OK. So, I am trying to spend time out of my truck.
And I am getting all kinds of unrequested help.
When Darrel and I were driving down here, we crossed the coastal hills to San Blas from Tepic. The road was not too bad -- not when you learned to drive on rural Oregon roads. Not too steep, Not too windy.
But at least three times on that short drive, we heard an odd clunk as we went around curves. And that was before we encountered any topes.
For over two months since then, I have been driving on local roads and have not heard that sound.
That is -- until last Friday. When I was climbing the hills between La Manzanilla and Melaque, the transmission was a bit mushy shifting between gears. And then came the clunk. But this time is brought its own percussion quartet. There were clunks. Grinds. Jerks.
Fortunately, I was at the top of the rise, and the rest of the road was down hill. I was positive I was going to be stuck on that shoulderless narrow road.
I made it home without incident.
The first thing I wanted to check was the transmission fluid. And I was hoping it was simply a bit low.
No such luck. It was as normal as normal could be.
So, on Saturday, I carefully drove over to the local mechanic to have my oil changed and to discuss transmission options.
The father wasn't there, but the son was. He changed the oil, and we discussed the transmission.
He looked at the fluid level, and declared everything fine.
Asked I: "Isn't there something we could do?"
And I am getting all kinds of unrequested help.
When Darrel and I were driving down here, we crossed the coastal hills to San Blas from Tepic. The road was not too bad -- not when you learned to drive on rural Oregon roads. Not too steep, Not too windy.
But at least three times on that short drive, we heard an odd clunk as we went around curves. And that was before we encountered any topes.
For over two months since then, I have been driving on local roads and have not heard that sound.
That is -- until last Friday. When I was climbing the hills between La Manzanilla and Melaque, the transmission was a bit mushy shifting between gears. And then came the clunk. But this time is brought its own percussion quartet. There were clunks. Grinds. Jerks.
Fortunately, I was at the top of the rise, and the rest of the road was down hill. I was positive I was going to be stuck on that shoulderless narrow road.
I made it home without incident.
The first thing I wanted to check was the transmission fluid. And I was hoping it was simply a bit low.
No such luck. It was as normal as normal could be.
So, on Saturday, I carefully drove over to the local mechanic to have my oil changed and to discuss transmission options.
The father wasn't there, but the son was. He changed the oil, and we discussed the transmission.
He looked at the fluid level, and declared everything fine.
Asked I: "Isn't there something we could do?"
Answered he: "Why? It's still working."
There is some wisdom in the response. But it certainly flies in the face of that Northern European Protestant ethic that makes my mind work. Most of you know it well. If there is a problem (even one possibly coming your way), there must be a solution. It is why we waste so much money on insurance.
But I understand his response. It is not culture-based. It is an answer bred of limited resources.
I saw the same responses in my work with the Salvation Army. When you have just enough resources to deal with basic needs, you cannot spend time (or money) worrying what might happen.
But I do have enough resources to ward off potential problems.
I did not replace the fender trim I clipped off in my backing accident. I have not replaced the tire that I gouged when trying to park near the curb. But this is a bit different. Losing my transmission on one of these narrow roads could be more than simply inconvenient.
As much as I appreciated the son's advice, I am going to return when the dad is in. We can then talk about the future of my transmission.
When I talked about spending time out of my truck, I did not anticipate that circumstances would assist me in making my wish come true.
If I had my druthers, the SUV fairy could just holster her wand. And I would be happy.
There is some wisdom in the response. But it certainly flies in the face of that Northern European Protestant ethic that makes my mind work. Most of you know it well. If there is a problem (even one possibly coming your way), there must be a solution. It is why we waste so much money on insurance.
But I understand his response. It is not culture-based. It is an answer bred of limited resources.
I saw the same responses in my work with the Salvation Army. When you have just enough resources to deal with basic needs, you cannot spend time (or money) worrying what might happen.
But I do have enough resources to ward off potential problems.
I did not replace the fender trim I clipped off in my backing accident. I have not replaced the tire that I gouged when trying to park near the curb. But this is a bit different. Losing my transmission on one of these narrow roads could be more than simply inconvenient.
As much as I appreciated the son's advice, I am going to return when the dad is in. We can then talk about the future of my transmission.
When I talked about spending time out of my truck, I did not anticipate that circumstances would assist me in making my wish come true.
If I had my druthers, the SUV fairy could just holster her wand. And I would be happy.
