Not All Fun'n' Games

While at Pacifica, we returned one day to find sinister wetness at the rear of our coach. Dark drips were on the ground and the entire rear mudflap was soaked. It stank of diesel.

Debbie's brother Ken had just started his vacation with us, but it can't be helped. Both of us look underneath and, being non-mechanics, don't see anything that can help. We do see there is no appreciably steady flow of fuel from anywhere. The oil level is OK. The transmission oil level checks OK. The coolant tank is low, so we fill that. We run the engine and all the gauges look good. And that taps our entire sum of knowledge.

You'd think, being one of America's major population centers, the San Francisco Bay Area would have loads of diesel shops and truck repair places. John spends most of an entire day learning that everybody's shop on both sides of the Bay and down as far as San Jose can't take us.   One guy we called had a heart, and praised a shop called Diesel King's in the Sacramento area.

That's maybe halfway to where we're headed next for our Yosemite National Park visit. “Mel” says he is slammed but he can take us on Wednesday. Today is Monday. John suggests we could arrive there midday Wednesday.   He says Sure!   We stock up on extra gallons of oil and coolant and figure we'd get there one way or t'other..

We did! He's expecting us! But his bays are full. So Ken takes us to an In'n'Out Burger. John gets to experience what everybody back East was telling him that he should. Debbie's not impressed for some reason, so the chance of John ever getting back to another In'n'Out –ever in his lifetime– is worse than any snowball's in Dante's Ninth Circle. 

Finally, around mid-afternoon the diesel guys get the other rigs to the point where they can shift things around and look at us in the 104 degree heat. The secretary there, an apparently very competent woman named Tatiana, assures us that Mel will get things fixed, even if it takes into the night. Well– okay, but–  

We get to talking to Tatiana –what else to do?– and learn that she is an immigrant from Ukraine. She is proud of having her American citizenship and proud of having a chance to be productive. She sounds like any Midwesterner, actually pounding her fists on the desks when making the point about the Californian Priority Me attitudes when there are real companies willing to pay real wages to real people who want real work. We fall in love with her.

John's brother tells him there are more of those people than you might imagine in this state. And we found another example just hours later [read on]. Somehow they never make the News.

Near the time clock, Mel has a big sign that says NO Overtime! But Tatiana assures us again that we'll be on the road tonight. We're guessing he treats his people right. It turns out most of the employees hail from the Ukraine part of our planet. The one guy with very little English is the one assigned to get under the coach, take things off, wash off the road grime, and start diagnosing problems. Our communication is limited to Yes, No, On, Off and a lot of hand waving. But he smiles a lot and is very patient.

Mel is a busy small business owner and not always around to translate. Around 4pm Tatiana disappears, but then Mel shows up a couple hours later and translates that our technician has found leaks in all six fuel pipes and also found a bad gasket between the coolant tank and the engine block. The last is easy. The first--? Well, if the nuts are simply loose, it's done soon. If not, we have to find the right stainless steel fuel pipes --for a 16 year old chassis!-- and replace them all.

Gloom, Despair and Agony, etc. Debbie tires of wasting time just sitting and waiting for the RV to be done, so she and her brother, Ken, take off to get some supplies we need.  John's left behind to wave his hands.

Mel had told us it would be fixed tonight. Tatiana says he's as good as his word. The No-English guy works on the engine non-stop until really late. He's had to take off the big exhaust pipe and other serious-looking things before getting to the root of the problem. It's, like, after eight when he tightens the last fuel line bolt –no replacement needed!

We sit down with Mel's calculator and go over the bill. Ken's been saying helpful things like “This has gotta be 12-hundred minimum!” Debbie is unusually quiet, but her husband knows she's wailing inside. John hopes for anything under a grand. Counting shop hours, this, that and the other thing, Mel expects us to pay him just under $600. John tries real hard not to kiss him and whips out the plastic card.

In the middle of all this, Mel tell us he just got married today! No wonder he wasn't around much!. It turns out he and she signed the papers this afternoon and, on Sunday, he and Tatiana will be wed. She had never said anything! We're happy for them. Ken makes envious noises. John kicks himself for not taking a picture of the happy couple. They seem to play well together and both are decent folk.

We did get a picture of the No-English guy, and you can see he is decent folk, too. Proud of having gotten it done. Happy to have helped. And John never did get his name. Very seriously, if you need any diesel work done in mid-California, forget everyone else and call to Diesel King's.

So we're back on I-5 in Mid-California as the sun sets over the coast. Hungry, we see two truck stops along the interstate near Lodi and figure we'd find a parking space to boondock in. And maybe food. However, Debbie just spent 600 bucks.  Even though John calls that "we saved 400; let's celebrate," guess who won? Ken is only a brother, so he's free to buy dinner for himself while the poor husband gets cold leftovers from the fridge.

At the truck stops, every parking spot is filled. But, on the way in, we noticed big rigs parked along the shoulder of the frontage road. We are stuck in Lodi, so we park by the side of the road and prepare to bed down for the night.  But first–

We took Ken to one of the truck stops for his envied-by-John takeout, where Debbie sees some CHP cars and tracks down the two officers (neither of whom is Jon or Ponch, but then that TV series has been off the air for half our lifetimes anyway).  Debbie is very excited to get more info on our side-of-the-road parking.  So she tells them about our plight getting the RV fixed and not knowing when it would be completed  and when it finally was we couldn't make a reservation anywhere so we tried to get a spot in the truck stop but they were all filled and we didn't see any RV's there anyway and so we noticed the trucks parked along this road that parallels the highway so we parked there.   John has learned to tolerate this sort of run-on ramp-up to a question.  He pities these guys.

Debbie takes a Deep Breath, then, "Please let me know if it is likely that someone will knock on our door during the night to evict us."

Then they tell her that even though they are not the local cops, we shouldn't expect any problems.  They remind her in somewhat sardonic tones that this is California; they cannot do anything to homeless people –by law!

Debbie recalls being told by another business person before this that police may not ask homeless people to move even if they are on your private property!!    California!!!!!   Its own separate reality.