It looks as though we may be staying here in Fancy Gap for longer than we had planned. Just as we headed up the last hill in North Carolina, the motorhome suddenly quit. On the freeway. Going uphill. Fortunately we had enough momentum to make it over to the emergency parking strip. As giant trucks and screaming cars whizzed by Peter began troubleshooting. Fearing an oncoming truck was set to collide with the motorhome I took the pugs and withdrew to the trees-----behind the motorhome and out of danger. Eventually, Peter came out and suggested that I take the car and go wait for him on the next exit. He was planning to call a tow truck using his "Good Sam" sources. The pugs and I headed for the Hampton Inn to await his call. After nearly an hour, during which the pugs and I enjoyed a Dairy Queen vanilla cone, the phone rang. Peter had located a tow company and he was ready for me to come back. I arrived before the tow truck and emptied the motorhome of
all I could----everything I might need. Throwing things out the door minimized my time in our potential death trap. Just as I had thrown the last of my items into the car, the tow truck showed up. (See picture below).
This is what it takes to pull a motorhome. The man, who was only slightly taller than me yet weighed at least twice as much as I do, jumped down from the driver's seat. All fear of being killed in a rear-end collision faded as I marveled at this man (who spoke to me occasionally---but I couldn't understand him). "Nimble" is the word I would use to describe him as he wriggled under the motorhome to hook up chains for towing and disconnected the drive train to save the automatic transmission. He was impervious to the scream of the trucks and cars as they whizzed by just inches from his feet. He finally emerged grease-encrusted and sweating and announced a jumble of words which Peter told me meant we were to follow him to the garage, located in Low Gap, North Carolina. I was starting to see a pattern in the naming of the towns.
We are now spending our days hiking the area as a team of mechanics (one of whom looks younger than my grandsons!) work on the motorhome. Actually, I've yet to see them work. When we visit there are scatterings of tools underneath the motorhome and inside around the engine compartment, but sightings of people working appear to be rare. This is causing Peter to make daily visits. Oh! and I have this weird rash on my left shoulder. After much urging by my loved ones I went to the walk-in clinic-----in Hicksville---no! Peter says it's Hillsville! The doctor (who's nameplate did not say Dr.) diagnosed me with shingles! Also my stretch on the side of the freeway in the grass---which was blooming and going to seed has caused an allergic reaction causing my eyes to swell almost shut. No pictures of me for a while! Tomorrow it's off to Mt. Airy---the home of Andy Griffith---and the town on which Mayberry was based!
No comments:
Post a Comment