Sometimes Your Angels Look Out for You

And sometimes, those angels have representatives on earth who drive Harley’s. 

I loaded up Pearl early this morning, then managed to hitch her up by myself. It required backing and stopping, backing and stopping, until I was within range of the coupler.  I removed the trailer chocks, jacked up the hitch, saw I had about two inches more to move backward. Plus, I was in need of a three-inch adjustment to port side.

Using my thighs and hips, I bumped and pushed Pearl the necessary three inches until the hitch was directly in line with the ball. Then, I got behind the wheel, backed very, very slowly, rear hatch open so I could see, until I was in position to lower the hitch onto the ball.

I cranked the jack up high enough to maneuver, then the hitch slid onto the ball. I juggled that sucker, pushed, it, finally deemed it firmly in place.

I attached the safety chains, plugged in the 7-pin brake controller.  Got into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine, flipped the right turn signal. Got out to check. Yep, it worked. Repeated with the left. Yes.  Brakes? Yes. All systems go

I eased out of the shell covered drive onto level concrete roadway. Got out, checked everything again. Still good.

I sent up a little prayer of thanks, wended my way down the small lanes of Rambler’s Rest to River Road. Stopped one more time before entering the flow of traffic. Attached my leveler to the rear middle, the second one to the passenger side upper right.  Checked the hitch one last time.

There was a pause in the traffic, for which I was grateful. I eased onto the roadway.  There’s a huge amount of construction on River Road, two lanes down to one, pot holes, cones on the side of the road closing off access to the shoulder. But it’s the only way to I-75 north, which is where I needed to be until I bypassed Tampa, at which point my plans involved taking back roads.

I kept to 35 mph due to the torn-up road, slowed down completely for the pot holes, stayed alert to the sounds of Pearl behind me. I offered up a prayer of thanks for smooth sailing and I kid you not, immediately after I finished that prayer, there was a huge bump, followed by a popping sound. Pearl’s hitch had come unmoored, the only thing connecting her was the brake cable and security chains. Not good.

A line of traffic had formed behind me by now, probably swearing at me. A hundred yards or so ahead I saw a place where I could dodge through some traffic diverter cones to get off the roadway.  Just as I almost made it through, the chains snapped. Pearl was now loose for real, her tongue grinding her to a halt, half in the road, half out.

Shaken, I pulled Durga the rest of the way onto the shoulder.

I walked the few yards back to my poor Helio, tried to lift the tongue off the ground so I could push her by hand. It was impossible without the wheel jack wheel in place.

Cars were going around me at pretty fast speeds but no one was honking, mercifully. I was shaking like a leaf, trying to stay focused.

I walked around the trailer, hoping for inspiration. I remembered I had a tire jack in the basement storage. I thought maybe I could jack up the wheel jack, then be able to push Pearl the rest of the way off the road.

As I considered this possibility, , a couple of Harley’s roared up. An older man and an Amazon of a woman, tall, blond, strong shouldered, got off their bikes and came toward me.

“Looks like you got a situation,” the older man said.

“Yeah. I don’t know how this happened. I checked everything before I left.”

The Amazon said, “It looks like your tow chain is under grade for one thing.”

She and the older man walked toward the tongue. He tried to lift it himself, but no go.

So, we all tried to lift the tongue together but it still wasn’t working.

Cars continued to zoom by. It was getting hot.

“I have a jack,” I offered, still shaking, feeling like an idiot.

“Go get it,” the Amazon said. “I think if we can jack up that tongue, we can lower the wheel jack, then use it to push her out of the road. You’re in a dangerous place.”

“I know,” I said. “God, I feel like such an idiot. I really thought everything was okay.”

“Just get the jack,” she ordered. “We’ll figure out next steps once we get out of the road.”

“I am so grateful for your help,” I said, unlocking the basement storage and pulling out the jack. “I guess I get to use this faster than I imagined” it was a lame joke. Nobody laughed.

The man tried to take over my jack but he wasn’t strong enough. The Amazon kindly, deftly, pulled the crankshaft out of his hands, smoothly cranked up the tongue. this is the type of jack used, not a photo of how we used it

I slipped the wheel jack down. The three of us pushed Pearl off the roadway.

By then, two more Harley’s had stopped. Traveling companions, they wanted to know what they could do.

