Get Fuzzy

Monday, Dec. 9, 2013

There was a lot of fog and rain in the early morning hours on this day of our departure from New Bern, North Carolina

KOA.  This didn't dampen our moods though.  We casually planned our coffee run and our showering time.  Only minor odds and ends to do.  Our departure was delayed when the Nomad decided not to start because of a drained battery.  We called Good Sams Roadside Assistance and they came within fifteen minutes to jump start us.  We became anxiety stricken as tensions ran high with Dave and I.  The tone was set for the rest of the day.

We pulled out of the campground shortly thereafter, gassed up and headed south on US Rte. 17.  We drove for an hour and entered Jacksonville when the engine roared at us.  I asked Dave, "...what are you doing?" "I'm not doing anything", he replied. "I have no idea why the Nomad is sounding like this." We continued for a few more miles until we found a safe place to pull over. It was at an Exxon Gas Station.  There was a road service man there fastening a car onto the tow truck. We didn't know if this was a good sign or not.

Undaunted, I went over to him, "Excuse me," I said. "We are driving that RV and it began to roar at us. I was wondering if you could look at it?"  "Sure, ma'am," he replied as he followed me back to the Nomad. Dave opened the hood and said, "I'm not sure what's up, but it sounded like a roar. Like the fan is about to take off." Jim, who was about 20 yrs. old replied, "Sounds like your transmission to me, especially if you've been driving for several hundred miles. These old Chevy's are known for it - especially when they put those junk 4 speed overdrive automatic transmissions behind them. You can come to our garage for a full diagnostic," as he handed Dave a business card. Dave explained that we'd only driven 50 miles so far that day and the transmission was in fact an older 3 speed transmission in the Nomad with no overdrive. "Yeah - you don't even have a transmission cooler on this rig. That will blow out those weak transmissions in no time."

Dave and I sat in the cab of the Nomad for a few minutes trying to decide what to do. Dave was not impressed with the young tow truck driver, as he tended not to listen to us... at all. Then Dave went into the store to try to get more names of auto mechanics in the area. I had remembered seeing a place that we passed right up the road about a half a mile or so called Parkers, so we turned around and drove there. Irwin, a 70 year old man in overalls and looked like those mechanics portrayed in the movies, came out to listen to the engine. Without taking it for a ride, he tried to diagnose the situation as best as possible. He said it could be the fan clutch or the transmission. "I really don't know what to tell ya. You could drive down the road until something fails - then you'll know what's really wrong with it," he advised.

By this time, we had also called our oldest daughter Meg, who is a top notch ASE mechanic. She, like Irwin, said it was impossible to diagnose over the phone. She also agreed that someone, at some repair shop, will HAVE to test drive it in order to get a better idea of what is ailing our RV.

We left Irwin's garage feeling bewildered.  We drove about a mile and a half before Dave put on the brakes and turned right into a neighborhood, fearing it to be the transmission. "Hear that?" Dave told me. "It's not shifting into 3rd gear the way that it should.  I'm going back to the RV campground we saw down the road. We can spend the night there and figure this out in the morning." I replied, "Honey, I am not a mechanic. I don't have a clue about these things.  It's ok with me whatever you decide."

He got back on the highway and went to the RV park we passed.  In the office, two women, Tiffany and

Michelle, were very helpful in checking us in and then recommending a local transmission technician.  We found our site, pulled in and hooked up our electricity, then we went for a walk in order to breathe again.  Both of us were fretting the worst case scenario.  We met a work camper while out and about from Bangor, Maine.  His name was Mark and he was quite pleasant.  He gave us more info about work camping from his experience, what owners expect and what we may encounter.  Mark was a jovial man.  He described his annual jaunts as being here in NC for 5 weeks, then moving on to Texas for the winter, and back to Bangor next summer.  He found the campgrounds he liked working at and has kept them.  He also said, "Things aren't as bad as they seem."  He was a very positive influence on us and I felt calmer.

I slept soundly until the 5a.m. traffic on the highway began.  Dave hardly slept at all.  The nightmares of a failed transmission plagued him. Mark was outside painting the bath house a cheerful pale yellow around 9a.m. "How'd you sleep?" he inquired. "Ok, but Dave didn't.  We think we might have a failing transmission and we're in no position to fix or repair something that expensive right now.  We are between jobs.  We are hoping and praying for a cheap, easy fix." "Don't worry.  It'll be ok," he said smiling as I turned to walk away.  I was comforted again by his calm, easy manner.  To those of you out there who know me well - you know how easily I get stressed. For those who know Dave real well - you know how well he hides his stress. Not many people can tell when he's scared, but I can.  It's not often that we are both scared about the same thing at the same time.

I think it was finally hitting both us & we had to be prepared for whatever would happen today. The Nomad is our house on wheels - it is the only mode of transportation we have. If the transmission was failing, Dave knew it would be a minimum of $1500 to repair or replace along with a few days of down time. Since we couldn't afford that, we would have to exercise other options; like storing - or much more likely - selling the Nomad somehow, somewhere, and renting a car to get to our next destination, wherever that would be.

