicle are you in?" "Well, I"m in that rental, but the broken down rig is a crew cab, dually Silverado with a 36 foot gooseneck with 2 jeeps and 4 wheeler on it." Blank stare. "It's about 50 foot long." "Oh, okay, I'll call Ortega's."
Retreating to the warmth of my rental car, I call my wife and give her the 411 as I wait on the wrecker to show up. 30 minutes or so pass (it is 3:00 AM and some folks are in the bed) and then this Peterbilt wrecker rolls in. Looks like this guy should be rescuing someone on the Dalton Highway! Holy crap this is going to be expensive!!
The gentleman in the truck gives me kind of a blank stare while I try to explain where they are and what kind of vehicle we have. He finally understands the what and the where. While he heads out to rescue Mark and dad, I cruise through Santa Rosa looking for the best candidate for a hotel room because I ain't sleeping in Tiny D another night. Mark calls and he said the wrecker driver suggests the Super8, huge semi parking next door and as it turns out, they discount their room by $20/night if Ortega's tows you in! LOL, so when they roll in, it is an impressive site, 70 feet long!
Now it's time to pay the piper and although we are going to pay the bill together, I'm thinking this is going to hurt. Turns out, God knew we needed a break. $150 and we were secure, safe and had a place to lay our heads for the night.
The next morning we call home and confirm with friends who have volunteered their time, trucks and a trailer to come rescue us. Their ETD is 10:00 AM Eastern on what is now Tuesday morning. They have 1400 miles to get to us and likely won't arrive until Wednesday morning around 10:00 AM. Mark, dad and I settle in for the long wait. The hours creep by as our anticipation of rescue makes every hour drag on. Heck we get so bored, Mark and I wash laundry at the hotel!
Late in the afternoon we order in food, laugh and chat in an effort to feel normal about the situation again. During this down time, I broke out my laptop and took the chance to show my dad some videos that my cousin had rendered digitally from my grandfathers 8 mm camera. I'm sure you are wondering by now why would anyone put themselves through or into these kind of situations. Well, if you had ever met my grandpa Walter Daniel, you would understand. Videos of cross country trips for church in Arizona, Elk hunting in Colorado, baptisms, family reunions and Daniel Coal Company videos tell a small part of the tale of man who lived from 1908 to 2006. 98 years.
Horseback to house camper, The Depression to the Apollo Moon Landing, World War II to the fall of the Berlin Wall, my grandpa lived through some of the greatest adventures this country has to offer. He made several journeys past the Mississippi. Arizona for a church association member church service. Driving all the way to the west coast to dip his feet in the Pacific Ocean. Driving cattle out of the grazing lands in Colorado, playing cowboy! Perhaps his greatest repeat adventure was to pack up and head to Meeker, CO to elk hunt each fall.
The 8mm films show a progression of what it took to make the journey. From homemade campers to International Scouts, he had carried, packed, towed, broken, repaired, sold, traded and driven just about everything under the sun on these adventures. My dad had told Mark and I about going with him one year. The truck broke down on a bridge in St. Louis. No shoulder to get off on, dad runs the truck up on the sidewalk of the bridge. 4 lane traffic buzzing by. Dad braves the traffic to make it to the front of the truck and crawls under it, diagnosis the problem, fixes it and gets them back under way.
Yeah, he'd been here before! That night, we put our heads on our pillows and perhaps got the best nights rest so far as we knew good friends were on the way to rescue us. BANG, BANG, BANG. MATT! WHAT? CHRIS JUST CALLED. THEY ARE IN THE PARKING LOT! Yes! Finally rescue had come and it was early. It was only 8:00 AM local. We quickly get dressed and pack up our stuff to go greet our friends and family who had driven through the night to reach us. There, in the parking lot next to our wounded and battered tow vehicle were two late model trucks and a trailer to haul home Mark's truck.
Amid the hugs, laughs and tears, "So, how was the trip." "Eh, well we only got 6 miles to the gallon on that Duramax towing the trailer with the other truck on it." "Really? 6 Miles to the gallon, are you kidding me?" "Yep. Oh yeah, we also ran out of fuel 4 miles before this exit. Said we had 20 miles to empty but, guess not." Mic drop . . "But we had fuel with us, so we are going to need to go fill it up right after we hook everything up." "Lets just go fill it up now. I can't take anymore of this."