They all agreed that my safety chains didn’t have enough load bearing strength. Simply too feeble for the job being asked of them. Someone suggested the ball slipped out of the hitch (likely I hadn’t dropped it down securely like I thought) when it hit a pothole, then the chains, which should have taken up the stress, just snapped.

This meant the brake cable was the only thing holding it together for those last few feet until that, too, snapped apart, shredding wide open.  I was lucky Pearl hadn’t smashed into Durga. Or worse, no one behind me had smashed into Pearl.  I was also incredibly lucky that this happened on the River Road before I hit the freeway. We all agreed upon that. Had it come apart at 55mph…..

People could have died.

They said this brake cable could be repaired by an electrician. But since it’s Sunday, no shops are open.

Rick, one of the bikers, fiftyish, neat beard, said, “Hell, I could fix that if I were at home or had my tools. But that’s not doing you any good right now.  Let’s get her hitched up.  I suggest you drive the 7 miles to the Harbor Freight and get yourself some decent safety chains. You’ll still be without the lights or brakes but you’ll be able to tow her somewhere to wait until tomorrow.”

“You think the ball and hitch will hold that long?”

I was feeling pretty anxious after what’d happened.

“Oh yeah. We’ll seat her in the socket properly and you just keep it down to 40. You’ll be okay.”

They got me connected. I thanked them over and over again for stopping to help.

“You know, we’re all in this together,” Rick said.

The Amazon added, “If something like this happened to me, I’d want someone to stop. We all need to look out for one another. There’s enough bad right now in this world. We just need to do good.”

And with that, they were gone.

I watched them roar off, nearly cried with gratitude.

I sat for a few minutes gathering my wits. I think I was feeling a mild case of shock. Googled the address for Harbor Freight. Took a few deep breaths. Then drove so carefully, so anxiously, the 7 miles, with no brakes, no lights, hoping cops would not see me.

I bought proper safety chains. These suckers are literally twice the thickness of the little chains that were on there.

Right is broken undersize chain. Left, new one

Climbed on my back under the trailer so I could look under the tongue to figure out how to hook into the frame. Checked out the electric cable while under there, hoping it might be a plug in so I could just replace the entire thing right then and there. No luck on either score.

I jury rigged a hook up for the chains which seemed secure enough for now. A kind man stopped to see what I was up to. Approved of my solution. Said it was solid.

I then called two mobile RV repair businesses to see if one of them might be free to do the brake cable repair. No answer with either. Left messages. Realized that I wasn’t going to be driving to Alachua today after all so set about finding a decent motel for the night. One with a safe place to park my rig.

Less than two miles away, the old Florida style Island Sun Inn had good yelp reviews. I called. The very nice, young Indian woman gave me a Triple A rate on a single room, which was a bit of luck because it’s still spring break here with in season rates. They had one room available.

Double door into my room from the courtyard. Actually quite nice.

Pleasant courtyard.

If I weren’t waiting for a repair person, I’d dive into that warm pool.

I’m in my room now, waiting for one of the mobile repair men who finally called a few minutes ago. He’ll be here before 5. In the meantime, I’m remembering the importance of letting go of expectations.

Go with the flow. Be grateful that this learning lesson happened in a way which carried minimal damage. Be even more thankful no one got hurt.

After my repair person finishes, it it isn’t too late, I’ll go for a swim. If it is, I’ll go for a walk. There seems to be a county jail or prison just down the road. Interesting. And the beach is three blocks west.

The motel is quiet, the clientele pretty straightforward. The young woman at the front desk assured me that it’s a crime free area. I wonder if the proximity to that lock up facility. Has anything to do with that. Smile

* *

It’s 5:30. Scott, the mobile repair guy, arrived a few minutes ago.

We looked it all over together. He said the bolt holding the chains had snapped off. He thought my emergency fix was good but not legal. He told me he’s going to go to Lowes, buy a proper size bolt, come back and set up the chains correctly. Then he’ll repair the 7-pin cable. I tell him I appreciate his help and his time on a Sunday. He shrugs it off, heads out.

Scott is the kind of blue color guy I dated when I was in high school. Smart, but not book smart. The kind of guy who can look at something broken, come up with a solution, make it work. He smokes, which is not surprising, likes to have a cigarette dangling out of his mouth while working. A kind of Fix It Man Clint Eastwood.  His tee shirt has some kind of warped American flag image on the back. He wears his baseball cap backward.  Works hard, clean.

