Van go

Monday morning, 7:55 am, I arrive at the Park Blocks where my poor van lies sleeping. I'm a little concerned that it may have been ticketed; the parking meters aren't in force Sunday, but come active 7 am Monday. Fortunately, either the meter crew don't come through until later, or my pathetic "Broken Down: Will tow Monday A.M." sign worked. My mechanic opens at 8 am; I left a message on their voice mail before I left the house, but call again from downtown.

I get an unfamiliar voice, neither Ron nor Eric, my regular guys. Explain the situation, he asks if I'm gonna have it towed in (duh!), and I ask if they have a regular service they deal with. After some off-mike consultation, he comes back with [towing company A], so I hang up and call their number.

After a recorded announcement that my call is being monitored, I pass through to a perky voice who hears my story, says she'll connect me with someone to help me out, puts me on hold. A badly distorted and very loud Hall of the Mountain King ensues, coming on speaker so I don't have to sit with the phone to my ear. After several minutes, the recorded voice is back, giving me the option of leaving a message or returning to queue. I press # and more bad Grieg commences.

Then my phone rings--Firefly theme and Mountain king in battle--and I figure out how to put hold on hold and pick up. It's Ron, my regular from the garage, who's just heard my voicemail. When I tell him my situation, he says [towing company A] is a bunch of crooks, towed his niece's car and charged exorbitant sums to free it, and he always goes with [towing company B]. He's prepared to expound at length at A's lack of ethics, and I finally interrupt him to ask if we could hang up so I can disconnect the other line and call his recommendation.

[Towing company B] answers direct, says they can definitely help, but they're booked solid until noon. Can I wait? I say I really can't, ring off, and consult the internet.

There are a lot of towing services in Eugene. I finally pick one that feels vaguely familiar--they may have towed me in the past?--and give [towing company C] a call. Once again, the guy picks up immediately, hears my story, and says I'm in luck. He has a driver delivering a car to a shop just outside downtown, he needs to get it off the truck, and can be there in 15 minutes.

The parking spaces around me are beginning to fill. Apparently, the employees at the bank use the shady side of the street for their cars. I'm feeling a bit conspicuous in my car at an expired meter, so I drop in all of my pocket change and buy 25 minutes. And wait.

And whaddya know? Fifteen minutes later, a big rig pulls onto Park Street. Driver asks if I have towing coverage--thank you, State Farm!--gets my information, then moves off the curb and into the street. Put the van in neutral and steer while he pushes me out of the spot. Runs down the ramp, hooks up the chain, rolls my van up onto the truck bed, pausing to adjust the steering to keep it centered. In no time, they're off to the shop. I pull out to follow, just as my parking meter ticks over to zero.

Van again

I spent the rest of Monday sorting pots, restocking the Market boxes, and adding a few just for Anacortes: extra plates, bowls, tall mugs; boxes with pastas/bakers/pie plates and casserole/batter bowls, and one just full of extra crab and octopus pots. I also pulled out the display hardware I need to swap out. With a ten-by-ten booth, I can put in a larger bench and shelves, put out a few more things.

Meanwhile, I'm wondering if I should be looking at van rentals.

I mean, Ron thought he knew where the problem was--apparently, Astros are notorious for arcing where the cables cross over the distributor cap, it's a known design flaw. He also knew I needed to drive up to Washington on Wednesday, and promised to bump me up the queue a little. But what if he can't fix it?

Yeah, I'm always a little anxious right before shows.

This morning, I still hadn't heard anything. Today I'm doing all the little jobs: empty the dishwasher, clean up the kitchen, bake quiche crust for supper and cookies for the trip (and a few for the cat sitter). Fold the laundry, set out the table covers to go in the van. If the van gets done. Take Denise to physical therapy. Run down to the bank, the pharmacy, pick up some trip food. Sweep the floor, empty the litter boxes, worry about the van.

It's a circle.

I finally share my worries with Denise around 11 am. Why don't you call them? she sensibly asks. (Because I'm a middle kid, full of Catholic guilt, who never wants to be a bother to anyone.) But I do call.

I get the receptionist, who says she'll get one of the guys, and puts me on hold.

Wouldn't you know it? Hall of the Mountain King, though a rather better recording.

On about the second repeat, Ron comes on. It's running, he replaced the throttle body and plenum and several other things I don't understand. Take about an hour to get it back together. I offer to pick it up after Denise's PT this afternoon.

And finally, I can breathe again.

Going on the road

Van no go

Arrgh!

Just got a call from my mechanic. After putting it all back together, the van won't start. They've repaired two vacuum leaks, but it's still flooding. If you hold the pedal to the floor to clear the flooding, it'll start, but it's not something to rely on 500 miles from home.

My friend Shelley had a similar experience before the Salem Art Fair last month. In her case, it was during the athletics meet, and rental cars were not to be found anywhere in Eugene or Springfield. She ended up borrowing a car from a friend to do the show. I was a little more fortunate. The first place I called, a Car and Truck Rental associated with a local auto dealership, had a Ford Transit van available. It'll cost me a hundred bucks a day, but probably no extra mileage, as their 200 miles per day allowance is more than enough. But I really don't have a choice.