This month’s episode of the Clarke Family Chronicles is sponsored by Olaf.
What was that? Samantha?
This will all make sense when I am older
Someday I will see that this makes sense
One day, when I'm old and wise
I'll think back and realize
That these were all completely normal events
I'll have all the answers when I'm older
Like why we're in this dark enchanted wood
I know in a couple years
These will seem like childish fears
So I know this isn't bad, it's good
Excuse me
Growing up means adapting
Puzzling at your world and your place
When I'm more mature
I'll feel totally secure
Being watched by something with a creepy, creepy face
See, that will all make sense when I am older
So there's no need to be terrified or tense
I'll just dream about a time
When I'm in my aged prime
'Cause when you're older
Absolutely everything makes sense
This is fine
There is nothing like the violent tilt-a-whirl of vertigo while living inside a travel trailer. The negatives mostly center on the uneven camping surfaces, such as grass (which causes sinking during dry days and absolute havoc during rain) or a dirt surface so uneven that we needed four levels for the back wheels; this causes a certain amount of constant precarious sway. The other negative is having only one bathroom when the twirling causes extreme nausea.
Positives? The bathroom is closer than an en suite, it’s easy to get off the bed with the wall right next to you to hang onto as the world moves to its own beat and the walls in the bathroom corridor are within reach when the rooms are dipping and tipping. Best of all? I finally found a positive for the coffin sized bathroom; the wall is perfect for holding a spinning head while on the potty.
It doesn’t matter how much I practice meditation and slowing down, I will always be a Type A at heart. When reading and walking cause you to feel like you might lose your cookies, you are forced into unnerving solitude.
Dennis and the light
Oh no. I could hear the unspoken recall of all our previous mishaps in his voice, the all too familiar sense of dread rolling over me. The check engine light just came on.
For the first time, I don’t think I panicked over this news. Maybe I’ve become desensitized to issues with Dennis. He’s like the kid who always gets in trouble at school; you are no longer surprised when the principal calls. Just once in 2020, I’d like to be surprised with flowers instead of car troubles. Of course, I can’t complain too much. John came home with surprise hand sanitizer the other day which caused us all to cheer. Not quite as romantic, but it’s more exciting than the weekly “substitution game” when we unwrap our preordered goodies from the store to see what was out of stock or replaced.
I guess I thought now that we were out of the summer months, we would escape the monthly exorbitant car repair bills. But Dennis, who held his tongue when we tried to revive Jan from his battery and purred away on our trip down the NE shore then over to Indiana, decided he had held his tongue for far too long and needed more attention. He is by far the most high maintenance vehicle I’ve ever owned and rivals the constant attention one puts into reviving a beaten down but loved classic car.
Of course, there were no mechanics open over the holiday weekend; we’ve been down this road multiple times and know the drill. He’s also too big to be accommodated at any old garage and too special to have parts on hand. We said a small prayer that it was a hose or some other small part, but held the fear that our timing with the radiator was up. When the last mechanic finally fixed Dennis, he let us know that he had a funny radiator repair. The words funny or unusual should never be made in reference to an auto repair. The mechanic said it might be okay, but that there was a chance we would have to replace it at some point in the future. He also told us he personally wouldn’t fix it until needed and we would likely have some time, if it ever needed to be replaced.
We dutifully made an appointment at a local Ford dealership, hoping they could get to the bottom of the issue. Our appointment was Tuesday. We were set to leave town for our last pre-house adventure on Saturday. Meanwhile, Jan was parked in an overhang at our current campground, filled to the brink. In order to use her (if repairs took more than a few hours), we would have to unload her. She was also not running reliably since her return (and repairs), continually downshifting during accelerations that mostly seemed related to hills. She always seemed to recover from her hiccups, but I wasn’t yet feeling confident enough to drive her places without John following behind me in Dennis.
The mechanic told us the codes were not specific and the problem could be 5 or 6 things, but that Dennis was not in any shape to haul anything, much less our heavy load.
So Dennis goes in for exploratory surgery again this Thursday. The operation itself will likely take 5 or 6 hours. We, the worried family members, will sit in dread and hope, waiting for the moment his doctor confirms Dennis’ diagnosis.
