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While Mark's weekly or often bi- and tri-weekly trips out of the canyon seem to go reasonably well, our joint trips have had some miserable results. As one neighbor said, "Sheesh ... it's like someone is trying to tell you to stay home." It has made both of us wonder at times.
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After we had addressed our priority survival needs, Mark took over the trips into town for supplies by himself and did a yeoman's job of it. In the interim, we had bought a second hand truck despite my long-standing disdain of any vehicle which we did not know the full provenance of. Yes, I regret not voicing those concerns at the time but Mark was quite taken with the beast and we were, after all, helping a kid make a new life by freeing him from a bank payment. I had a grinding sense of discomfort about the arrangement which I chose to override. Sometimes you only learn from experience and, in this case, it was to express a concern before the real rain falls upon everyone's parade. The beast shone less well in the light of day and, even if it had been what we expected, was simply not the right vehicle for our rather unique situation. It was a fairly handsome but generously dinged diesel one ton dualie already well over the 100,000 mark on the odometer. I should have said something but did not.
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At a neighbor's suggestion that we should take some R&R to ward off cabin fever, we decided to do some minor local stops and head up to Colorado for the remainder of the day ... this would be our big play time outing. The drive out of the canyon to pavement with the heavy duty suspension and dualies had every bump and rut reminding me of how much my back hurt on a good day. I was in severe physical agony by the time we reached pavement, Mark a little behind me in discomfort. But this was our big, exciting 'away time' together and we were both looking forward to it.
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We had barely been on pavement and considering the first local errands when the clouds began to spit out a little snow, the first of the season in fact. But it was light and non-threatening, hardly a reason to high tail it back to the canyon. What caught my attention in a far more disturbing way was a sound coming from the right front end of the truck. It ate at me for the next couple of traffic lights before I said something. Mark confirmed that he had heard the noise as well. It was a mild but uncomfortable and vague steel-on-steel noise. Given the rare occasion of us both being out of the canyon, we decided to proceed directly up to Colorado but pay attention to the noise.
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We eventually dropped down into Durango but, by now, we were both listening for the noise with a little more intensity as the roads presented hairpins at alarming inclines and descents. So far, so good - no further disturbing degradation in the mechanical noise - at least that we were willing to acknowledge. We were able to make several of the long anticipated stops but retreated to a motel before dark set in. It was marvelous to take a hot shower, dine on a Pepperoni Lover's pizza and watch a TV.
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In the morning, Mark went out to pick up more list items. When he returned, he announced "Remember that rasp/squeal from yesterday? Well, it's more of a crunch/grind this morning." The dampening bucket of water then fell on us both and we abandoned the remainder of our big outing stops in search of a repair shop. We spent the next several hours in a shop, only to learn that they didn't have the necessary parts on hand. Their branch back where we had come from would. In the meantime, the first snow storm of the season had moved in on Durango. The shop said that we could make it back but advised caution and judicious use of the brakes in the mountains. With the snow now coming down in blinding sheets, we retraced our route back, climbing up the snow-slick hairpins and fully remembering the precipitous drops just beyond their guard rails. Our first idyllic respite had turned into a teeth clenching anxiety fest.
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But we made it back to New Mexico and spent the remainder of the day waiting as the brakes were repaired - a sickeningly pricey combination of pads and entire rotor replacements. I had no complaints with their scope of work - the sound had certainly confirmed the worst of mechanical possibilities. And we were grateful that we were able to bumpty-bump our way back home before the snow could cut us off.
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On the return leg of his next supply run, Mark experienced nearly complete brake failure. The canyon roads are hardly flat-plane coaster roads and his trip was laced with deadly challenges. After some grousing and kneeling in the mud, I noticed that the bleeders on the rear calipers had not been touched in years and I was hopeful that the problem was a matter of trapped air in the system.
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Now here is a heartening tale of some human goodness still at large. When we told the shop manager of our circumstances and the danger of driving the brake-free truck any further, he took it upon himself to navigate the tricky roads out here after hours to attend to the problem. He checked and confirmed that his mechanics had not bled out the rear of the system but, after correcting that oversight, the system still did not come back up to pressure. We could tell that he dreaded telling us that the problem now likely rested in a failed master cylinder and I found no reason to question his conclusion. Our gas field friend,Virgil, drove back out on his weekend off, loaded the truck onto his personal trailer and brought it into town for us without hesitation. The shop manager gave us the part at nearly his cost and did what he could to make the bill more bearable. He was a very decent soul in every way and hopefully we can repay that rare kindness down the road. There are still good folks out there so take heart.
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That was Part 1 of the R&R Hades Chronicles (or "Why I seldom leave the canyon any more").
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Humor of the day (from the Tomato Man)
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I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman "Where's the self-help section?" She said that if she told me, it would defeat the whole purpose.
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