After two magical days with Craig and Ellie and three with the judgemental stick-gathering jackhole across the street, TJ and I left Joshua Tree feeling like even though parts of it were not great, we got the best experience out of it that we could. Leaving towards our next adventure felt good, it felt right, and as we drove through the Park past some of the familiar rock formations, we were happy.
We began the descent into the Coachella Valley and while the asphalt in the first part of the park was practically new and drove like a dream, once we were out of the scenic areas, the road appeared to have been partially re-claimed by the desert. It was shoulder-less, uneven, and full of potholes. But we forged ahead!
We finally emerged from the hellish latter half of the park highway and into the charming city of Indio, California where we spent at least an hour driving in circles attempting to find the 111 Highway south. Declaring temporary defeat, we sought refuge in the International House of Pancakes. Sweet, greasy, bacon-filled refuge…
We dropped the van off at Palmer Automotive and the tow truck driver drove us to the "blood-stain-on-the-comforter" motel and we spent a very cold, and very questionable night imagining someone breaking through the door and murdering us in our sleep. But hey, at $42 a night, you can't complain...right?
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| This, but worse. |
We finally emerged from the hellish latter half of the park highway and into the charming city of Indio, California where we spent at least an hour driving in circles attempting to find the 111 Highway south. Declaring temporary defeat, we sought refuge in the International House of Pancakes. Sweet, greasy, bacon-filled refuge…
After asking directions, consulting our map for the thirtieth time, and finally finding the obscure little highway, we left Indio to continue south.
For some reason, we had assumed that there would be a plethora of 24 hour gas stations on this tiny road. We made it half an hour, drove more circles around a useless community called North Shore, before we had to turn back to Indio.
For some reason, we had assumed that there would be a plethora of 24 hour gas stations on this tiny road. We made it half an hour, drove more circles around a useless community called North Shore, before we had to turn back to Indio.
About three miles outside of town…things went horribly, horribly awry.
We had passed another closed gas station when a few minutes later a cacophony of sound spewed from the van. She started to shudder violently, noises reminiscent of pots and pans being clanged together erupted from beneath us, and the squeal of scraping metal filled the cab making my heart jump into the vicinity of my tonsils and my body freeze in horror.
TJ maneuvered onto the side of the highway, and tried putting her baby into park, which just made the horrid noises worse, before shutting off the engine. We sat in silence, for about thirty seconds…and then TJ started laughing. But not like, funny-ha-ha laughing. Like, I'm-laughing-but-internally-I'm-screaming laughing. I remained frozen, mouth agape and with my hands spread wide in front of me like I was holding an invisible basketball.
Once semi under control, I opened my door and went to see if we'd hit something or if anything was hanging off the van.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! TJ! It’s huge! It’s freaking huge! There’s a thing, and it’s huge, and it’s on the ground under the van!”
TJ rounded the back of the van and saw the giant metal beast that was now no longer attached to our home.
"It's the size of a dinosaur!" More maniacal laughter ensued.
"It's the size of a dinosaur!" More maniacal laughter ensued.
After several minutes of unconventional freaking out, our options became clear to us:
- cross the road into the residential-looking neighbourhood, find a house with its lights on and ask to use their phone to call a tow
- walk down the creepy, odd smelling highway until we found an open gas station, or a payphone.
Considering that there are at least 20 horror movies that start with stranded girls walking along dark highways at night, we figured popping into the residential area was the safer bet.
About two blocks in, TJ and I came to a simultaneous realization that we had made the wrong choice. All the houses were dark, and then we heard the menacing bark of a giant-sounding dog from behind a ramshackle chain link fence, and then we noticed all the windows had bars on them.
And then we turned around and sped-walked the shit out of there.
About two blocks in, TJ and I came to a simultaneous realization that we had made the wrong choice. All the houses were dark, and then we heard the menacing bark of a giant-sounding dog from behind a ramshackle chain link fence, and then we noticed all the windows had bars on them.
And then we turned around and sped-walked the shit out of there.
We didn't get murdered on the dark highway as we walked towards the gas station, but our misfortune with pay phones struck hard yet again. Out of five pay phones…zero of them worked. If it wasn’t for two seemingly terrifying but actually super nice men hosing off the pump slab at the gas station, we would have been so screwed. TJ successfully called CAA and the two guys offered to give us a ride back to the van because we were in a “bad neighbourhood”…awesome. That explains the bars…
Forty five minutes later the van was slowly being pulled onto the tow truck as a steady stream of oil poured from her innards onto the truck bed.
We dropped the van off at Palmer Automotive and the tow truck driver drove us to the "blood-stain-on-the-comforter" motel and we spent a very cold, and very questionable night imagining someone breaking through the door and murdering us in our sleep. But hey, at $42 a night, you can't complain...right?
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| There were things on this duvet that I shudder to think about. |
The following day was...tense, to say the least. We imagined all of our meagre funds being drained to fix the most necessary item on our trip and waited for the mechanic to come back to us with a quote.
At the end of the day, we had the full story of what had happened. The back U-joint had rusted away over time and, exacerbated by the bumpy-ass drive through the latter half of Joshua Tree, gave way altogether. There are two U-joints, and both hold up either end of a very important piece of the vehicle: the drive shaft. Also known as the thing that connects the engine to the wheels. So all that noise we heard? Oh yeah, that was the drive shaft falling off of the van.
Had the front U-joint fallen off, the drive shaft would have dropped, hit the pavement, bounced back, and likely would have punctured the gas tank. Had there also been sparks, we might have blown up. Like, we actually might have BLOWN UP.
Fortunately, it was the rear U-joint, so when the drive shaft fell off, it just dragged on the ground and then fell off altogether when we parked. But the shaft was fine! We just needed new U-joints!
Altogether, for parts and labour, the whole thing cost us about $600 bucks. I chipped in a few hundred and we still had most of our savings to keep traveling.
In retrospect, this couldn’t have happened in a better place. We could have been half way down the Salton Sea with no towns in sight, a skinny highway bordering a dead sea and no where to pull off. We could have been murdered in ghetto town, or in the "what-is-that-brown-stuff-inside-the-bedside-drawer" motel. Things. Coulda. Been. Worse.
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| Just the drive shaft, holding it all together. |
Had the front U-joint fallen off, the drive shaft would have dropped, hit the pavement, bounced back, and likely would have punctured the gas tank. Had there also been sparks, we might have blown up. Like, we actually might have BLOWN UP.
Fortunately, it was the rear U-joint, so when the drive shaft fell off, it just dragged on the ground and then fell off altogether when we parked. But the shaft was fine! We just needed new U-joints!
Altogether, for parts and labour, the whole thing cost us about $600 bucks. I chipped in a few hundred and we still had most of our savings to keep traveling.
In retrospect, this couldn’t have happened in a better place. We could have been half way down the Salton Sea with no towns in sight, a skinny highway bordering a dead sea and no where to pull off. We could have been murdered in ghetto town, or in the "what-is-that-brown-stuff-inside-the-bedside-drawer" motel. Things. Coulda. Been. Worse.
Our awesome mechanic also let us spend the night in the van inside the shop yard. The magic of the Van Plan strikes again.
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