CALAMITY LITE

If you have reached WWiner age, you know all about calamity. As it is said, man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly up. Women too,

you’d think. I have a calamity to tell you about, but it ain’t all that bad. Hence calamity lite.

Like this: on Tuesday we departed Calgary, bound for Moose Jaw (which, incidentally, is the only Canadian city named after a Canadian prime minister. See if you can guess). Two things about that morning stand out: first, smoke. The word “apocalyptic” got used a lot, because that’s what it looked like. Second, wind, very intense also, blowing straight south on an eastbound motorhome. It was bad enough that we pulled over at one point, but I don’t sit still so well so we didn’t sit long.

And then, fifty k east of Strathmore, kaboom flop flop flop, coming from the rear of the bus. I’ve heard that before, I thought, that’s a blown tire. Turns out I was partly right; it was a blown tire and a blown air bag. A two for one calamity.

So, to make a long story short, we waited about 10 hours for a wrecker, got towed to Strathmore where we’d managed to find a shop that would take it on, and got a room. The verdict was delivered fairly soon the next morning: whoever installed those airbags used the wrong ones mounted on the wrong brackets. There was only an inch between the airbag mount and the tire rim, so the air bag and tire rubbed on each other until both were destroyed. That happened on the right side. The left (driver’ side) was not far behind.

Ya. A calamity. And also some comic irony, because, in an uncharacteristic effort to be responsible, I’d bought brand new tires and airbags. Could probably have gotten by with the old ones, but hey, don’t want to be broke down somewhere with a mad wife because I didn’t take care of business. See where that gets you.

After some back and forth phone calls, it turned out that it’s going to take at least a week to get parts, but the folks who installed the airbags are going to cover everything because it’s their fault. So, at least for now, the whole episode hasn’t cost us a dime. We’ll see how that goes. But still, what are we gonna do now? Surely not a week in Strathmore Alberta?

Surely not. Instead, we unhooked our little dingy, got our bikes and clothes, and headed to the Westlock area where Mrs. is from. And here we sit by a lake, in an excellent little cabin with excellent family hosts, waiting for the motorhome to be fixed. A very good plan B. Calamity lite.

And now, a word about shitty little cars. We bought one with the motorhome because it was rigged up to tow behind that motorhome. Also because it was cheap and only had 135 k on it. Cheap and reliable and ready to go—nothing wrong with that, is there?

Well, I guess not. The only thing is, RV parks are full of nice vehicles, not little old ones like Chev Cavaliers with bikes hanging off the back and two frost tops inside. It seems that old Chev Cavaliers are mostly seen with teenage kids inside and skateboard stickers plastered on them. Should that affect me?

Probably not, but in all truth, I confess to a twinge of embarrassment every now and then when riding in the good old Chevy. Good and old for sure, but geez, couldn’t you at least get a Jeep or something? Everybody else does.

Ya. Peer pressure. Status. Conformity. I hope none of you are affected by those things. I’m doing my best to get over it.

Cheers to the winers. Tip one back for J and G, enduring calamity lite by the lake. Maybe some wine later.

We took a video of the moho departing “on the hook”. I’ll see if I can get that on here, but I’m not promising anything.