Be Damned "Service Engine" Light

In Sept of 2006 I drove from Buffalo, NY to Portland, OR. In previous blogs I covered this adventure up until The Badlands.

So after getting a nice lesbian couple to take a photo of me in the Badlands, it was time to move on.

West! West, I drive. Be damned "Service Engine" light. Nag me no more.

So I continue west on I-90 till I get to a truck stop/restaurant in Rapid City, North Dakota. I go inside and have the usual truck stop fare and contemplate my next move. While I am paying the cashier I notice a guy who is dressed in strange clothes. I wonder what kind of weird cult he belongs to. I went back to the van.

Damned "Service Engine" light makes me nervous. I check my fluids for the 1000th time. I can only hope that the oil is good since I had it changed in Pennsylvania. The dip stick is fused into the dip stick tube. (Do you have another name for it?) In preparation of checking the transmission fluid, I warm the engine. I open the hood. "Where the hell is the transmission fluid??!!" I feel like an ass, looking and not finding. Some independent woman I am?

Okay... I give... where's a guy?

"Excuse me, could you help me with something?" I ask the next male who walks by me in the parking lot.

Cringing... I tell him of my quest. Of course, within 30 seconds he finds the transmission fluid dipstick. Egad...

We start talking the way two traveling strangers do. I notice that he was dressed strangely too. He told me that he was traveling with several people who were coming back from St Louis. They had just finished a two year excursion, retracing the steps of Louis and Clark 200 years previously. Ah... so that's the deal with the weird buckskin outfits.

What kind of freak wears strange clothes in public?

Okay... well... that would be me.

The buckskin clad freak introduced himself as Willow Bill. He was incredibly gregarious and invited me to convoy with his people. I said I'd think about it and he went in to eat.

Hmmmm.... I thought about it. I was alone on the road with a van of questionable condition. The engine light persisted. I had intended to go onto Yellowstone, but somehow I think it was better to travel with others.

I went inside and met the group. They were a motley group ranging in age from 15 to 50s.

The two oldest in the group were brothers, and the younger one Tom, seemed to delight in annoying the older one. The other brother's wife was there. I can't remember her name either. Idaho Jim was the "cult member" that I saw earlier. The 15 year old was Clayton. He was home schooled by his mother, but she let him run off with these canoe-paddling maniacs for a few months. How cool is that. I think there were 6 or 7 of them that were packed into a small camper. I now saw Willow Bill's ulterior motive. I had room in my van for two passengers.

7 or so people in this camper.

On and off for two years these people have been hanging together. Their trip was done and now they wanted to go home. The older of the two brothers had about had it and wanted to get back home, NOW! He was getting cranky and was not the most ideal traveling companion.

So when we left Rapid City I had Willow Bill with me, and soon after I also had Idaho Jim in tow. Occasionally Clayton would trade off with either of them, so I always had two of the guys with me.

It was nice to have someone to talk with, and they certainly had some interesting stories to tell. I heard stories of people, places and a lot of canoeing. If you read the journals of Lewis and Clark you know the route they took. Only now, they had fewer natives to deal with and more dams. They told me how different the Missouri River is when you look at it from inches above. The pollution in the river was not an abstract concept, but a real issue that they saw up close. They told me about the people they met along the way and how they helped them in so many ways. I learned how they make dugout canoes, and how they figure out which side of the log to carve out. They told me about disasters, fiascos and wonderful coincidences.

It all made my drive from Buffalo to Portland seem pathetically simple.

Our first stop was Mount Rushmore. Tom's brother was anxious to get moving, so we did not pay to go into the park. I took some photos from a distance. In and out.

Then we drove through Deadwood, South Dakota. Deadwood is a great television show. We didn't stop, but officially I can say I was there.

We followed 1-90 into Wyoming. Then we followed it north to Montana, eventually ending up in Livingston, MT where we spent the night.

We stopped at the home of a family that they group had met months earlier on their way to St. Louis. I parked my van on the street in front of their home. The family was gracious and was happy to feed a group of people they barely knew.

Before dinner Tom, Willow Bill, and Idaho Jim went to a local bar to have a drink. It was a micro brewery. The place was empty except for us. Somewhere I still have a coaster from this place. I sat at one end of the bar and enjoyed a beer with Tom. I had a front row seat to see lust in action.

The bar maid was an obscenely sexy, black haired tattooed babe. Idaho Jim and this woman made this huge love connection and were making out at the bar within a short period of time. If you went by looks alone it would appear like they would never be interested in each other. Jim looks like a bearded mountain man and she looked like she walked off the cover of Skin Art magazine. Jim later told me that he felt a spiritual connection with this woman. Go figure. This sort of thing never happens to me.

