Over the weekend we made our plans for our route to Arizona. We tend to stick to State Parks right now, since we don’t have the 12v system set up yet, meaning no water or electricity when we’re unplugged. State and National parks require a lot of planning as it seems the whole world has moved into RVs these days.

Anyway, on Tuesday we left Inks Lake State Park (not by choice, but because they were full, on a Tuesday) and were headed to another nearby park. Down the road a bit we pulled over in front of a post office to drop off a package, and immediately upon drifting onto the shoulder I heard the hiss. I popped the engine cover and found coolant spewing out. First thought was, “That’s weird, the temp gauge wasn’t showing hot.”

I went outside and realized the coolant wasn’t blowing out of the radiator. Next thought was, “That’s weird, the coolant should be coming out of this dry cap.”

I then crawled underneath alongside the coolant pouring down and then thought, “That’s weird, the coolant is pouring out of the front of the engine.”

That’s a lot of weirds.

I actually had to google “Where would coolant come from out the front of an engine?” I quickly discovered it was a failed water pump. Thank you google, now can you tell me where I can get a replacement?

It was only about noon, and we were in a good spot off the road, so we rather calmly sat down, got online, and began to try to sort this out. A bad water pump was a first for me, and I really wasn’t sure what was involved, but just by looking at the front of the engine I could see this was not going to be very easy. This bus has four belts running off of there, and any time I have to remove bolts that haven’t been touched in 56 years I tend to get a little nervous. Before I even started to mess around online, I took out the can of PB Blaster and started dousing every bolt I could lay eyes on. Let that marinate for a while.

After a dozen phone calls we discovered finding a water pump for this engine was not going to be easy. They simply weren’t available anywhere. The search got so bad that we resurrected that ancient website ebay. There we found two pumps for sale. One with nothing but Chinese writing in the description, and one other one that looked okay. By now we were getting seriously worried about how long this repair was going to take. Surely a part bought off of ebay just a couple of days before Thanksgiving was not going to reach us for a week. I noticed a small link next to the shipping button that said Free Local Pickup. On a whim I clicked to see where it was, hoping I’d find it was somewhere in Texas where I might be able to drive to get it. Instead I found that it was at a little local mechanic’s shop right down the street from Ali’s parents. Incredible. We called her dad, who bought the $75 part and had it at UPS shipping overnight to us less than an hour later. At least we had one piece of good luck this day.

By now we’d also called a local autoshop, Quick Brakes, just a mile up the road that said they’d be happy to help us out. This place was found based on the recommendation of a local guy who had stopped by twice to see if we were okay. We also had a tow truck “on the way” according to Good Sam. So, things were in motion.

By now a few hours had passed and we were getting worried about where we were going to spend the next few nights. The nearest town, Burnet, was about fifteen miles back down the road. We fired up Uber and Lyft and found no service. We looked up taxi services. Nothing anywhere. We even called a couple hotels and B&Bs and asked if anyone could come get us. No dice. There was one rental car company in Burnet, but they didn’t have any cars and wouldn’t for at least a week. There was literally no way to get anywhere.

Darkness set in. The tow had been delayed about four hours by now. Surprise, surprise. And with no rides available, our only option appeared to be the blinking lights across the street. A motel, the likes of which make you shudder at the thought of spending the night in, with Vacancy neon blinking on the dark empty highway. All our phone and computer batteries were now dead (and the bus power still isn’t working at this point). We were out of choices. I walked over and booked a room.

“I’m going to give you our John Wayne room.”

I gathered up the family and we crossed the highway to The Duke’s room. I don’t want to be rude because in the end this place would save us, but yikes. When you walk in and the very first thing you see is the roach poison, it doesn’t give you that sense of relief you are hoping for.

Tears welled in Ali’s eyes, the kids sat on plastic chairs instead of on the bed, and I realized, oh boy, this isn’t going to work. I’m going to have to make something happen.

Well, actually, first I tried to reason with them. “Come on everyone, we’ve stayed in worse places like this. I mean, think how many times we’ve checked into a place and been asked how many hours we would like the room for, instead of how many nights. Kids, remember the place with the bathroom made out of mirrors? That was weird, but it didn’t turn out so bad, right?”

It didn’t take long to realize I wasn’t really making a good case.

I walked back to the office and said, “I’m sorry, this is going to sound completely nuts, but is there any way you could drive us to Burnet? The pizza place isn’t delivering (she had said the only place that delivered food out here was a local pizza joint, which I had called, and they weren’t), and we don’t have any way to cook.”

“Oh, I could move you into one of our rooms with a kitchen,” she said helpfully.

“Oh, that’s nice of you, but we’re also worried because we could be stuck for a few days while our bus is repaired, and if we’re stuck out here we won’t have any groceries or anything.” I was scrambling for a polite excuse.

“Ummmm. Sure. I can drive you all to town.” And that’s how we paid $79 for the John Wayne room, and ended up with the motel’s owner dropping us off at the Best Western twenty minutes away.

