A Breakdown

I woke up on my last morning in Colorado and sipped my coffee next to the reservoir, listening to music, watching the Pronghorn walk down to the water, and letting the sun warm my skin.  I was soaking in my last few minutes in Colorado.  I knew I wouldn’t be getting on that river trip with my boyfriend.

I made my way back to my boyfriend’s work where everyone was loading up the gear for the trip.  With tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, I told him I wouldn’t be joining him.

I realized I had been tagging along on someone else’s story instead of living my own, the one I had worked SO hard to create.

I could feel myself unraveling and the fear of losing another relationship felt like it might hurt me forever.  But I also knew that losing touch with what made me Jenny was going to hurt worse than any heartbreak could. 

So, I left.

I drove away with tears streaming down my cheeks and a deep pain in my chest.  I knew I had done the right thing, but at the same time, I didn’t think it would hurt me so bad.  The feeling of relief I was hoping for wasn’t there, just an intense sadness.

I made it as far as Steamboat Springs and I pulled into a parking lot.  I had a text from him, and I was ready to turn the van around and get on that river trip.  But that wasn’t the text I got.  Instead, it was an “I’m sorry it ended this way.”  It was over, but I was having a hard time convincing my heart of that.

I pointed the van towards Salt Lake City.  It was time to go home.  My best friend would be arriving in just a few more days and I was ready to be back to somewhere familiar, with the people and places I’ve missed the last 8 months. 

I drove down beautiful roads and let my brain do its worst.  I replayed our last fights and conversations, but those were the easy things to hear.  Then I remembered all the memories from the beginning.  I could still feel the butterflies in my stomach as I drove to meet him in El Paso.  I could see the sunset in the desert as we talked about spending winters in Terlingua and summers in the van.  I remembered the way he wanted to tell the whole world about us, gushing about me on his podcast and posting photos of me on his Twitter, and the way he’d say the perfect thing at the perfect time to ease my worries.

Without any distractions, my brain had the time and space to remind me of all the reasons why I took a chance on him in the first place.  Instead of focusing on all that went wrong, my brain had picked out my favorite moments and put those on a loop, so that before long I had convinced myself that he’d be missing me too and after his river trip we’d meet up again.

I looked in the rearview mirror at Dakota and to my surprise, she wasn’t laying down on the bed like she normally does.  Instead, she was standing, hunched over, and at that very moment, she puked all over my bed. 

I pulled the van over on the side of the 2-lane highway, opened the door, and pushed her out into the grass where she immediately puked again.  We spent the next 10 minutes walking along the edge of the road while she frantically ate grass in an attempt to empty all the contents of her stomach.  Eventually, I was able to get her back into the van.  We drove down a long dirt road near Dinosaur National Monument, on the western border of Colorado, where we found a quiet campsite among the juniper trees.  I hung my hammock, made a campfire, and tried not to doubt my decision to skip the river trip.

Dakota puked a few more times at the campsite but was still eating and drinking fine, so I figured I’d monitor her, and I had the location of the nearest emergency vet just in case.

She seemed alright the next day and we enjoyed our normal morning routine before making the last stretch back to Salt Lake City.  I had plans to meet a friend for his birthday and was VERY excited to stop and take a shower as soon as I got back to the land of Planet Fitness.

I was just about an hour away from Salt Lake City when I thought I heard a noise coming from the van.  I turned the music down and sure enough, there was a rattling sound coming from the front.  Was that normal?  Had it just started?  Or did I have the music up too loud to hear it earlier? 

A car passed around me as I realized I was losing speed, so I pulled off the road to figure out what was happening.  I turned the van off and sat there for a minute, making a plan of what to do first.  I realized maybe I shouldn’t have turned it off since I needed to find where the noise was coming from, so I turned the key to start it again.  It wouldn’t turn over.  I tried again and again.  Nothing. 

I grabbed my phone to text the friend I was supposed to be meeting up with and another who went to diesel mechanic school and might be able to help me troubleshoot from afar.  I had no service.  Of course, I wouldn’t have service, that’s the only time you break down, right?  Luckily, I have an amazing signal booster on the van, so I switched it on and was able to get just enough service to squeeze out a text. 

My friends gave me a few things to try on the troubleshooting end and I opened up the hood of the van to look inside, quickly realizing I had no idea what I was looking for.  I wish I had better mechanic skills and quite honestly, I don’t even know the basics.  I’ve had good intentions of learning and have never gotten around to it. So, I stood there looking at an engine that I knew nothing about, realizing it was probably time to call for a tow.