Now, one truck belonged to my best friend, the other was borrowed from a friend of my dads. So we set out to swap around trucks. We hooked the Ford dually up to the tandem dually trailer. Next we took some of the chain come-alongs we were using to secure the loads to make winch system to get Mark's truck up on the trailer. Next we hooked up the borrowed Duramax to our Jeep trailer and then secured all the loads. Our rescuers had driven straight through 24 hours to get to us and although they were tired, we all agreed to head out and swap drivers in Amarillo after I dropped the rental car off.
2.5 hours later, we are in Amarillo, TX. Took us 4 days to get across New Mexico! With fresh drivers behind the wheel (me in my friend's Ford Dually and Mark's brother in the borrowed Duramax), we strike out and are on the road once again. Amarillo soon gave way to Texola. Texola to Oklahoma City. From here, we diverted north east on the toll road of the Turner Turnpike that would take us to Tulsa. From Tulsa we would take the Will T. Rogers Turnpike to Joplin, MS. From there we would continue on I44 to St. Louis, pick up I-64 and stay put to home.
Yep. We had it all planned out. Yep. Rescued. Time to get home. Making tracks. Fuel stops and Monsters and the Bluegrass State on our minds. All was right with the world. Heck, Darby even began to write a song about it.
But wait! There's more ...
Chapter 11
"You're travelling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That's the signpost up ahead - your next stop, the Twilight Zone!"
The signpost up ahead. Yeah. So in the world of road construction and utilities, we are very familiar with the portable road signs. You know the ones you might run upon when there's been a storm and road crews or utility workers are out. These signs are typically larger than most think. The sign is usually a 36 inch x 36 inch diamond shape. What you may not notice is the 20 pound aluminum stand that it's sitting on. It's temporary, so it has 4 folding legs and weighs in just enough to hold the sign up.
Now, imagine you are towing 14,000 pounds behind a friends truck, running lets say 80 MPH in the fast lane of a 4 lane highway with no left shoulder. Up ahead is a signpost. Literally. A temporary road sign. Lying face down in the fast lane. Aluminum legs all sprawled out in the air. Oh ...crap. Quick mirror check, quick blind spot check, 1/2 lane shift, dodged it! Whew! I missed it, but looked up in my rearview to spot the truck behind me, a Peterbilt with a 53' van body behind him and a Kenworth right next to him. He pulls a move only capable by a veteran driver. He shifts to the right, coming within 4 inches of the truck beside him. Nearly enough to miss the sign but alas, he clips the aluminum legs sending the sign hurtling into a low earth orbit, just over his trailer. If there had been two, I would have sworn it was a Chinook in the air!
Then the reality hits me. Where was Chris? Were they right behind that truck? The sign? Oh Lord no, please no. I grab my phone, call dad .. "Did you guys miss that sing?" (Expecting a cackle of laughter and barely or something like that) "NO, we didn't miss it." "Oh no. How bad?" "Well, we are trying to get over in the slow lane so we can pull off and assess, but for now, there is no longer a left mirror."
"Serenity now, serenity now, serenity now."
My mouth agape in disbelief, I move over and pull off. Dad calls back in a minute. He says we will look at it at the next fuel stop, they are back rolling. At our next exit, we roll off and start to assess what's going on. I just don't have words. I'm sick. The bumper cover, the left front fender. The left mirror. The door. At this point I just don't have words.
"We gotta do something about a mirror, can't change lanes without a mirror on this thing." Chris says. "Yeah, I know. I'm just thinking. Let's see what they have inside."
Chris and I enter the store and the largest mirror they have is about a 10 inch blind spot time mirror you see on a semi. I'm unboxing it before Chris has even paid for it, trying to imagine how to mount it. The body of the mirror is still there, maybe I can bolt it on in this spot? Some screws? Nope, heck with it, duct tape it is. After a few sound raps from the 100 MPH tape, it's time to get a back on the road and GET HOME TO KENTUCKY!
Believe it or not, we ran incident free to Tulsa. Just after Tulsa, there is an exit for Will Rogers Parkway that Chris missed (I think dad may have been contemplating his decisions to take this adventure with me and missed the turn, I dunno). After I made the exit, I call dad to let them know they missed it. He says they will get turned around and catch up, keep rolling. So, in just about 10 minutes dad lets me know they are a few miles behind us. We keep rolling down the toll road until our next fuel stop, just a few miles from the end of the turnpike. We exit off, follow google to a "Loves" that is not, I repeat NOT a truck stop. After some creative driving, I get Isaac's truck up to the pumps. Just then, Mark comes over.
