Episode III: Revenge of Penske

With a few hours of sleep behind us, we faced Saturday morning with a grim determination. Still stinging from the lack of space, we found our spirits dampened but not extinguished. Worse things could happen, right? We crammed a few remaining items in the nooks and crannies of the truck,

hooked up the civic to a tow dolly,

hooked up with our trusty companion/truck driver J,

and said goodbye to Aurora, CO.

Our farewells to the Denver Metro area were bittersweet. STK and I loved living in Colorado. We liked our condo, even though it was getting a bit small for the family, loved our friends, enjoyed the proximity of our families, and even loved our jobs. With a great deal of sadness, mixed with the excitement of new jobs, new friends, and a new home, we watched the mountains fade in our rear view mirror.

The beginning of the trip went without incident. We cruised across NE Colorado, stopping only for gas and the ocassional restroom break. Midway across Nebraska, our fortunes changed. We stopped in Kearney, NE for dinner and a brief rendezvous with STK's sister, brother-in-law, and niece. They moved to Kearney about a year ago and a dinner stop/visit made perfect sense. Saying yet another round of goodbyes, we pointed the truck toward our final destination for the day: Lincoln, NE.

As we started down the ramp to I-80, STK and I heard the rental behemoth sputtering and backfiring something fierce. J tried to limp the truck up to interstate speed but the truck failed to cooperate. We parked our respective vehicles and convened on the side of I-80. "I think we got some bad gas," mused J. "I'd bet almost anything that there's some condensation in the tank. Let's limp up to the next exit and get some dry gas engine treatment. That stuff will usually take care of water."

And limp along I-80 we did. Achieving a maximum speed of 45 mph, and usually cruising at speeds closer to 35, we chugged along to the next exit. With a couple cans of Heet in the truck's tank, we attempted the interstate once again. This time, the truck sputtered and backfired far less and managed to get up to a cruising speed of 65 mph. J called on the cell phone and reported that while the truck still wasn't running perfectly, it was performing much better. We all breathed a sigh of relief and completed the journey to Lincoln.

J got a big kick out of the fact that I picked a motel right next to an adult retail store. In fact, J accused me of picking the motel because of the sex shop. I'll never tell.



20 minutes after our arrival, I returned to the parking lot for more luggage only to see J emerge from Dr. John's adult emporium carrying a whip. "Check it out!" he exclaimed. "A whip from a sex shop in Lincoln, NE. I even had to show the people how to use the damn thing! Hahahahahaha!" There's never a dull moment when J is around.

We started the Sunday portion of our journey believing truck problems were behind us. Crossing the NE/IA border, we learned otherwise. The truck chugged up the bluffs of the Missouri river, slowing to speeds of 20 mph at the crest of a hill. Pulling off at an undeveloped rest area (no facilities, only parking), we realized our problems were probably greater than condensation. I hopped on the cell phone and called the Penske roadside assistance number. To their credit, they got right on the problem and arranged for help. The problem: we were in the middle of nowhere. It would take a mechanic at least an hour to reach us. I walked to the Element, talked quietly with STK, rested my head on door jam, and cried for a moment. I was beyond frustrated with the entire move and questioned whether we were doing the right thing. Realizing that nothing could be done but to finish the journey, I pulled myself together and started looking at alternatives.

With the temperature rising into the 90s, STK and my mother gathered our infant son and five pets and headed for the comfortable surroundings of my aunt's home in Des Moines. J, my father, and I settled in to wait for the mechanic. And we waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, a fellow from Doug's Diesel arrived and tried to replace the fuel filter. Only one problem--he had the wrong fuel filter. He informed us that procuring the correct part meant a trip to the automotive supply store a half hour away. So, the three of us settled in for another hour long wait. We waited, and waited, and waited. An hour and a half later, the guy returned with the correct fuel filter, replaced the part, and asked us to drive up to the next exit. We did. Nothing had changed. The truck still wasn't running properly.

Any other repairs would require a service shop. So we turned the truck around and drove west on I-80 toward Doug's Diesel. This leg of the journey, however, the truck moved at the ridiculous speed of 20 mph. On an interstate. Through a construction zone that curtailed traffic to one lane in either direction. You can imagine the frustration of the drivers who lined up behind our creeping truck. Oddly enough, about ten minutes into the 10 mile journey the truck suddenly experienced a surge of power and managed to approach 55 mph. When we arrived at Doug's Diesel, J jumped from the cab of the truck and shouted, "I've experienced the power of Jesus! I was holding up traffic and I could just hear all those people praying for me: 'Jesus Christ, get that god-damned truck moving!' Would you believe it worked! Hallelujah!"

Our stay at Doug's Diesel lasted a total of four hours. A mechanic who volunteered to give up his day off to work on our truck (keep in mind that this was a Sunday) quickly diagnosed the problem as a faulty fuel pump and dispatched someone on yet another parts run. We waited. And waited. And waited. Here's me waiting:

As one might imagine, my patience at this point in the journey had reached nil. J, and this is exactly why he's the amazing friend that he is, calmly reminded me that despite the problems with the move, everyone was safe. "Keep thinking about that new baby of yours," he suggested. "That's what really matters. Everything else just is."

Finally, about 7.5 hours after our breakdown, the fuel filter was replaced and we were back on the road. The truck ran perfectly and we rolled into Des Moines two hours later. Unfortunately, we had to part company with J almost immediately. His return flight to Denver was leaving the following morning and he wouldn't be able to complete the journey with us. We made arrangements for a relative of his to get him to the airport, thanked him profusely for all his help, and parted company.

We crashed into bed not daring to tempt the fates by hoping for an uneventful final leg of the journey.