ANYTHING THAT CAN GO WRONG

The Colorado Rockies – April 15, 2014

I wake in the morning and decide to treat myself to a shower in the camp’s shower room.  If this doesn’t sound like much of a treat than you haven’t tried to shower in an Airstream.  Don’t get me wrong.  The Airstream shower is adequate but after yesterday I crave a two handed shower where I can turn around unrestricted by walls of plastic.  I put on my Adidas warm-up pants.  These pants are a modification of the Steve Jobs dress code, which I discovered during my lengthy hospital stay.   You’ve seen them at Wal-Mart no doubt; the ones with the three stripes down the side.  They are loose fitting with zippered pockets and that’s about it.  Easy on, easy off.  Like the NBA bench rider.  I went as far as considering the ones with snaps down the side but learned no one wanted me with my pants off that fast, so I settled for the “one leg at a time” conventional model. These pants served me so well at UT Southwestern that they became, along with the mandatory black t-shirt, my lounging outfit.  I own four pairs, in navy blue and black that are so similar in shade that I cannot tell the difference. 

I slip them on, along with a fleece to protect me from the Utah morning chill.  I open the door and am welcomed by a sparkling new morning and a startlingly scene.  The RV Park I drove into last night in the dark is set right next to a beautiful red canyon wall stretching along side the camp for miles.  It is

A Utah morning

majestic, silent in the morning light.  It has been there forever.  Greeting each morning for eons without movement or comment.  It isn’t part of the Grand Canyon, or Capital Reef or any other recognized natural landmark but its presence, sitting outside a trailer park in Utah makes me consciously appreciate once more what a fantastic country this is.

The shower is not great but it’s hot and the water pressure is good enough that I am glad I made the decision.  At 8:00 AM I wander over to the registration office and pay my bill. The women I spoke to last night who is now poised behind the counter helps me while having a little light morning conversation with a fellow camper, a man gentleman my age.  I mention my mechanical problem to them.  They are at a loss by the woman says that a repair man is arriving at 9 AM.  Why don’t I drive into town have breakfast and come back.  I tell her that I will.

The man who is from California surprises me when he compliments my fleece which is a johnnie-O brand that Kat gave me.  “You know that brand is very big in California.  They sell it at all the golf clubs.  I buy them for my friends.  They love the surfer,” referring to the little logo.  I tell him that my daughter works there and he is doubly impressed.

I go back to the Airstream and with a thick rubber strap, jerry rig a fix to the stabilizer bar. That should hold.  I leave the park with the intention of stopping for breakfast and returning as the park manager.   I note a ramshackle repair garage, more of a shack really as I pull out of the park.  I don’t worry about the quality of the repair job.  The guy who ekes out a living repairing trailers in that place is probably more skilled than your average Mercedes Benz mechanic, but it gets me thinking about time. If he shows up at 9, (If being the operative word.  I have never thought of auto mechanics as early risers.) he will have to make the fix, if he can and if he hasn’t promised someone else and is on a deadline and if he has the parts, or can get the parts, or can manage some makeshift repair sounder than mine.  When will I be back on the road?  As all this passes through my coffeeless morning I start passing breakfast places , my town, Torrey, Utah.  I was hoping against for a country kitchen set-up right out of a movie with a parking lot full of pick-up trucks straight from the farm.  Instead I pass places that are either closed or have so few cars in the lot my arriving will double the breakfast crowd.  Just as suddenly as I enter town, I am through it, carrying with me the firm belief that my fix will hold until I get to Denver.  Calculated risk or foolish “rookie mistake?”  I don’t give it a second thought because once I clear town I realize why I driving through Capital Reef.  It puts my majestic canyon ridge to same.  These rock

formations are the real deal.  Simply astonishingly in size as well as a broad range of variation of colors, texture and formation.  Seeing the Grand Canyon is a must for everybody, but coming across a national park that Capital Reef, that I have never even heard of and to get blown away is worth the side trip.  Capital Reef is 378 sq miles of canyons and cliffs.  It’s distinguishing feature is a thing called the Waterpocket Fold, a 100 mile long wrinkle in the earth’s crust. 