"We have a flat tire on the trailer." "What?" I say in disbelief. "Yeah, not much left of it."
The tire had disintegrated somewhere down the road. Dad, Chris, Mark and I begin to chat about it as we are jacking it up to change (we had brought 3 trailer spares with us so we were good). "You know those no u-turn areas on interstates? We turned this thing around on one. As we were turning, I told Chris you are getting close to that 'NO U-TURN' sign" says Mark. "Well, I couldn't very well back up into 3 lanes of traffic." (Chris) "It was getting close to the fender on the trailer, then the sign began to bend over so I told him to just go on. We mowed down the "NO U-TURN sign" Mark says with a giggle. "Probably cut the tire or damaged it then."
We had 3 spares on the trailer. 2 older tires that were showing signs of dry rot and a slightly smaller but brand new tire than the one in front of it. With the luck we were having, I decided to go with the new tire. Fuel, food, bathroom break and fresh drivers. I climb into the drivers seat of the wounded Duramax. We leave Oklahoma behind and get into Missouri. At the next fuel stop, we discover that the tire next to the one we just replaced is low, nearly flat. We break out the tools again and pull that tire off, air it up and check for leaks. We find none and determine that because of the size difference, we are pulling the tire away from the bead making these tight fuel pump turns.
We return the tire to its original location, aired up and hit the road. At the next fuel stop (I know, it keeps going and going and going), we have the same issue. Again we air up the tire, no leaks, roll on 18 wheeler we are in Illinois! Around daylight (this is Thursday, nearly a week since we pulled out of Johnson Valley OHV in Landers, California) someone passing us indicates we again have a flat on the trailer. At the next exit, we roll off to discover the tire now has a knot on it the size of my fist.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. We are almost on the Eastern Time Zone Matt. I make the call to remove the bad tire and the new one next to it. We will put the two older tires showing signs of dry rot and take our chances. As we are removing these tires ..
"Well, that ain't good," Chris mutters. "What now?" I ask. "Look at that," pointing to a crack a 1/4 wide and 3 inches long in Mark's Jeep frame just above where we are looking. "It'll stay on the trailer. That'll wait till we get home."
This would be our last repair/incident for the remainder of our trip. We traversed Indiana from Prospect to Louisville event free. The Kentucky sign just didn't seem real. I was exhausted, but luckily I was kept awake by the truck. You see, this particular truck has a factory built in brake control box for towing. It's really neat. Instead of having to look at the little box under the dash with the red light indicating that the brake circuit is working properly, this truck will tell you all about it. In fact, after that first flat, the truck had been telling me about every 20 minutes the same message:
DING DING DING "Trailer Disconnected." DING DING DING "Check Trailer Wiring."
Every 20 minutes from Joplin to Slade Hill on the Mountain Parkway. I had been able to just focus it out of my thoughts and focus on the road. I was nearly home. I was on familiar roads. Then, as we rounded the infamous last curve on the East Bound side of the Mountain Parkway on Slade Hill, the truck notified me again.
DING DING DING "Trailer Disconnected." DING DING DING "Check Trailer Wiring." And again. DING DING DING "Trailer Disconnected." DING DING DING "Check Trailer Wiring." And again. DING DING DING "Trailer Disconnected." DING DING DING "Check Trailer Wiring." And again. And again. And every 6-10 seconds for the entirety of the last 40 miles of the trip, the truck would remind me: DING DING DING "Trailer Disconnected." DING DING DING "Check Trailer Wiring." Channeling my innermost control and patience, I mustered a laugh. I looked at dad, we laughed. What else were we gonna do? So, around 11:30 AM on Valentines day, our 2200 mile trip came to a final stop in West Liberty. As I backed the trailer in, I was reminded that this would be the . . DING DING DING "Trailer Disconnected." DING DING DING "Check Trailer Wiring." Dad and I agreed that we would never ever forget this trip. Had it been just a normal trip, we would have had a boring story about some Jeeps and offload racing in the Mojave Desert. Instead, what we have is a priceless memory. An adventure to say the least. A trip to plan next year . ... DING DING DING "Trailer Disconnected." DING DING DING "Check Trailer Wiring."
| It Started One Stormy Evening in April |
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