They think it’s the fuel injectors (which caused me to go on a little rant). I don’t know much about automobiles, but I have become an expert in the things that have been wrong with Dennis. It’s kind of like when your kid has a medical problem; you learn all about it so you can understand what the doctors are saying, but don’t learn anything about any other body system.
It turns out that, like so many things, Dennis has two different fuel injection systems. The high pressure fuel pump, which is what we previously replaced, is reserved for fancy cars and high demand vehicles like Dennis. It’s why we were fine unless we tried to place a large demand on Dennis. I’ve already compared this to a heart transplant for Dennis, although I’m less sure I understand all of this. It’s mind boggling to me that he has two engines, two separate fuel injection systems, and I’m sure the list goes on. It’s like not realizing your kid has an extra organ inside. The standard fuel injector, which is the most suspected culprit, is like the guts of the operation. Without it working properly, we can feed Dennis all we want, but he remains weak from lack of proper nutrients. The actual repair will only take half an hour once they are finished with the invasive exploratory operation. However ... we still need to have the part (which they won’t order until Dennis’ guts are all over the floor and they know that’s the problem) and the warranty adjuster will need to come out and approve the repair. So the timeline is up in the air. Needless to say, we won’t be traveling to Pictured Rocks this weekend. There’s Dennis the Menace, always thwarting our plans with his significant health problems.
Saturday
I hate to generalize to an entire profession, but mechanics in general don’t seem to have any time management/planning abilities. They really are akin to surgeons in many ways, although they don’t have the student loan debt to back up the swagger.
When I went in for my scheduled c-section (i love how they lump medical issues into the “scheduled timetable”), the anesthesiologist kept us waiting for three hours. The last hour was due to other patients’ needs, but prior to this, he couldn’t be bothered to show up to the hospital for almost two hours after my procedure was scheduled to start. It’s much the same with mechanics. I’m not really sure what’s going on behind the scenes, but all of a sudden, you realize you’ve been waiting on your loved one for hours only to find out the procedure hasn’t started. Despite promising to start the exploratory operation on Friday morning, we later found out that they only started in the late afternoon and for some reason that they could not get across to us adequately, they would not be able to touch Dennis, despite being open, on Saturday. Their best guess without really knowing anything was now a Wednesday completion. This was not the carrot they dangled of “maybe Friday or Saturday, but probably Monday or Tuesday” before we dropped off Dennis. Pictured Rocks is now unobtainable and I fear we won’t get a good old fashioned break before we enter our new home.
Always Missing
The head of service began avoiding our calls. That’s never a good sign. Our campground was a disaster (this deserves its own post) and we were desperate for any glimmer of hope. Around Wednesday, they let us know they hadn’t started the work. Apparently, someone got moved in front of us. I’m not sure what Dennis did behind the scenes to cause this unavoidable tragedy, but we don’t have enough clout to undo it. They finally started working on him over a week after he first arrived. Once inside, they realized that the thermostat connecting to the radiator was bad, too. This was lucky as it was the checkbox allowing the warranty company to cover a replacement radiator (despite the aftermarket shoddy work). This caused us mucho savings, but much time and heartbreak.
Ford of Columbus, Indiana wins the prize for keeping Dennis the Menace longer than any other mechanic. Longer than his total body transformation in Lake George. Longer than the beginning of our journey in the Pennsylvania Wilds waiting for parts during a covid related shortage. I’ve now realized that diesel mechanics are like unicorns at regular (non-semi truck) shops — there is only one typically trying to manage all the big truck needs. The mechanic finally called 15 days after our first diagnostic appointment to promise us that Dennis would finally be ready to pick up the next day. In addition to a new radiator, thermostat, and fuel injector, we had requested an oil change, new tail light, and a screw on the vacuum pump (John realized this is why Dennis continued to rattle post NY repairs). Late Thursday, the mechanic let us know that they “discovered” a broken hose (read:they broke it) and decided to fix it and throw in the part for free. Right. We finally arrived (17 days post diagnostic check up) for our grand reunion. Ford forgot to replace the little screw (big eye roll at this point), but Dennis was practically purring. As I drove him the next day, I marveled at driving a vehicle with no known issues. Dennis decided I wasn’t taking him seriously, so he started randomly throwing the ABS light on again after a few days. We’ve decided that it’s got to be a faulty sensor at this point. Good to have him back and in good humor.
Ah, Dennis ... the truck we love to hate and hate to love. You are truly a menace.