I put in a request for roadside assistance through my insurance company and they had someone on their way, ready to take me to the nearest Dodge dealership.  Since this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve been broken down, I know that it’s not as simple as taking the van to the nearest dealership.  My van is a Dodge, but it has a diesel Mercedes engine, making it sort of a unicorn in the vehicle world. It’s also a high-top vehicle that clocks in at just under 10 feet tall, so it needs a garage that’s tall enough to pull into.  I’ve had my fair share of trouble finding someone to fix Forrest in the past, so I made a call to the dealership to make sure they could service my van if I got towed there.

“Yes, we service Sprinters, just as long as they aren’t high-top Sprinters.  If it’s a high top, you’ll have to take it to the dealership a few towns over,” they said.  I called the next dealership.

“Yes, we service Sprinters, just as long as they’re Dodge engines and not Mercedes.” 

I called my insurance company back and let them know that the dealerships in the area wouldn’t be able to fix me.  I didn’t have enough service to access the internet so I couldn’t do much of my own research.  With a tow truck on the way, the insurance agent started searching for other dealerships to find a place for me.  They found a Mercedes dealership about 40 miles away that they’d be dropping me off at instead. 

I asked them if Dakota would be able to ride in the tow truck and they said that dogs would have to ride in the towed vehicle.  I knew this would be traumatic for Dakota but there was nothing I could do about it.

During this time, a UDOT truck pulled over next to me and two guys got out to see if I was OK.  They looked under the hood and had a few ideas of what might be wrong, but it was nothing they were equipped to help with.  Seeing that I was a woman traveling solo, they asked if I was OK to wait for the tow alone or if I wanted them to stay with me.  At this point in my journey, I’m so unphased by the thought of being alone that I was sort of caught by surprise that they offered to do this.  I was worried about the van but never once thought about the fact that I was alone on the side of the road.  I thanked them but assured them they didn’t need to stay with me.

Soon the tow truck arrived.  The insurance company hadn’t kept him in the loop at all, so he thought he was towing me to the Dodge dealership still.  I told him the new plan about going to Mercedes and he laughed, “That Mercedes dealership isn’t there anymore.  They moved it to Draper (a town about 25 minutes from Salt Lake).”  I called the insurance company again and they approved the tow.  While my plan only covers a 25-mile tow, they agreed to cover the 65-mile ride because it was the closest service available (thank you, Geico). 

The tow truck driver was fantastic.  He gave Dakota a bunch of love and insisted that she ride in the tow truck.  He had me hold her while he got the van loaded on the back.  I tried not to be nervous watching him secure the van as I imagined my entire home sliding off the back of the truck on the way to the mechanic.

We loaded Dakota into the truck and started on the rest of my journey to Salt Lake.  I enjoyed chatting with the driver as I shared my stories of the road and gave my brain a break from replaying my relationship.  We drove down a steep mountain pass when suddenly the driver looked out his mirror said, “Oh no!”

Forrest has all sorts of quirks, which is part of the reason why he got the name Forrest.  One of those quirks is that the driver door doesn’t latch if you don’t slam the door shut with some force.  Since the tow truck driver had been in the van last, he was the one that closed the driver door. 

Now we were driving down this steep road with my driver door open and all of my belongings threatening to spill out onto the freeway.  He began the process of slowing down his truck that was now made much heavier by having my house on the back.  Not to mention we were going down a road that would be difficult to stop a large vehicle on. 

I guess that’s why he’s the professional and not me though, he got us slowed down and pulled over on the side of the mountain.  He ran to the back, closed up the van, and we were back on the road.

As we chatted, he had to keep cracking his window because a foul smell was coming from the backseat.  My poor puppy still wasn’t feeling great and she was passing quite a bit of gas.  I just hoped he didn’t think it was me!

An hour and a half later, we pulled off on a familiar exit, the same one I took every morning for work when I was still a classroom teacher.  He dropped me off in the back corner of the Mercedes Benz parking lot and drove off.  The dealership was already closed for the day, so I’d settle in for the night and get the van checked in the morning.

The sun was setting over the familiar mountain landscape that I hadn’t seen in 8 months.  Even though I was in a parking lot, with the diagnosis of my van still undetermined, I felt at peace.  I was home.

The next morning after work, I went into the Mercedes dealership.  I told the man at the counter that I had been towed in last night.  He asked what vehicle I had, and I told him it was a Sprinter van.  He laughed.  “We have a whole line of Sprinters waiting to be serviced.  Some have been here for almost two weeks.  It’s going to be a while.”

Definitely not ideal.  I hadn’t really started to worry about the van yet at this point.  Everyone I had talked to had given me a few ideas about what could be wrong, and all were pretty minor issues.  I knew we’d be back up and traveling in no time.

