Posted by: wrmcnutt | March 20, 2012

The Long Road Home


For those of you who don’t follow me closely, I am a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism, a medieval re-creationist group with an international membership.  For those who don’t care to follow the above link, the short version is that I and my extended circle of friends and acquaintances gather together in groups large and small to wear armor, bash each other with swords, blacksmith, and make antique furniture, while you wait.

My most recent exploit was a visit to Gulf Wars, an annual gathering of about 3500 people down in Lumberton, Mississippi.  Now, I’m still in stage three recovery from heart surgery, so I wasn’t able to fight this year.  I had hauled my kit down there, but two days of setup, pounding stakes, lifting canvas, and so on, convinced me that I wasn’t fit.  I was good for ten minutes of normal active human activity, but that had to be followed with twenty minutes of rest.  Not gonna happen on the battlefield.

So I was a spectator for this one.  There are quite a few stories to be told, but for your amusement, I’ll instead share the story of my voyage home.  I’ve not had a road trip like that in a few years.

First, we broke down camp on Saturday.  This is hard for me; the War is still going on.  You can hear the captain’s commands from my camp.  But all, and I mean ALL of my helpers want to decamp on Saturday so that they can have Sunday to recover.  Accordingly, if I want any help tearing down the common areas in camp, I have to do it Saturday.  And it was very effective. I worked my fellow campers like rented mules and before the sun had set, only one tent, my sleeping tent, remained.

The next day, my neighbors came over to help, and all was packed and loaded by 11 AM.  This is around four hours earlier than the previous record.  And so my party, two ladies, me, and a four-year-old-blond noise, saddled up and headed north.Wow!  Four Hours Early.  Hell, we were going to get home before TEN!

Alas, hubris.

Not too terribly far up the road, my right trailer tire exploded.  And it took the right fender with it.  At about eighty miles an hour.  By the time I had brought the two vehicles to a stop, the rim was rendered utterly useless.  And “get a spare tire for the trailer” was still on my to-do list.

Before I had come to a complete stop, a lovely family from South Downs, Meridies stopped and loaned me a floor jack, saving me MUCH effort.

So here I sat, in rural Mississippi, on a Sunday afternoon, with no tire, no rim, and no local connections.  It could have been worse.  I was only a few minutes north of Meridian.  While not a bustling metropolis, Meridian does have stores open on Sundays, and so my lead car and I were off on our quest.  Sam’s Club had a tire that would fit the rim, but no rim.  Sears could get both items for me (tomorrow).  Wal-mart, regretfully, could not help me at all.  Firestone was closed.  U-Haul had no spare parts.  (What the hell is up with that?  They had thirty trailers in the yard for rent. What if one of them has a flat?) Finally, Liz, the pilot of my lead car abruptly turned into an RV dealership.

Now – I’m not saying that the lady running the parts department of the RV dealership was a lesbian.  But if she was straight, she was being straight ironically.  I don’t think I’ve ever met a more butch, crop haired, comfortable-shoe wearing, forefinger-and-middle-nail-cut-short woman in my life.  If there was a stereotype, she was living up to it.  Except for one: the man-hating part.  She was kind, gracious, and generous.  They kept a spare tire around the lot in case one of the trailers had a flat, and she was willing to sell it to me.  Sadly, they had no way to take the tire off of it, and it was the wrong size.  But I bought it anyway, and we headed back to Sam’s Wholesale Club, who thought they might have a tire.

Well, it turned out that Sam’s didn’t have a tire to replace my casualty.  They were reluctant, but they did finally decide to sell me a tire that fit, but was designed to haul lighter loads.  That was when we discovered that my pilot-car’s driver didn’t have her Sam’s card with her. Off to customer service to get a new card.

Membership card in hand, we attempted once again to make the purchase.  Cards expired.  (Why didn’t Customer Service notice this?)  So – buy a new membership.  Now we can buy, mount, and balance the tire that’s really too lightweight to do the job.

Back to the stranded van and trailer, finally.

