Fraught- Free at Last

My friend Alex gave me his 1994 Ford Ranger when he and his wife Nancy moved into a condo south of Minneapolis. The Ranger is a compact pickup truck, blue-green in color. It was built at the old Ford Plant in St. Paul. Alex bought the truck new at a dealership just north of Saint Paul and had a topper installed. He used the truck to go back and forth to work, and over 26 years racked up 144,000 miles. Alex took meticulous care of the truck inside and out and always kept it in his garage. It never left the Metro area.

After he retired, he used the truck to haul his trash to the dump, but when he and Nancy moved to the condo, they had free trash pickup. He asked me if I wanted the truck. Always on the lookout for a bargain, I said yes, even though I didn't need another truck. I knew our middle son, Joe, could make use of the truck, so Teresa and I made plans to drive it to Marshfield, Massachusetts where Joe lives.

We knew a cross country trip was fraught with danger. There was a killer virus loose in the land. Wouldn't it make sense to wait till the virus had moved on and there was a vaccine to protect us? We hadn't seen Joe or our other two sons, Matt and Ned, who live near Boston for over a year, nor our four grandchildren. Our other motivator for the trip was a party on August 1 to celebrate the sale of my parent's house.

Should we risk death for the sake of a party? My parent's house overlooks a tidal river in the beach town of Hull south of Boston. The house is a glorious old hulk that my sister had been renting to summer tourists since our mother's death in 2011. But the house was needing serious repairs and my sister was tiring of the rental business, so my four siblings and I decided to let it go. There would be a family gathering at the house on August first and Teresa and I wanted to be there.

On July 25 we drove down to Alex's and spent the night. We put our car in the garage where the Ranger had been and set off for the east coast. We enjoy two-lane highways so we headed south into Iowa to avoid the tentacles of Chicago. About five hours on, I noticed smoke. Transmission fluid was leaking onto the exhaust. I got some more transmission fluid and we made it into Dubuque, Iowa. At the first shop we went to, the guy said the transmission was shot, but he sent us to a transmission specialist for a second opinion.

Luke at Precision Transmission said the truck was not worth overhauling or replacing the transmission. Even though it was a very nice truck, it had almost no book value. Luke said he had a possible fix. He said our fluid had gotten too hot and forced its way past the front transmission seal. He said we could try replacing the transmission fluid with synthetic oil which runs cooler. Two hundred dollars, no guarantees. He said we could leave the Ranger on his lot until we decided what we wanted to do.

We got a rental car and left the Ranger behind. I let Alex know what had happened. He blamed himself for the interruption of our trip. Teresa and I talked things over, and somewhere in Pennsylvania decided we'd give the truck another chance. We had a jolly time at the party in Hull. The people of Massachusetts are good about wearing masks, but they have also decided to live their lives. The flight home went well. Fourteen days have passed and we still feel good.

This past Tuesday, Steve and I headed down to Dubuque. We stopped briefly at Alex and Nancy's to say hi. Alex said he wanted frequent updates on the truck's progress back to Wannaska. We arrived in Dubuque around seven pm. We got a room in the same downtown Holiday Inn that Teresa and I had stayed in back in July and walked down Main Street to the same restaurant. It was striking how many more people were wearing masks compared to three weeks ago. The restaurant did not have a patio, but had set a few tables along the side of their building. We had a long European style meal, watching the world go by.

We picked up the truck Wednesday morning at eight. Right away I lost Steve at a yellow light. I called him and he said,  "Keep gong, I'll catch up." Then I saw my gas was on empty. I pulled into a gas station and reached for my phone to let Steve know where I was. But my phone had disappeared. "What the Sam Hell!" as Steve would say. I pulled up to the pump. The phone map app was talking to my hearing aids via Bluetooth. "Proceed to the route," it kept saying which was not helpful. I saw Steve drive by. Son of a biscuit! Where's my phone? I was ready to go into the station and ask to borrow a phone, but I don't have Steve's cell number memorized. Finally I discovered the phone slid under the front seat.

Steve was now several miles down the road, but he pulled over till I caught him up. We stopped in Dyersville twenty miles down the road for breakfast. I looked under the truck. No leak. So far so good. I checked in with Alex. My Egg McMuffin tasted great.

I had been driving 55, but now increased my speed to 60-65. We still had six hundred miles to go. We did take a break in Oelwein so Steve could look for the grave of his uncle Charles who died in 1903 at the age of nine. Steve had heard about Charles through family lore and now he was standing by the pathetic little stone that had broken off and was leaning against a big oak.

It was a hot day in Iowa and southern Minnesota. I was glad the Ranger had AC. I had not wanted to go through the Twin Cities where traffic could be hectic so we went west to New Ulm before turning  north. In retrospect I realized this was foolishness and probably cost us an extra hour of driving. We had a late fast-food lunch in Waseca and capped the day with a convenience store sandwich in Akeley. After we filled the vehicles in Grygla I sent Steve home. He was probably sick of watching my tailgate for the past 13 hours. I pulled into our yard at 11:00 pm and sent Alex a final text: Σπίτι!*

*Home!

Teresa's new toy