Off-hand info I learned: Margot Kidder lives in Livington, MT.

The next morning I went with Tom, Willow Bill, Clayton, and Idaho Jim to a local elementary school. Part of the whole aim of the excursion was education. They spoke with someone in the school office and got permission to speak to a class about Lewis and Clark. I think they were first graders. The children completely mesmerized by the guys. Willow Bill really enjoyed talking to the kids, and I think the kids really dug the stories. I wish I could find the photographs that I took.

Then we continued through Montana. When we got past Butte, we turned off onto Route 12. By this time, I had been letting Willow Bill and Idaho Jim drive. Willow Bill found the steering was a bit sloppy for his taste, but Idaho Jim adapted to it without a problem. It was nice to being in the passenger seat enjoying the scenery.

Willow Bill driving my van

As we went through Idaho on Route 12, I knew I was going home. The road went up and down through evergreen forests. When I had questions about the terrain or anything I saw, Idaho Jim knew the answers. He even regaled me with Native American legends along the way.

The Pacific Northwest felt so damned right.

Idaho Jim and Willow Bill

We stopped along the way to visit a site related to Lewis and Clark. I can't remember the name of this place or where exactly it is at.

Idaho Jim and Clayton

Clayton and Jim getting into the spirit of Lewis and Clark

Finally we made our way to Lewiston, Idaho. This is where Jim and Tom called home. This is where the story takes another weird turn. This is for another blog.

My van in front of Idaho Jim's house.

In my previous blogs about this trip, I mentioned how completely blessed I was. Even when "bad" things happened, good people appeared. This trended continued to an amazing degree as you will see in the next segment.

Badass Badlands

As of September 30th, I have been living in Oregon for a year. I must say, it has been a very good year. I took a lot of photos along the way to remember the drive out here. In the last blog about the trip I was only as far as Mitchell, SD.

So let's speed things up. I made it to the Badlands. If you ever get a chance to go, I highly recommend it. It is an incredible place. I was only there for a short time but I was impressed.





I took these photos with a disposable camera as the sun was setting.















I found a couple of strangers to take my photo.



I copied this from the official website: Containing the world's richest Oligocene epoch fossil beds, dating 37-28 million years old, the evolutionary stories of mammals such as the horse and rhinoceros arise from the 244,000 acres of sharply eroded buttes, pinnacles, and spires. Bison, bighorn sheep, endangered black-footed ferrets, and swift fox roam one of the largest, protected mixed-grass prairies in the United States.

I wish I had more time to spend there, but I was hell bent on getting to Oregon.

Mitchell, South Dakota

On my drive out to Oregon last year I stopped in Mitchell, South Dakota.  My engine light kept nagging me, so I stopped to get it worked on.

Being stuck, I checked out the local color.



They are very proud of their Corn Palace.  Every year they change the mosaic on the outside of the auditorium.  It is made out of several different kinds of corn.





I loved the dinosaur.



I got my van fixed here.



I played ball with a crippled dog while I waited.  I kid you not.  They called him Lucky.  He was run over by a trailer.



When they were done, one of the mechanics got in my van to back it out of the garage.  The van would not start.  It turned out that the starter solinoid bit the dust right there in the garage. 

Funny... it could have waited to die and gotten me stranded somewhere.  It did it right there in the garage, so I got it fixed right away.  What a strange blessing.

The mechanic knew I came from a place that puts salt on the roads.  He said the solinod practically dissolved into a pile of rust. 

My trip was full of many blessings.

Things I learned in Wisconsin

In the saga of my trip out here, I left you hanging. So let's continue.

I had left Cleveland and Dave the Mechanic. By the way, I took your advice and mailed him a copy of the blog. He was "very touched" (his words). He is doing well and he has a new pit bull. I spoke to him just after Christmas.

I survived the harrowing rush hour trip through Chicago. (at midnight)

I escaped Chicago and made it as far as Wisconsin. I parked in the parking lot of a Walmart and slept like a rock. The next morning I got up and bought some food and a flaming pink plastic bowl to pour my cereal in. I still have the bowl.

I became very intimate with Walmart parking lots. I especially liked the 24 hour Walmarts. I could get up in the middle of the night and use a civilized toilet.

I was nestled safely between RVs and Travel Queens.

I headed out on the road bright and early. I came across this sign at a Wisconsin rest area.

I think it is important to learn something every day.

Cleveland to Chicago

This photo was taken at a rest area somewhere in Ohio. What I remember about this place is that I could smell the grapes in the air. It reminded me of the smell of a grape Jolly Roger. That's lake Erie in the background.