I dated a blue collar biker once. He rode a chopper/Harley. He turned his garage into his bedroom so he could sleep in the same room with his bike, which he loved that much.  He worked on his marbled blue chopper in that room, slept i next to the bike, tried to fuck me in that room on a bed smelling of oil. A fan of meth and alcohol, he couldn’t get it up. His bike was a nice ride, though.

—-

I’m guessing this little adventure is going to put about $300 dollars onto my credit card. I hope it’s not more than that. Scott says he gets paid $150 per hour, plus parts. He’s driving, shopping, but given Florida traffic, that’s going to be an hour right there.  I suspect he’s pretty efficient with the actual repair work.

No matter, I’m fortunate to have someone competent show up on a late Sunday afternoon to help get me back in shape for an early morning departure.

—-

Scott has returned. I was close. It took 45 minutes.  He’s installed the bolt but the chain is too big for the exiting attachment holes. He’s now drilling the holes out, he says, so the S hook can fit. ,Oops,

it seems he doesn’t have the right size drill bit because he emptied out his tool box earlier today to clean it. He tells me he may need to go get one. Meanwhile, he’s working on the brake cable, which was the original issue. Paring away the rubber after clean cutting off the mangled bits. He’ll be splicing soon.

All of a sudden, a guy appears, riding up on a three-wheel bicycle. He looks to be late 40’s. Clean blue shirt, well-worn jeans. Kind of has the air of someone who might have been released from that facility across the way. Friendly.

“Man, that is sure a cute trailer,” he exclaims. ”I love that trailer! Two people could sleep inside that trailer real comfortable, couldn’t they?”

“Yes, they can.” I answer. I’m loathe to give any information about whether I’m traveling with a second person or not.

“Can I ask where you got that trailer? I see from that paper license plate on here that you got it today.” He gestures to the saran wrap thing I created this morning with a kind neighbor woman. She turned out to be a master furniture carpenter who sells online.

Funky temporary plate. Hope it satisfies the camouflaged, jack booted Florida state troopers I’ve seen. They look scary.

“Oh, I got it several days ago. I just put that up this morning so hopefully the cops won’t want to pull me over.”

“Oh, they’ll be nice to you. Someone with a trailer that cute.”  He studies is a moment. “Can I ask how much it cost? I don’t want to be rude but I’d sure love one like that.”

I think for a moment, decide there’s no harm in sharing, “13, 900,” I say. “Trust me, that’s a good price for this little trailer.”

Scott keeps on working. Doesn’t look up or acknowledge any of this.

Bicycle man says, “It is. I have a Jeep Cherokee. I don’t think I can pull a trailer with that.”

“This one only weighs 1150,” I say, “plus 200 for the hitch and all. I bet you could.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I think I could. I don’t have a hitch though. I’d have to get a hitch.”

I laugh. “Yep.  That’s what this kind fellow is working on right now. I had a little hitch challenge today.”

“Well, I hope it works out. You take care of yourself and that trailer.  And you have a safe trip. Man, I just love that trailer,” he mutters as he rides away.

I take a picture of Scott working on the splices. “For my blog,” I tell him. “No one understands what all such a fix entails. I’d like to share, if you don’t mind.”

“Have at it,” he says. “Do your thing.” Adds, “ I have to go back to Lowes. I need to exchange this O-ring for a smaller one to fit through the hole. That will be easier than drilling out the steel.”

My brain sees dollar signs adding up like what you see in a Scrooge McDuck comic.

“Oh, that’s a bummer,” I say, a touch mournfully.

“No problem. Hang tight. Almost there.”.

I see he’s color coded the two ends of the brake cable already.  He’s definitely making progress.

“Okay. Don’t worry, be happy, right?” I ask.

“That’s about right,” he says.

Gets back into his huge truck.  Spends a few minutes on the phone talking to someone.  Then roars away.

Back much faster this time, 30 minutes.  It takes him about a half hour to fine tune the chain fittings and the electrical wiring.

“Get in and start ‘er up,” he says. “I don’t want to do the final wrap on that cable until I know it works like it should.”

We go through the brakes, turn signals, lights. All function as before.  The chain set up is really secure this time, no doubt about that.

Now, I just have to make sure to get that ball into that hitch all the way, each and every time.

Two and a 3/4 hours from start time to finish. 75 minutes of that for driving. I ask for an adjustment to cover travel time.  Total bill, $357, parts and labor. Finished cable on top of tow bar, chains underneat.

I give him an extra  twenty as a tip.

Tomorrow, I repeat to myself, we roll.