We prepared to go, warmed up the Nomad and headed off in the direction of Floyd's Transmission Shop also in Jacksonville a few miles away.  Upon finding the place, we turned in and continued down a narrow driveway and out back to the garage where Floyd conducts his business.  I hopped out, so Floyd could get behind the drivers seat. Dave took my seat and off they went for all of five minutes before returning.  Floyd then proceeded to get his creeper, crawl under the Nomad and began tinkering.  He drained some of the transmission fluid which was a cherry red color -- Dave said, "Yeah, the fluid color is perfect. It's not dirty or burnt."  Floyd checked a few other things and even he started looking concerned. Then Floyd came to the front of the Nomad and lifted the hood.  He checked a few more components and then he tinkered with the fan. "I'm certain it's your fan clutch. Do you want me to put in a new one?"  Dave replied, "Well, how much is it?"

Floyd quoted the price with labor - which came to our last dollar.  We'd have no more gas money and would not make it to my friend Cindy's house in southern Georgia - we could make it to Myrtle Beach South Carolina, which was still over 130 miles away, but then what? I began to explain this to Floyd. "Can you pay for the part?" "Yes, we can." Dave replied. I volunteered, "Would you take an oil painting in trade for your labor?" "A what?" he asked.

"I'm an oil painter and we have some paintings with us. Let me get out my portfolio to show you." I ran out back and got it and returned to him, "Do you like moose?" "Yeah," he replied.  "Good, I have a moose painting I think you'd like. It looks better than this picture of it. Dave, go get the moose, please." After seeing the framed work, Floyd agreed to barter the painting for his labor.

Floyd called for the new clutch. When it arrived, he began the three hour process of removal of the old part, and replacing it with the new one.  Dave ambled around taking random shots of motors as well as other antique parts that were lying around and muscle cars and other auto-mobilia.  I read a good book I was involved in and also found a new friend in a tiger cat named Fuzzy. After a while, Floyd's wife, Eleanor, came out and joined me at the cement table.  We got to talking and I showed her my art.  She ended up purchasing an ocean painting so we replenished the money we spent on the part and that would allow us to definitely get to Georgia. This was a marvelous blessing and a boost to my art career.

What could have turned out to be the end of our journey turned out to be another beginning.  With a sigh of relief we departed in the pouring rain and blustering wind to find our way to the nearest Walmart to park for the night.  We texted our children, then went to Subway for dinner. (Thanks Helene for the gift certificate! It was highly appreciated!)

I had on my colorful rain boots and enjoyed puddle stomping.  Passersby complimented me for having them on.  I figure, if you're going to be out in dreary weather and looking down, might as well look at something that will cheer me up! We headed over to the Walmart as David's meager wardrobe of one pair of jeans, one pair of dress pants and one pair of shorts bothered me to the point of no return.  I have five totes of clothing as well as a large suitcase. He doesn't have any totes - all his clothes fit into one suitcase. Yes, I got a full-blown case of guilt. But as Dave kept telling me - he had jobs over the years where they provided him with uniforms, whereas I needed clothes for my job. We eventually made it to the men's section and Dave found a couple pairs of black jeans and some shirts to wear with them.  Merry Christmas, Love!

We shopped; well, sort of - beginning in the Christmas decorations section browsing the ornaments and

trees.  I did find two small trees I liked.  We pressed onward as I have to rethink what Christmas means to me especially with such small living quarters.  Do I waste money on throw away stuff - as we have no storage space left unless I ditch all the paintings I brought with me.  We did bring one ornament with us - a golden decorated word - JOY.  When I look beyond the tinsel and glitter of this Holy Day - Christ was born - the birth of my Savior.  In that alone, I am joy-filled.  It is my hope that all our friends in the reader world would become joy-filled, too.  This joy isn't just for a season, it lasts a lifetime no matter what else is going on in your life: there is joy.

After our extremely small shopping spree, I had a case of "like mother, like daughter..." We got a call from our youngest, Catherine.  She'd had an extremely challenging day, was exhausted and needed to be heard.  I'm glad the lines of communication are open between us!  She began with, "I know God never gives us more than we can handle, but this is a doozer!" she began...

She was over-whelmed and needed to vent and cry.  Her feelings needed an outlet. Crying is not a weakness, contrary to popular belief.  It is actually a way to heal your inner self and a strength that helps us to become whole.  There are certain life circumstances that we don't understand like: Why do good people have to suffer and why do children die?  We can never have full comprehension of God while we are here on Earth.  All we can do is to let go of our worries and concerns.  God can handle it all if we get ourselves out of the way.

When I'm hungry, angry, lonely and tired - I can't think straight.  I have to take care of myself before I can be of any use to anyone else.  The issues are many, but I am only one person.  Yet with God, nothing is impossible.  Let it go- and God steps in (even if it is only to offer you peace and comfort to see you through the moment.)  Being on Earth in the school of Love has many tests.  You only fail if you quit trying.  You have to keep praying and making choices. The choices aren't always easy, but we keep pressing on with our journeys.

Until next time,
The Relieved Happy Campers,
Jill and Dave