Okay... so where was I? I left Dave the Mechanic's house around noonish. At this point I just want to get out of Ohio. The van seems to be running okay, but it is a bit loud. Dave couldn't get the cowling down tight enough on the engine. So the noise is a dull roar. I can't play the radio loud enough to drown the noise out, so I just drive in silence (so to speak)

The trip through the rest of the state is uneventful. All I have to do is keep the van headed west on I-90 and I'm good. I stop at a rest area on the Ohio turnpike and for 50 cents I get an official Ohio Turnpike squished penny. It is now part of an embarrassingly large squished penny collection. Coin collectors refer to them as elongated coins.

So anyways I get through Ohio. The trip is noisy and I can still smell a hint of gas. The service engine light remains on.

I get through Indiana. Gary is as smelly and industrial as I remember it. It looks like it is on fire at night. Flames from factories light up the city like the torches of the angry mob in the movie Frankenstein. (How's that for a ridiculous visual)

I've mentioned before that I used to drive truck for a living. I knew that Chicago was not fun to drive through from previous experience. It was late and I wanted to get miles behind me. I thought that driving through Chicago at midnight was a good idea. Less traffic... less stress.

Ha! Yeah right. It was a Friday or Saturday night (I can't remember off hand) To keep things simple I stick to I-90 (at least I think I did... it was all a blur). The interstate in the Chicagoland area is always under construction... even in the middle of the night. The traffic was unbelievable. I was in gridlock... a goddamn traffic jam... at midnight. Then when the traffic was actually moving it was going 20mph over the speed limit over lumpy, crappy roads. Everything was being redone so the lanes would shift. Nobody cared. It was dark. I couldn't see the lines on the road. The lanes were narrow. I was doing 60 through a constuction zone and everyone was passing me. I could sense the aggession all around me. "Faster! Faster! Faster," everyone seemed to be saying.

What the hell was the hurry. Sheesh! I felt lucky to be alive when I got out of Chicago.

I will say this... Chicago has the most amazing skyline. It's beautiful.

After I got out of Illinois I stopped somewhere in Wisconsin. I parked the van in a 24 hour Walmart parking lot and slept the sleep of the dead.

To be continued...

Adventures in Cleveland

After my brief trip back through time I blazed a trail out of Buffalo. I gassed up the van in Irving, NY at an Indian reservation. This was Sept 21st.

As you have already seen, I was driving a 1994 Ford Econoline halfback van. My good friend Michael sold it to me with the stipulation that I would pay him for it once I got settled in Oregon. It had many miles on it because it had made a few trips from Buffalo to Florida.

"Will it make it over the Rockies?" I asked.

"Yes it will," Mike replied.

So off I went.

I stopped in Erie, PA to get the oil changed. I had no way of checking the oil on the trip, as the dipstick was rusted into place. I also had the windshield wipers replaced.

Since I had left late, it was evening when I got to Cleveland. Everything was fine till I got to Deadman's Curve. If you live in Cleveland, you know what I'm talking about. The locals call it Deadman's Curve for a good reason. The interstate planners were dong drugs the day they planned this stretch of road. I-90 goes along nicely, then suddenly makes a left hand turn. Oh sure there are flashing yellow lights and warning signs, but so many people ignore them. There are four lanes of madness rounding this corner at the same time. The scrapes on the abutment wall are a testament to how many cars did not safely negotiate it.

I used to drive truck for a living, so I knew this was coming. It's always a bit tense, but I negotiated this stretch of road without incident. The problem started when I hit the gas to speed up again.

"Sputter – sputter," said the van.

***pumps gas pedal***

"Sputter – sputter," the van repeated.

When I pressed on the gas pedal it actually slowed me down. The van idled faster. I put on my flashers and managed to nurse the van onto an off ramp before it died completely.

Now What !!??!

I sat there for a moment and contemplated my situation. When I got out and looked around, there wasn't much to see. At the top of the ramp was some sort of college. It was dark and nobody was around. So I went back to the van, got my purse and locked up. I figured I'd be doing a bit of walking.

The only sign of life in the area was a BP gas station on the other side of the interstate. With all my worldly possessions sitting forlornly in a broken down van, I trekked off to the gas station.

When I got to the station, I found a short black man in a Plexiglas box. His name was Vince.

After explaining my situation to him he said, "You know, I know a guy, but I don't have his number on me. I can tell you where he lives. Do you drive a stick shift?"

"No." (I know that sounds odd… but a truck shifts differently from a car)

"I was going to trust you with my car. Oh well. I hate to send you walkin' in the night, but he's not too far."

