GJ Packtrip #1 - July 9th, '03

Hi everyone,

Well I haven’t been doing much on the family tree, which may be a big relief to those of you who I had been bugging for pictures and information. This brief respite doesn't signal completion or resignation, I’m just too busy on other projects. We have closed on the Grand Junction house and I am swamped by the process of moving “stuff” up there to make the place livable. Oh yes, I have pictures to post to the web-site when time allows – it may be a couple of weeks the way things are going.

The first pack-trip to Grand Junction was relatively uneventful - provided you don’t consider it an event when the 4-Runner’s “Check Engine System” warning light came on in the middle of the night on Utah’s wind swept, high plateau or when the hitch broke from the tow-dolly with Sharon’s car aboard or that I spent a couple of hours on the first day I arrived in town shoveling gravel for the new neighbor lady.

I was alarmed when I saw the idiot warning icon turn-on on the 4-Runner’s dash – fortunately I have real gauges too so I knew the oil pressure, temperature and alternator were all fine. The gas gauge was low and ugly as usual. Still it is unnerving to be 15 miles from nowhere in a car signaling it’s impending demise. I limped into town, to the waiting motel, signed in and got out my owner’s manual - which told me to immediately take the car to the nearest dealer – yeah right, I’m in the middle of down-town Bluff, Utah in a 1950’s motel across the street from a boarded up café and I can see any edge of town from where I sit. Fortunately the next morning the idiot light went out after the car was started and allowed to idle for a few minutes while I inspected the dolly carrying Sharon’s car - so I carried on and proceeded to GJ.

About four miles from the new house, after making the turn from the freeway ramp onto one of GJ’s busy streets, I felt a jerk and heard a commotion from the tow-dolly. Checking the side-mirror with some angst, I decided that I had “cut the corner” too tight and run over the curb – a silly mistake but nothing to cause undue alarm – that is, until a few seconds later when the 4-Runner was shifted into the next gear and the tow-dolly along with Sharon’ s car began to wrestle for the leadership of my small caravan – there was a lot of banging and clanging for awhile until I got everything to come to a stop in the middle the outside lane on a busy street - I was a stalled and unpopular émigré!

Getting out of the 4-Runner I immediately ascertained that the ball on my hitch had sheared off, dropping the tow-dolly to the pavement where it was drug along by the safety chains. Thankfully there was no damage to either car – but sitting there in the middle of the street as they were, the cars had become a significant irritant to the local citizenry. By applying brute strength the pieces were pried apart and everything pushed off the road into the parking lot of a nearby motel. Then after securing directions to the nearest auto parts store in order to replace the dismembered ball the old ball was extracted from the carnage to take along to the nearest Auto Zone for sizing purposes. But when I picked it up I noticed that my original ball was undamaged. In fact it had not been sheared off at all but rather it had simply become un-bolted from the hitch. All I had to do was walk back up the street to the area of the original commotion and there the missing bolt and lock washer were found, lying side-by-side in the middle of the near lane. After quickly reassembling all the pieces, the caravan was able to carry on to our new house.

At the beginning of my 1100 mile - 2 ½ day trip, spending 2 of my 10 waking hours in town shoveling gravel for a new neighbor was not a part of the original itinerary – I’m still not entirely sure how that shovel ended up in my hands.

After unloading the caravan it was time to take pictures of our new “summer home”. While I was taking the exterior shots of our newly acquired second home, the neighbor next-door and her two teenage kids came over and introduced themselves. They were working on spreading out a large pile of gravel, making a border to encircle the grass of their front yard. I quickly made arrangements for the neighbor’s boy to mow our grass the rest of the summer, thereby solving one of my major problems. Then I excused myself and retreated into the house for the required interior pictures. 

As the photo-shoot was finished, the neighbors could still be heard working on that gravel pile and when I looked outside it appeared that some other neighbors had shown up to help. One guy had brought an all terrain vehicle and trailer to carry the gravel with. The project was beginning to look like a neighborhood happening – everyone pitching in to help the single mom next door.  I guess I felt that I had no choice but to go pitch in too. 

When I arrived in their front yard, the teenagers disappeared and the other neighbor drove off with a load of gravel - headed toward his yard, never to be seen again. I was left there alone with the neighbor lady and a shovel in my hands standing beside several tons of gravel. Then I learned that she had ordered too much gravel and so the other guy next door was not helping her at all but rather he was helping himself to her excess gravel. With blistering hands and sore back, I went to work on that gravel heap. After awhile she offered to let me stop for a small break and even offered me a bottle of water. She seemed incredulous when I told her that I don’t drink the stuff – can’t stand it other than to cut my bourbon. She allowed me to return home long enough to grab a Pepsi - then we went back to work. As my hands began to blister in earnest, I told her that I was about done because I hadn’t brought any gloves. Instantly, with apologies, she produced a pair of sweaty gloves for me – I could see that I wasn’t going to escape this semi-voluntary servitude easily!

So after another half hour or there-a-bouts, I decided to try a new tack - to make a plea upon her pity. After all, with her being a girl and all, I couldn't just quit first, therefore I began to wheeze and wobble around like a tired old man until she finally began to fear I might have a heart attack in her  front yard - she sent me home without so much as offering to fix me dinner.

Welcome to Grand Junction - doesn't anyone cook anymore?

Rog