The news arrived that the motorhome needs a new fuel injector pump (the most complicated part on a diesel engine----this is also a spendy item and it will take a while to arrive in LowGap, North Carolina. Determined to keep up our spirits, I suggested we be adventurous and head for the coast----rent a house on the beach! Amazingly, Peter agreed and we set off across North Carolina heading for the Outer Banks where I had found a house for a reasonable price right on the beach----and they were willing to take the pugs! Our luck was changing!
As we drove across the bridge to Hatteras Island our excitement started to build. We had to go all the way up to the top of the island to get to the house. As I looked at the map, I realized this might be a little remote. It was getting late in the day (7:00 p.m.) and I hoped we could find the house in the dark. Suddenly, the road ended and we were directed to drive onto the beach. You know, like Long Beach, Washington. There was a warning that I barely glanced at that ONLY 4-WHEEL DRIVE VEHICLES SHOULD VENTURE BEYOND THIS POINT. But keeping with our family credo that warnings are for “weenies” and don’t apply to us, Peter hurled through the sand. We arrived on the hard-packed sand safely, confirming our belief that sand and snow are pretty much the same. Peter kept up the speed as we shot down the beach, veering off the hardpack when the water swept in. It was pretty rough and bumpy; at one point I glanced back to see the pugs bouncing around like ping-pong balls. They didn’t look happy. Finally, Peter took a terrible turn, the car died and we found ourselves mired in the sand. “What now?” I asked. “I guess we get out and dig.” Peter replied. Upon opening the door, the pugs shot out. Jaxon was shaking like a leaf. I dutifully began digging sand out from beneath the tires only to find we were high-centered on a mini dune. At that point some teenagers cruised by in their truck with giant tires. They slowed down and I heard one of them say to his girlfriend, “Look at that old lady digging her car out of the sand.” I looked around for the old lady in question. . . . . . oh!
The next car past was a couple of nice guys who pulled us out of the sand. Peter announced he was done with the house on the beach and, after the nice men had let a lot of air out of our tires we headed back down the beach toward civilization-----much to the pugs dismay as it was still very bumpy. As we approached the exit from the beach and entre onto the paved road, Peter gritted out, “Hold on!” Once again, we became mired in the sand. This time, there was a tow truck----the driver of which is supporting his family in a beach-front home with caviar three times a week. He took more air out of our tires and pulled us up to the pavement---only $200. “It’s too bad you’re not going to get to see the wild Spanish ponies.” I understood him because he was from Tacoma. I looked pleadingly at Peter. “Screw the ponies! Get in the car.” We were off. Headed for the Travel Lodge---they take pets! We will have a new plan by tomorrow!
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