I have been laying rubber.
Not like we once did in the 60s. With traffic signals acting as drag lights.
Nope. This rubber is being laid right in my courtyard. And my truck is going nowhere.
Whenever I think I have cataloged all of the things that happened around here in the hurricane, I find something new. After all, it took me over a year to realize I had lost a tool kit during my first truck break-in.
Yesterday I went out to the truck to drive over to Jaluco to have breakfast with my friend John. I did the usual routine. Unlocked and opened the gate. Started the engine. Disengaged the parking brake.
I shifted the transmission into drive and barely moved the accelerator. Getting through the gate is a tight squeeze. Warp drive is not recommended when leaving the space port.
Nothing. No movement. I gave the truck more gas. Nothing. It was as if a log was blocking me.
Into reverse went the truck. Same thing. Of course, my first impression was that the transmission had expired in its sleep -- rather than on a steep and winding road.
But, this is the age of hope where change is touted. So, I looked under the truck half expecting to find a body. But nothing.
Back into the truck I went. The obvious solution was the force of the wind on the brakes had forced them into a temporary lock mode.
I revved the engine in drive. And the truck moved. Or, rather, it dragged. The front wheels were moving. But the rear was being dragged along. It reminded me of poor Professor Jiggs when his back legs were atrophying.
Moving forward did not break loose the brakes. Neither did backing up. I tried the same maneuver twice to no avail. And, rather than wear the rear tires through, I gave up.
I walked up to my mechanic’s shop to explain the problem. He said he could help and would stop by the house as soon as he finished painting a large tanker trailer. But he would be there before dark.
He wasn’t.
I just talked with him. The trailer is only about half painted. But he will be at the house around five or six this afternoon.
I have nowhere to go in particular. The highway to Manzanillo is still washed out, but a temporary road is being built. Even so, who needs to go to Manzanillo?
Mentioning Jiggs reminds me how I waited too long to relieve him of his suffering. Maybe it is about time to make the hard decision on behalf of the Shiftless Escape.
After all, falling coconut palms did not turn out to be a very good (or successful) way to dispatch it.
