Pleading at Tony's & the 15' Box Truck

It's the pedal assembly -- clutch, brake & accelerator --- that gave out. 

Yesterday, before returning the van, I stopped by Tony's Garage and Katie, the receptionist, told me the problem but said she didn't know when they'd get to it.

I did my best wedge my bulk below the dash and looked at the pedal assembly; it's a booger-bear to get to and more than I can handle. 

Are We Gonna Be Here A While?

Still driving the U-Haul van, I went to see if I could get the 10' box truck I'd reserved. The woman couldn't find my reservation and though the truck was due back at 2 pm, and I had reserved it for 3, she behaved as if it might not happen and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Oh, well, stuff happens." She tried calling to ask if the folks were bringing it back but no one answered. She had nothing to substitute it with.

When I told of Phoebe's problem, she directed me to one of two places in Florence that does welding. Rocky, at Artistic Fabrications, did a great job, she said, of extending the sissybar on her son's Harley. "You couldn't even tell." 

Thinking I might be reduced to a toothbrush and bedroll, I called a storage place. Lo & Behold! He had a 15' box truck available! (previous post.) I offloaded the van into the truck and somehow -- I'm still puzzling over how it came about -- the guy who rented me the van came in and said I could leave it there and he'd come get it, rather than me taking it to them and him giving me a ride back.

I went to find Rocky, the welder, to see if he'd be available if and when Tony's ever got the "bracket," as it's known, out. There, Joe & Brian explained how Rocky was moving into "the arts" and was busy getting ready for the Coos Bay Blackberry Festival this weekend where he has a booth. As I was leaving, Rocky pulled up and said he'd take a look at it Tuesday after the festival. This was Thursday.

I headed south toward a Forest Road. It's $0.99/mile and the truck *might* get 7-8 miles to the gallon. It was 8.5 miles to the Forest "development" Road#958. "Development" is a jargon word meaning "main," usually with roads branching off from it. Two hundred feet up from the turnoff onto the Forest Road was a large, locked gate, posted NO TRESPASSING.

A nearby spur went a few hundred feet to a utility pole. Hidden from the road by a dense mix of shrubs, blackberry bushes, and trees, I backed in and began arranging my "furniture."

After Initial Transfer

This morning I spent 2 hours, 36 minutes and 6 seconds wrangling an issue with Social Security. When the last person told me to hold for the next, I got disconnected; It was 10:30 a.m. and I was exhausted. I slept until 2:45 pm.

Around 4 pm a guy showed up and told me I couldn't camp there. I apologized and left. In town, I went by Tony's to see if I could find out more about Phoebe's trouble.

Fortunately, the mechanics were still there, they close at 5 and it was 5:30ish. I explained about my heart condition and how I'd come to Oregon to get psilocybin-facilitated therapy for my death anxiety. I told about declining bypass surgery cuz, not having any secondary insurance, if I died Michelle'd be saddled with a debt somewhere in the range of $40,000.00....if there'd been no complications.

I started to cry a couple of times. I'm not sure why; I don't think I feel sorry for myself, but it's disheartening to have to plead for help. I felt embarrassed by my inability to control my emotions, but the past few years I've worked hard -- with the help of She-of-the-Capri -- to dismantle the facade and accept myself...blubberer that I am.

They said they'd get the bracket out and take it to Rocky on Tuesday. "We'll make it work," they said.

I'll go north to the dispersed camping area and hope the truck has the gumption to get up the mountain; it's steep. Last time I was there I met Eric whose wife is the assistant to the Executive Director of the Animal Humane Society in Florence. Eric said they always need volunteers to pet cats and walk dogs so, along with a bit of sight-seeing, tomorrow I'm gonna go see what I can do.

FÜRTHER!

Neatly Stowed

Epilogue

I passed a hitch-hiker, a rangy-lookin' feller wearin' a straw cowboy hat with a big pack. I thought for a bit then pulled over and made room in the passenger seat and went back. 

Tim had been 16 days on the road coming from St. Louis. The pack weighed around 80 pds, down from 110, he said, and he had a smaller one I couldn't lift; I carried his gallon of water. He was northbound for Washington and told how he'd run out of water on Interstate 5. No one was picking him up so he decided to come over to 101. It took two and a half days. 

I took him to Herman Peak road and gave him $20 and a sandwich, still sealed in its wrapper. Reverting to a time when I lived out off gleanings from dumpsters, I'd found several sandwiches when emptying my trash at a drive-up coffee place. (I was a Master dumpster-diver in my youth. Once, when I visited Mom in El Paso and the refrigerator was empty, in two days I had it so full the door wouldn't close.)

The truck made it up the steep road to a turnout that's juuust wide enough to turn it around.