A quick efficient mounting, and we’re ready to hit the road. At a reduced speed.  To the very next exit.  Where we would spend an additional hour shifting cargo from that flimsy, light duty tire to my heavy duty van.  It took more than a little effort, but we moved about five or six hundred pounds off of the trailer and into the van by trading large, bulky, light objects for heavy, compact ones.

The sun was now golden in the west, and I was maybe ninety minutes into about a nine-hour voyage.  But now we are truly on the road. For a while.  Eventually the sun set, the sky darkened, and it was time for dinner.  Now hopelessly behind, we declined to have a sit-down dinner, but instead opted to stop at Burger King for a brief rest.  The ladies went in to order while I inspected the rig.

That was when I discovered that the trailer had no lights.  No lights at all.

Did I violate a shrine or something?

I found the problem.  Somehow, I’d managed to drag the harness on the ground and it had abraded through.  Good news – I need no parts.  This is something that I can fix with duct tape and a leatherman.  In the dark.  On my back.  In a Burger King parking lot, somewhere in northern Alabama.

It was shortly after that that Mistress Solveig sat on my dinner.

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Responses

  1. Ah, so it was ya’ll that we passed on the side of the road.

    Stuart and I had a very similar thing happen to us on the way home. We were about a mile from the last Cullman, AL exit when our tire blew and also took out our fender. We limped up the exit and, because it was already dark, we had to get a motel room and stay the night. The next morning we assessed the situation. I think the rim was too warped, but we did have a spare… only it was bald and/or dry-rotted, because I remember us going to a tire store to get a tire put on it. The real fun came, though, when Stuart tried to get the blown-out tire off the trailer: all of the nuts had rusted on and one just would not come off. He finally jumped up and down on the tire tool until it broke off (we still had four). It was late in the afternoon before we finally got back on the road.

    • At least I was able to get the lug nuts off and on without pain.

      • When I was a teenager, my stepfather and I were coming back from a camping trip when we got a flat tire on our pop-up camper. We were on the hill above Cleveland, TN.

        After assessing the situation, he started to jack up the trailer. It slipped off the jack (luckily not on him). Finding a more secure place for the jack, he jacked it up again. I tried to brace it, because every time the semis went by, they rocked it severely and I was afraid it would fall on him.

        He gets the flat off and puts on the spare. Yea! He lets the camper off the jack, where the new tire promptly flattens out on the ground. (People, when you put air in your tires, check the air in your spare too!)

        No problem. We just happen to own an electric air pump that we use for blowing up floats. I plug it into the cigarette lighter, pass it out the back window of the truck and to the camper… where it falls about 1 yard short of reaching the tire.

        So the camper goes back up on the jack, the spare comes off, we roll it over to the pump, pump it up, put it back on the camper, and, at last, put the camper back on the ground.

        Whereby it and the truck began rolling down the hill, towards Cleveland. I never saw my stepfather move as fast as he did when he got up off the pavement and ran the truck down and put on the brake.

        To this day, that hill is known as “OUR hill.”

        The moral of both of these stories is: never get a flat tire on your trailer on the interstate. You are DOOMED.

  2. what was your dinner doing under Mistress Solveig’s backside. most dinner are supposed to go in your stomach, or on the dash.

    • That was my question as well. APparenlty, she’d put it in the driver’s seat so that I would be able to find it. Then, in the dark, leapt upon it when I asked her to test the brake lights.

  3. Now wait – you neglected to mention:
    a) That you had extra wires after you spliced together the lighting harness – which didn’t seem to be necessary, but is part of all the ‘funny’ too.
    b) That even further down the road we checked the air in the tires and found that the valve was on the backside of the new trailer tire (either they mounted it wrong, or you put the whole wheel on backwards) – adding to the level of persecution.
    c) That I only sat on half your dinner – and at your request in order to check the lights. (sorry – again!)

    • Everybody’s a critic. I maintain that there was no reason for my hamburgers to get an extra pair of buns that night.

  4. Wow.

    Being that I wasn’t actually there I can honestly say I kinda wish I had been there.

    Glad you made it back!

  5. oh, mercy!

  6. Oh my stars..I have been LMAO…but grateful that you all made it thru this experience safe and sound….
    Blessings
    Inga

  7. oh my. you can make just about anything funny.


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