The transmission in my truck started going out months ago. The blower stopped working last fall so I had gone months without heat or defrosters. My muffler and tail pipe had been laying side by side in the bed since shortly after I lost heat. When could no longer shift into third gear I decided to do something about it. When my tax return came through I had enough to get my truck out of hock with the mechanic a few blocks from my house but he told me I needed to get to a muffler shop and have a new catalytic converter installed. And to have my muffler and tail pipe reattached while I’m at it. The mechanic drove 50 highway miles in the truck before I picked it up so I figured I had a couple of days to play with before taking it in to get serviced. Turns out I had exactly a couple of days.
I was doing 75 on 74 eastbound with my windows down rockin’ “Load”-era Metallica when I started slowing down. I was on my way to do some advance work on a story about the new Indiana Live! casino at Indiana Downs near Shelbyville. I pulled off to the side of the road and gunned the engine, watching the speedometer flutter around 20 MPH. I parked it, called AAA and waited. And waited. Long enough to arrange to have the truck towed to a Midas muffler shop. Long enough to call my wife and tell her what happened and have several conversations with various people at the Star about work-related things. Long enough for a Mustang with a flat tire to come up behind me on the shoulder, swerve into traffic to pass me and continue limping along towards its destination. Long enough for a state trooper to stop and ask if I’m ok and then tell me he just got back from Iraq and he was happy to be able to get his newspaper again.
An hour after I called AAA a tow truck showed up and I sat in his cab listening to him bitch about how much his back hurt and what a dick his boss was for leaving early that day. He word a camouflage trucker hat with the Ford logo on the front and his TomTom GPS device talked in a voice that sounded like Uncle Jesse from the Dukes of Hazzard. He dropped me off at the muffler shop, where the manager stayed open an hour late to fix my truck. Maybe it was because he needed the cash, maybe it’s because he grew up in Irvington and I shot the shit with him for a minute. An hour and $300 later I was on the road to Indiana Live! where entertainment GM Travis Bell gave me the dime tour.
Nothing profound happened between my breakdown and getting home, but after I accepted that my schedule/agenda was f’ed and just went with it was all right. I had some funny interactions and experiences. Read the paper. In a weird way being stuck in Shelbyville for a few hours was relaxing. Now the tricky part is how do I slow myself down when I don’t have to?