He took my information and told me it could be a few hours before someone could diagnose the problem.  My dreams of a shower were seeming further out of reach.  He asked for my keys, but I told him I’d like to hold onto them because my van was also my home, so I’d be hanging out in the van until they could look at it.

This surprised him.  I told him how I had been towed in over 60 miles and I had spent the night in the parking lot.  He was amused.  “I hope the tow truck driver didn’t smell too bad!  That’s a long time to be in a tow truck!” he joked. 

“Oh no, he was the best-smelling one out of the three of us.  I haven’t showered in over a week and it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting to a shower soon now.” I replied.  I hoped that maybe being funny would help me get the van looked at sooner.  Or he’d take pity on me and want to hurry the smelly girl along as quickly as possible.

He didn’t think my joke was as funny as I did.  The fancy lady behind me reassured me that I looked great despite not having a shower for so long.  I grabbed a free coffee and snacks from the waiting area and went back to the van.

I figured I’d try a new approach.  Being funny and charming wasn’t the right angle.  Now it was time to go full vanlife hippy on them.  I opened the van door, tied Dakota to the bumper, got out a camp chair, and started cooking breakfast in the sunshine like I normally would, except this time I was in a dealership parking lot.

I watched as the employees who drove past nearly crashed their fancy cars looking at the spectacle I had made in the back corner of the service lot.  I could only imagine what they were saying inside.  “I think someone’s camping in our parking lot,” or “We need to do something about the homeless problem,” or hopefully, “Let’s get that van looked at right away so we can get that crazy lady out of here.”

Sure enough, within 30 minutes someone came out to grab the van.

They magically got it started again and were able to drive it into the garage, but the clanking noise was still bad, and Forrest was sending black smoke out from his exhaust.

Dakota and I made our way inside the dealership like we had done at so many dealerships and mechanics across the US in the past 8 months.  In times like this, I’m always so thankful to have an easy dog. 

I loaded up on more free snacks, coffee, and wifi, and settled into the waiting area.  As I looked around, I was suddenly aware of the fact that I did not fit in here.  I have been so used to either being alone or being surrounded by other stinky dirtbags that I usually don’t think about what I look like.  Now I was surrounded by Salt Lake County’s swankiest inhabitants.  I was the only woman without fake eyelashes and there was a man with a Louis Vuitton backpack that I’m sure was worth more than my van.  Meanwhile, I smelled like campfire and was wearing a dirty flannel and sweats.  The feeling of being self-conscious was one I hadn’t felt in a LONG time.

Eventually, the man at the service desk called my name.  As I approached his desk, he shook his head.  “It’s not good,” he said.  Again, for some reason, I hadn’t been too worried up to this point.  I just knew deep down that it would be a quick, easy fix and we’d be back up and running soon.  But the look on his face made my stomach drop.

“Your engine spun a bearing.  You’re going to need a new engine.” 

If I remember correctly, I think the room started to spin at this point.  A new engine?  I didn’t have any idea of what that entailed.  I don’t think I’ve known anyone to replace their engine before.  Typically, when someone needs a new engine, I think they just get a new car, right?  Well when your car is also your custom-built house, it’s kind of hard to just “get a new one.”

Then I had to ask the question I was dreading, “How much does that cost?”  I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but the response still made it hard to breathe: over $8,000 by the time it’s all said and done.

I told him I needed to think about it, and I went and sat back in the waiting area. 

I know this may shock you, especially because I used to be a public-school teacher (haha), but I don’t just have that kind of money hanging around for a rainy day.  I started vanlife with a nice cushion in case something big like this happened, but unfortunately, it seems like something big like this has happened every few months since we hit the road.  Between Forrest and Dakota, my “cushion” was nothing more than a rag at this point.

I was trying not to panic.  I began searching the internet for plans A-Z.  And somehow, I figured it out.

I made a million phone calls and consulted with Sprinter friends and other mechanics.  Everything pointed at needing a new engine, and surprisingly the Mercedes dealership was going to be my cheapest option.

I walked back up to the service counter and did my best to not let my voice crack.  I hadn’t cried yet, but I knew it would be just a matter of time before the floodgates opened wide.  I told him to go ahead with the engine.

He immediately put in the order and told me it would be 7-10 days for the engine to arrive, then another 2 days at least for them to complete the repair. 

That seemed like forever, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it. 

“Do you mind if I live in the parking lot in my van until it gets here?” I had to ask.  I know I have a million friends that would have let me live with them during that time, but there’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed.  Plus, I work crazy hours and have my “classroom” setup perfected in the van.  Moving to a house is always a little tricky and inconvenient for everyone when I have to bring my work with me.

The guy at the service counter laughed but told me it would be fine for me to stay.

“Ok, one more favor.  Can you shuttle me to the gym so I can shower?”

“Absolutely,” he said.