I enjoy the drive through the park on highway 24 and although I could spend a week here I speed on to Denver.  I am actually surprised when I come across I-70 in short order and with what seems like no

Going Down!

time, the Colorado border.  Today will be a breeze.  I spot a sign that says the upcoming highway has a steep incline with the disconcerting picture of a truck headed down a ramp that would make Evil Kenevil pause.  Simultaneously, or perhaps because I slow down to ponder the upcoming down slope , I begin to hear for the first time a flop, flop, flop ,flop, flop sound.  I have heard that sound before.  I pull over to the side of the road, jump out of the truck and immediately see that I have a blowout on the trailer.  Not exactly a blowout.  Haven’t you been driving down the highway and noticed these long strips of rubber that have been violently peeled away from the tire itself and are laying on the highway.  I always assumed it was from the monster trucks that tool down the Interstates.  Well, 277 miles from

What a revolting development this is.

Denver there is a strip of rubber from my very own Airstream.  The tire isn’t even flat, at least not yet, but a huge and I assume critical part of it is gone.  When they say on TV “steel belted” radial ply tires…well I look and there it is…the belt of steel, exposed to the sunlight three hours from Denver.  I can only recall the sage words of Chester A, Riley, "What a revolting development this is!"

“Ok, Zimbo," I say to steady myself.  "Now is not the time to panic."  
Thank God I had read the section of Rich Luhr’s book on how to change a flat.  He instills confidence that it is an easy procedure.  You simply drive the effected side of the Airstream onto leveling blocks so that the flat tire is off the ground and can be changed.  That I can handle.  I bought a brand new plastic

Flat in the middle of the Rockies

leveling block before I started the trip – just in case.  So, I am prepared, informed and ready to go.  The one thing Rick did not mention is where the hell the spare is!  He mentioned in the book that “wrestling the spare tire out of the carrier” is a problem.  What he doesn’t mention is where the carrier is!  I try a second time to compose myself. 

“You can do this.  Forget AAA.   You are capable of changing a tire.”  After a little exploration I do find the spare underneath the front of the trailer.   I then slowly but, I am proud to say surely, back the effected end of the trailer up on my leveling block until the flat is free of the ground.  It doesn’t take too long to get the flat off and the spare on.  I tighten everything down and end off to Denver very conscious of the fact that I still need to negotiate Vail Pass, The Eisenhower Tunnel and the downslope from there all the way to Golden, Colorado the closest trailer park to Boulder.

Now, maneuvering up and then down Vail Pass with it’s 10,603 ft. elevation is more than a little intimidating considering the fact that I have a jerry rigger stabilizer bar I fixed myself and a spare tire (of unknown age) and with no back-up tire should another one go bad on me.  It does have a tendency to keep you alert.  I crawled over Vail pass behind the slowest semi-trailer truck I could find.  We are both

going maybe 35 mph as we near the top of the pass and, being Vail Pass, I am being passed by an array of BMW and Mercedes SUV’s along with a smattering of Land Rovers.  Screw ‘em.  I am content to stay behind a Land O’ Lakes Butter truck that must be hauling enough butter to cause cardiac arrest in thousands of Coloradans.  I forgive the driver for the eminent cholesterol chaos that will rain down on Denver when his truck arrives and am glad to be tucked behind him for the trip both up and down the pass.   This safe passage just brings me to a bigger obstacle in Eisenhower Tunnel, which is the highest point of the entire Interstate Highway system at 11,158 ft.  When we were college students we actually had to travel over Loveland Pass which was truly life threatening.  I thought that the drive was now a piece of cake now, thanks to the tunnel.  When you are driving it pulling an Airstream you realize how uphill you have to travel before you even get to the tunnel.  At the last stretch before the tunnel, I have the old F-150 floored and still can only manage 35 mph.  I thought for a second I was afraid that it would quit on me and I would start to plummet backwards.  My worst fears are not realized and I make it to the top.  But the truly frightening part is before me.  From the tunnel to Denver is all downhill.  I take it as easy as possible, in second gear but find myself still climbing up to 65 miles per hour.  There are signs along the side of the road that read, “Truckers.  Are your brakes cool and still functioning?”  It’s the thought that counts and my thought, translated from the sing, reads in my mind, “Zimbo.  Are your brakes cool?  How the hell do you know?  What happens when they give out?”  But I take it slow and easy and find myself before too long, cruising in one piece into Golden, Colorado, the home of Coors Beer.

Tomorrow I revisit Boulder.  After a 44-year absence will I find my future where my past began? Only time will tell.