Saturday: So here we are, finally in Sparta, Michigan. It's Saturday morning. I'd like to meet up with a bunch of cousins, plus hopefully a few Michigan friends. But the priority is the storage trailer.
We have three days.
Needless to say, we can only squeeze in a few meetings. Staying with one set of cousins helps -- I have grown up with this guy, and loved him since I could breathe. I love his wife dearly, too. (And they love the Brick. Anyone who appreciates the Brick's good qualities is a gem in themselves.)
I do a zoom appraisal session. We have coffee with one set of cousins, run errands, then eat supper with Brother and Sister-in-Law. Needless to say, we are exhausted, and trying to cope with the time change. (Two hours difference: EST vs MST. I know -- gripe, moan, complain.)
Sunday: Church and a trip to Muskegon, an hour away, to drop off the table to our dear Colorado friends' kids. Then we have a Mother's Day lunch at KFC. (It was a much-loved tradition for The Mama.)
Back to the folks' old farm, where Nephew, Niece and their kids live now. The trailer has been parked behind the garage for a few years. Grass has grown up around it, and our young niece announces that "something nasty and hairy" is dead underneath. Oh goody. The Brick hooks it up, anyways, creaking in protest (the trailer, not the Brick), and hauls it off to Cousins' house. So far, so good.
Monday: Breakfast with other cousins, then a stop at the nearest garden center to pick up some plants for the folks' cemetary urn. This was a time-honored tradition to The Mama for Memorial Day, and it was clear that no one would do it -- if I didn't. We stop at the cemetery on the way home to tidy up the folks' gravestone and plant the urn, as well as the urn on my grandma's grave. The Brick is wonderfully patient and kind about this sort of thing, and I am very grateful for it. It's a fussy extra detail and probably a little silly. After all, they aren't really there. But it is one last thing I can do that was important to my mom.
So I do it.
True to his generous nature, Cousin spends most of Monday helping the Brick air up the tires on the trailer, including the spare (more on this later), then re-stack and position boxes inside so the whole thing will ride better. In the process, they find that the bin holding my collection of postcards and trade cards, is full of rainwater. So much for nearly $500 worth of 19th and early 20th century paper ephemera. Some of my best favorites are now a pile of stinking, watery pulp.
The trailer is finally ready, and hooked up to the truck. We take Cousins out for supper Monday night, to celebrate his birthday and thank them for putting us up. (Or as the Brick says, "Putting up with us.") We try to get them to visit Colorado... "Maybe," they say. Bear in mind -- we've only been in Michigan since Friday at midnight. Saturday, Sunday and Monday -- that's it.
Tuesday morning, early: Here we go. I text some cousins we would have loved to have seen, apologizing and promising "next time." We manage to get through Chicago traffic with minimal problems; the truck is doing fine and the trailer seems okay. It's going to be more than 19 hours of driving, so we settle in. This is where Sirius is a blessing -- the Brick can listen to his favorite political buddies, and I even get a few old-time radio programs in. I read him some Jeffrey Archer stories, too.
Time moseys on. Great weather, bearable traffic -- we did the right thing, squeezing this trip in. We have to be back no later than Thursday, so Daughter #2 and Son #1 can head for their next rock show...but that's no problem, right?
Then comes Tuesday night.
It's dusk, and we've stopped in Grand Island, NE for supper at a Burger King. The Brick pulls into a vacant lot -- and two of the wheels on the trailer go flat. Only we don't realize it, until a very kind person stops us. "You do know that your tires popped back there, right?" she says. "I heard them go."
Ummm...no, we didn't.
She insists on bringing her husband back to survey the damage. He knows a guy at the local truck repair place -- and late on this Tuesday night, he just 'happens' to still be working. Thank God. M and Z help take the wheels off, then drive the Brick over to the shop. He buys a new wheel, then has a new tire put on the second wheel. Our new friends will not leave until the wheels are back in place, and they're sure we're ok. (Thank you, thank you. I honestly wondered if they were angels -- but she has a Facebook page! Do angels have FB pages??)
This takes hours, but it's ok. We're back on the road, the truck's great and the trailer seems fine.
Wednesday: We stop for a few hours' sleep at a truck rest area, then continue on. We're way out in that lonely, lovely prairie that the pioneers must have trudged through, mile after mile. Rocky Ford, Eads, Calhan -- practically every small town seems to present itself. (Yes, we're taking the back roads to avoid Denver and its nasty traffic.) Finally, we reach Walsenburg -- 45 minutes from home. We're almost there.
We stop for gas. The Brick gets back in the truck: "There's a problem."
Turns out that we have been traveling with a tire whose lug bolts have loosened -- one is literally sheared off. The wheel has been riding on the remaining lug bolt threads. It is literally a miracle that it hasn't come off already. Thank God again.
We limp our way to the nearest tire place in town -- they can't help. There's one other place, just a few blocks away. We get there. I while away the time watching the mechanic, a clean-cut guy, deep in conversation and a car engine, with a scruffy-looking guy in a greasy hoodie. Mr. Clean-Cut leaves. Who's the actual mechanic? Mr. Scruffy! He zooms off to Alamosa, more than an hour away, to buy replacement bolts.
More hours pass.
Bear in mind -- we're only 45 min. from home. But we have La Veta Pass to get through. You don't want your wheel to fall off while going through a mountain pass. Finally the mechanic reappears. He couldn't find any bolts in Alamosa, so went home and rummaged through his personal junkpile to find some. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, he and the Brick have taken off the offtending wheel and replaced it with the spare.
At this point, I don't care if he welded the bolts from paperclips -- I'm just glad to be headed home. A stop to get groceries, and we're on the way. Nothing else could happen... could it?
Five miles from the summit, the spare tire blows.
The blowout takes the trailer's silver metal fender with it. We have now gone through three of the trailer's four tires -- four, if you count the spare. We can't find the fender, either.
The Brick hops back in the truck. "I think we can make it, if we go slow," he says. And we do -- very slowly, holding our breath. The tire still has some air in it until we're about five minutes away. Then the trailer scrapes, drags and fishtails until we get it in the driveway.
Thank you...thank you so much, God. We're home.
I practically kiss the ground in relief. Daughter #2 and Son #1 rush out, puppies in close pursuit. "We were just driving out to look for you," they say, "and saw you in the rearview mirror."
They must leave soon. But we have supper, talk a great deal, then head for bed early, just grateful to be home, reasonably intact...except for the tire, which looks like a pile of shredded rubber.
Thursday morning: It always takes a few days to readjust to altitude, and we figure that's why we don't feel good. Nope, it's the flu. By afternoon, I'm running a 101.4 temperature. The Brick has me beat: his is 101.6.
And that, Dear Readers, is how we spent our vacation.
P.S. The Brick went back down the pass, days later, and found the missing fender. It had been thrown off to the shoulder and was dented...but he'll work on it when he replaces the tire. The truck, regardless of all the trailer calamities, drove like a champ. And we were worried about it, not the trailer!
Five days later, neither the truck nor the trailer are unpacked. But we're only just beginning to feel better. Go figure.
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