After taking care of a couple of customers, he left the safety of his lexan cocoon. He pointed down the road and said, "You go down here to where the road ends. Cross over, you'll see a magazine place. It's right across the street. Then you'll see a little brick road. Go down that…"

I left with a clutter of information floating around my brain. I followed the directions. I found the little brick road, but never saw a magazine place. I found the little white house and a whole bunch of cars parked. I was pretty sure that I was in the right place, but everything was dark. I was 50 feet down the road when I saw a car pull up in front of the white house and a guy gets out. The car leaves and I approach him.

"Hi, I'm looking for a guy named Dave. Does he live around here?"

"Yeah, I'm Dave."

I give him a run down of my problem and he invites me into his home. It's very clean and neat inside. He makes a call to his tow truck guy. The tow truck guy was just getting ready to head home for the night, but agreed to come and get my van. When the tow truck arrives at Dave's house, there are three men inside, the driver and his two sons. I wedge my way in and we're off to find my van. The driver told me, "Dave's a great guy, but I can't work with him. He's a bit of a neat freak. He cleans his tools." After turning around on the interstate a couple of times, we find the right exit and bring the van back to Dave's. He charged me $50.00

It's around 9:30 or 10:00 at night and Dave asks me where I'm staying for the night. I tell him I'm sleeping in the van. "I won't hear of it," he says. He tells me I can stay at his place. "Do you drink beer?" he asks me. So we're off to the local store, where he buys a couple of 40 ouncers. We come back to his place, drink beer, talk and watch TV for a bit.

He told me that he was an ex-Marine, he had just broken up with his girlfriend, he was on probation because of his dog and his pit bull was in jail. His pit bull bit someone twice in a month. He showed me photos of the dog, but not the girlfriend.

He only had chairs… no couches. So when it was time for bed, Dave pulled out some blankets and a sleeping bag from his closet and set it up on the floor. The sleeping bag was one of those military ones that weigh 20 pounds. I think I could have survived a blizzard in this thing. The whole set up was comfortable enough, and I slept well.

Dave's House

Dave's Gate

This is the weird thing. You would think that I would be nervous or scared. Here I was somewhere on the Eastside of Cleveland, sleeping on the floor of some black guy that I just met. I didn't feel that way at all. I felt safe. I don't know, maybe my "danger" button is broken.

We get up early the next morning. Dave fixes me a bowl of Honey Comb cereal and some toast for breakfast. We end up talking a bullshitting for over an hour. He tells me of his world adventures with the Marines. I tell him of Florida and my exodus from Buffalo. Eventually he gets set to go out and look at my van. Before he does that he runs me a bath. Because he had leaks in his plumbing system he turned his water on and off. But still, how weird is it to have a man you barely know, run you a bath. So while he went out to work on the van, I got myself cleaned up.

Dave's Feet

It turned out that the fuel pump was the culprit. The fuel pump was fairly new, but Dave said that whoever installed it was in a hurry. Connections were loose and some ring wasn't tightened down properly. When I slowed down for Deadman's curve it probably shifted stuff enough that it came loose completely. So Dave took care of that. Then we walked down to the parts store and bought a new air filter, breather filter and an EGC valve. Dave charged me $60.00 for everything. I got a Bed and Breakfast along with auto repair. You can't even get a decent room for $60.00 these days.

Dave

I thanked him profusely before I left. I also got his address so I could mail him a postcard. To bad he didn't have internet, so he could see this blog.

The whole trip to Oregon was one blessing after another. Dave was part of a chain of many people who made my move possible. And to all of them I am very grateful.

...and the beat goes on...

I want to thank everyone for the great comments and positive vibes.

I've been here for two weeks and I'm starting to feel normal again. I have an Oregon driver's license and library card. I have an apartment, but I have to wait to move in. They're still cleaning and fixing it up. The apartment number is 13. I love that. I have a temp job for 10 bucks and hour that starts on the 18th and I'm interviewing for a job that pays a lot more on Tuesday. So I'm starting for feel like everything is falling into place.

I feel like I have been amazingly blessed. The trip out here could have been disasterous, but kind people helped me along the way. Since I've been here everyone has been so nice to me. People have given and loaned me things. I'm staying at a friend's place free of charge. People have given me towels, blankets, houseplants, and kitchen appliances. How could I ever repay everyone's kindness?

Here's some photos from my last day in Buffalo.


The house I used to live in.


The van I drove out in.


The room I stayed in.



I was born in Buffalo, but raised in Florida. When my parents split up in 1980 I came back up here with my mother. I ended up living at 1391 Broadway. It is an empty lot now. I decided to pay it a visit just before I left the city for the last time.


This image was taken a couple days before. The movement of the car I was in distorted the image.




Even the house next door is abandoned.


I don't ever remember it being a good neighborhood to begin with.



It was stange to stand in a space that used to be my home. It felt like part of my past had decayed and blew away in the wind.


It was good to look one last time at the past before I moved on to the future.