We're back in Moab. Back in our little free corner behind the CarQuest Auto Parts Store off the main drag. It's Friday night, and we're awaiting the big day on Monday, when we chug over to the Ford Dealership at 7:30am and see if they make good on their word to right their wrongs...for under $200.
So this is what happened since we left you last, in the parking lot of the Onan dealership on Wednesday night, waiting for the generator part to arrive on Thursday before heading up into the snow. Basically, the generator part came in and we stowed it away for installation when necessary. Then we started up the truck to leave and it flat out wouldn't run. The little bolt that held on the part we needed to replace had been rounded off by the mechanic in Moab, who had assured us that the truck would probably run fine most of the time. Well, he was wrong.
Little Cause of Big Problems
We took the static opportunity to change the oil and survey the situation. Eventually we decided to limp to the Ford Dealership a few blocks down the road, and the folks there were the most generous mechanics on the planet. We told them our predicament and they basically put their best guy on the job and he tried to work magic for over an hour...at no charge, but to no end. The bolt was stripped, and frozen, and the mechanics painted a bleak picture for us which involved removing the entire engine to a tune close to a G. They gave us a can of bolt anti-freeze (not the technical term) to spray on the bolt every hour that evening, in the hopes that it would seep in and release the threads as the engine cooled. So we spent the night between rows of brand new vehicles, and hoped that this juice would do its magic.
The next morning (that's Friday now) the local radio station came to broadcast from the dealership, setting up speakers which blared Rod Stewart and Mariah Carey just a few feet away from our windows, and also a bright yellow 50-foot hollow plastic bag man, made to dance by powerful fans attached where his feet would be. A bit surreal, I would say. The great guys came over and helped us with the bolt for over an hour again, but the thing wouldn't budge. We called up the Moab Dealership and talked to the service manager, offering them first right of refusal to fix the mistake which had already cost us a couple days. They said sure, bring it back, and after much coaxing, agreed to cap the price of the repair at $200. (Keep in mind that the original problem is one that, had it been corrected correctly, is a 45-minute job.)
Brant Blending in at Fisher Towers
Since the truck ran fine at speed, we headed back towards Moab on Friday afternoon, having to wait out the weekend until the Ford place could get into it. We stopped at a place called Fisher Towers, just 30 miles northeast of Moab on Highway 128, and took an incredible hike until sunset. Amazing red spires rose regally from the sandy earth. Canyons between were full of greenery, surprisingly lush in the middle of the desert. The trail wound between gulleys, along steep dropoffs, over slickrock and around outcroppings. We saw only one threesome, a group of climbers who had surrendered the vertical steeps for a hike along the gorgeous trail. The weather was perfect, a cool breeze wafting between the canyons, smelling of the nearby Colorado River. In spite of the damn bolt, the day was good.
We rolled into Moab past dark. Literally rolled, since the engine quit as we reached the town threshold. We let The Beast rest where he lay and walked back up the highway a pace to an Artesian well that ran freely at the bottom of the cliff. I filled up my water bottle and drank deeply of the naturally filtered water, as an old man drove up in his beat up El Camino and unloaded several empty glass wine jugs to fill with new water. He smiled a toothless grin and raised his jugs, as if in toast to the great water, and wished us good night.
Our Moab Campsite, Gratis
We pulled into our spot, grabbed a pizza and checked out the local paper for the hot spots. Our waitress at the pizza joint looked to be younger than us, with her hair in two braids and glitter on her face. We got to talking to her and heard quite a story. She currently had five kids, "ages five, four, three, two and one," and wanted to get pregnant with twins as soon as possible, eventually going for a grand total of 11. Problem was her fiance had been in California for the past two years, and since he was on parole it was hard to get a card back to Utah. She told us that the cops will put you in jail for anything in Moab, like returning a video late...apparently a favorite phrase was 'Come to Moab on vacation, leave on probation.' She was paid $2.50 an hour, plus tips, and we couldn't figure out how this was legal. She wanted to move to a smaller town, because Moab was too big (with only one main street, we couldn't quite understand this either). She seemed in good spirits, although totally disillusioned that this "fiance" would be coming back to sweep her off her feet (or at least impregnate her) any time soon. We also found out, amazed, that she was 23 years old. We left the restaurant wondering at how different people's lives can be.
The weekend was a different place in Moab, and there were happy people everywhere. One of the local bike shops was having an obstacle course contest and barbecue cook out, and throngs of people gathered around the front of the building talking up two-wheeled, pedal-powered tales. Good vibes and good folks. We really dig this town, and decided that it was a great place to be stranded.
