Three hours later, we receive a call back from Good Sam's - seems they are not doing so good. They cannot locate a mobile service in the area, so they've changed our status to a tow and we'll be going to a local RV dealership. About an hour later, a cool, good natured driver named Ronnie showed up and informed us we would be going to Crowley's RV Center. Jill took this as a sign that we were in good hands - her maiden name is Crowley and her brothers' name is Ronnie. (Plus it was also her deceased father's name.)Next dilemma - Good Sam's gave the towing company incorrect information about our RV. Thus, Ronnie showed up with wrong type of towing rig. It was a huge 10 wheel unit that was meant to tow semi's and class A motorhomes; not our Nomad.
Undaunted, he backed up the tow truck to the rear of the RV. He found the strongest location to lift the rear tires off the ground. Once up in the air, we had an uneasy feeling come over us. "That doesn't look good", I told Dave. He agreed. All the weight of the RV was now on the two front tires as well as the suspension. The front tires and wheels were bowing outwards at an odd angle. Dave told Ronnie our concerns, "I don't like the how all the weights on the front wheels. Look at the angle of the wheels. I mean, it's up to you - but if you break it, brother, you own it." Ronnie agreed; "Me either - I'll try and hook it up to the front end. If that doesn't work, we'll have to send a different truck - possibly from another company. This is the only truck we have in service today. Our other one is being repaired."
After another 20 minutes of lining things up and test lifting, Ronnie was successful. The Nomad looked to be in a much better state to be towed. With all of us satisfied at how things looked, we climbed into the Peterbilt cab. Jill had to sit on the bed in the sleeper portion of the truck as Dave rode shotgun. Jill promptly buried her head into her arm as she couldn't bear to watch Ronnie maneuver us out of the parking lot which by now had quite a few cars parked as well as multiple others zipping in and out of the lot. She prayed silently for more courage and faith as she felt weak and near puking.We slowly made our way through the city streets of Bristol, and we mean we CRAWLED. We probably never got over 25 miles an hour as no one wanted to further damage the Nomad. We talked with Ronnie the entire way - about our journey, what he would like to do in his retirement, the challenges we all had, as well as the sometimes unfair situations that just seem to hit us out of nowhere. We agreed we're all on a journey of some sort and we all just try to do the next right thing.
Once at Crowley's RV Center, we were greeted by the service manager Ryan. Before even unhooking the Nomad, he looked it over and determined that it was at least 30 years old. Then came the next hurdle we didn't expect - because of the Nomads age, he would need a $500 deposit before he would even look at it. When we inquired as to why, he pointed to at least six other RV's that he now "owned" - basically the actual owners had the center diagnose the problem and then realized the repair was more than what the RV was worth - so they just abandoned it. We agreed to giving him the deposit.
Next hurdle - Ryan asked when did we need the RV back. We said asap as we were on our way to Maine and had to be there by Sunday. He said he was unsure if he could even look at it by then. "Let's check your schedule", we said. Ryan rearranged some jobs and managed to get a technician on it as we all figured it wouldn't be too difficult to find out why the engine wasn't starting. Within two hours, the Nomad was found to have a faulty coil and the problem was fixed. Ryan also confirmed that the Nomad had a leaking head gasket. Dave said he was aware of it and had been keeping an eye on it for about two months. Ryan and Dave were pretty confident that Nomad would get us to Maine, but obviously there were no guarantees.We thanked the people at Crowley's RV Center, although we both admitted that we wouldn't go back there for any more repairs as it was just too expensive. We headed down the road and about a mile later, we were back on I-84. About two miles after that, Dave said he heard a faint clunk in the engine compartment. Dave always keeps a good eye on the Nomad's engine gauges. He had a very concerned look as the voltage started to drop, the oil pressure started to drop, and the engine temperature started climbing. He looked over at me and said, "Honey - I'm getting off the highway." Then he followed with, "This may be it - I love you."
I went into terror mode as I was unsure what he was referring to. I stared blankly ahead taking in what he was saying and thinking; WE ARE GOING TO DIE! "I love you too", I answered. I also thought, how romantic - these would be the last three words we would ever say to each other... Yes, I am a sentimental fool!
Once off the highway, Dave told me to look for a parking lot - QUICKLY! We ran a red light as we quickly drove down the street. About a quarter mile down the road, we saw a plaza with restaurants and other stores. "Here! Pull in here!", I told him. Dave wheeled the Nomad around at full tilt, pulled into some vacant spaces, and shut the Nomad off. We both could hear the engine ticking, knocking and bubbling loudly, so Dave grabbed the backpack that held the computer as well as other important items, and we bolted from the cab. I honestly thought the engine was blow up! So I ran back for my winter coat since we might be sleeping on the ground in the cold and exposed to the elements...
The Nomad didn't blow up. But what was wrong with it now?
Until next time,
The Happy Campers
Jill & Dave
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