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.