Around nine hours after calling for a tow, the driver pulled up at the Best Western and picked me up. He was a nice guy in a brand new truck, and it wasn’t his fault Good Sams hadn’t called someone else. He had told them he was on a big semi rollover call and would be a few hours. He unhooked the driveshaft like a pro in a few minutes, and we rolled the bus the one mile down the road, dropping it off alongside the garage at Quick Brakes. Around eleven I finally dropped into bed.

Our water pump was supposed to arrive at the shop by two o’clock the next day, Tuesday. The shop was supposed to be open until 2:00 on Wednesday before taking the long Thanksgiving holiday off. They had seemed nice enough on the phone that day, but I hadn’t met them, they hadn’t seen the bus, and I had no idea of their skill level. I also had no car, and absolutely no way to get to the bus. We were not very optimistic that we’d be on the road again any time soon.

The next morning I was on the phone with the owner of Quick Brakes who assured me they were on the case, and were working on removing the water pump pulley. Key word, pulley. I hadn’t really realized there was a difference between a water pump pulley and the water pump itself. So, while I thought they were working on getting all the belts off and this bear of a pump out, they were just removing the little pulley on the front of the pump, I guess.

At two we got our UPS alert saying the pump had been delivered. I called the shop and they said, “Ummmm, the part they sent is the whole pump assembly. We thought you said the pulley.” They assured me it wasn’t a problem, and they would get to work on pulling everything apart right now.

I called again around five, right as they should have been closing up for the day and she said, “Maybe tonight, or else in the morning tomorrow.”

Relief. We might only spend two nights in Burnet and be back on the road in time to catch up to our reservations on Thanksgiving Day.

The next day came and I called again, “They’re working on it.”

I called a couple hours later, “They’re working on it.”

We had to leave the hotel room. We ate a long lunch at Mama’s Diner. Then went back to the hotel to sit around the lobby. Hours went by.

I called at two, when they were supposed to be closing for the holiday. “He’s still working on it. He’s going to keep going until he gets it done, don’t worry.”

We worried, anyway. And we continued to sit around a table in the hotel lobby, like a family waiting patiently for the next morning’s breakfast buffet to open so we could be first in line.

Finally, at five, she called. The bus was done. She’d come pick us up.

Turns out she worked for her aunt and uncle. The aunt had been an executive at a tech firm for twenty-five years and after retiring the husband wanted to own an auto shop. So, here, in the middle of nowhere, they almost accidentally stay super busy. They had dropped everything to help us out while a ’57 Chevy and a couple of regular cars sat in stalls where they would be next Monday when everyone came back from their late-starting Thanksgiving holiday. I don’t normally name companies like Quick Brakes, but I figure they’ll be googling themselves some day and find this link. They really saved our butts. It would have been a long miserable week, sitting in a room at the Best Western eating cold pizza on Thanksgiving because everything else in walking distance was closed.

When we arrived at the shop the mechanic was sitting on the bus step while the engine idled. The idling sounded good, and for a brief moment I was excited by the thought that maybe he had somehow solved the rich running, non-idling engine issue while he was at it. He had mentioned he replaced a broken coil wire. But it was not to be. As soon as I put it in gear black smoke billowed and it died. We waved and limped out of the parking lot. It was almost dark, so we pulled into the first RV park just five miles down the road. I didn’t take my foot off the gas, just coasted right into our spot and let the engine die on its own. We were just getting settled in when a couple locals who were on their way through the property (a farm) told the kids they were on their way to feed the horses, and asked if they’d like to come along. So off they went.

And that concludes our Thanksgiving drama. Now, I admit, it wasn’t all that dramatic. A part broke, we ordered a replacement, a mechanic installed it, and we got back on the road. I suppose the reason it felt so dramatic to us was simply that we were truly stranded. I couldn’t even get to the bus, or the pork chops that had been forgotten in the freezer. We were completely at the mercy of others who, in all honesty, had no reason to go the extra mile for us, but did anyway. Heck, that first night, after checking into the hotel room, I even got a call back from a lady at a bed and breakfast that I had called earlier in the day asking for a room and a ride. She hadn’t had either at the time, but later on she did, and called to see if we were okay and ask if she could still come get us.

So anyway, it was just one of those experiences you have on the road, where for a moment the situation looks and feels bleak. Then, pieces somehow begin to fall into place—a bit of luck here, a friendly local there, and before you know it you are back on the road.

The next morning, Thanksgiving Day, we were on the road early. We had looming plans to be with Grammy (where I hope to finally spend time fixing the engine issues), a lot of miles to cover between central Texas and Arizona, and a series of campground reservations (which are increasingly necessary, even mandatory) to catch up to about 300 miles away that day.

We’re not big holiday people to begin with. Most Thanksgivings we aren’t even in the U.S. So when we pulled into a Denny’s on Thanksgiving it was just sort of a laugh for us. Funny enough, I was the only one who ordered the Turkey dinner for breakfast, and I was the only one who was really happy with their choice in the end.

An old man sat alone a couple tables over from us. Our waitress was kind, leaning down and practically yelling things directly into his ear so he could hear her questions. I noticed he ordered the turkey dinner, too. On the way out I ordered him a pumpkin pie and paid his tab, then gave the waitress a big tip for working on Thanksgiving. The hope being that we could somehow even up the karma score, just a little bit. We’d certainly had enough good karma used up on ourselves the past couple of days.