There are few things quite so unsettling as to be driving along in the middle of nowhere and realize something is wrong with your vehicle. Why is it that vehicles break down on lonely stretches of highway, far from towns and civilization, never a single bar of cell service, and on Saturday night? If ever there was a reason not to travel on a weekend, that would be enough.
I decided to spend the first night of my trip in Chiricahua National Monument. It’s a nice, easy days drive to the park and the campground there is clean, quiet, uncrowded, and cheap. I also love the hiking trails that wind through the rock formations and along cliffs that once belonged to Cochise and his band of Apaches I was looking forward to a couple of days of fun filled hiking and camping.
But first I had to get there. On the map it looked like the shortest way was along a dirt road from Bowie, over Apache Pass, and then on to meet up with the highway out of Wilcox. I had driven the road before and knew what to expect, but it’s always a shock to actually transition from asphalt to dirt.
A fine dust filled my van from the cloud kicked up by my tires. The leaky weather stripping and loose doors gave up the fight to keep it out and I finally opened the windows in an attempt to set up a crosswind evacuation battle, only to lose at that too. I tried driving slower but the washboard, rutted road set up a terrible vibration at anything less than dust cloud speed.
As I neared Fort Bowie, I couldn’t resist the temptation to stop and walk back to the ruins one more time. I parked and made the 1 1/2 mile walk to the ruins in record time. I was interested to see if they had the crossed Cavalry swords on display that Richard found many years ago and returned for everyone to enjoy. They did have the uniform decoration but there was no way to tell if it was the one he found. The Ranger on duty told me some of the artifacts are stored in Tucson. She said a lot of people now are returning items they or some relative found years ago. She remarked that it is a wonderful gesture.
I returned to my van and drove the remaining dirt road to the highway between Wilcox and Chiricahua. When I pushed on the brake pedal at the stop sign, my foot went clear to the floor. I knew instantly that the constant vibration on my old rusty Ford had destroyed a brake line, weakened by years of salt-saturated New York winters.
Vehicles now have a dual system for brakes. If a line has a catastrophic leak, you still have some braking on the other cylinders. So at least I had a little bit of peddle. I pulled of the road and crawled under the van for a quick inspection – undoubtedly suspicious to the Border Patrol officer parked down the road – to asses the damage. The break in the line was in the worst place – behind the gas tank. Brake fluid ran down the frame and dripped onto the ground as I climbed in and headed for Wilcox.
I thought I was destined to stay in Wilcox until Monday, but as I enquired at a auto parts store for repair service, I was directed to a couple of shops the clerk thought could help me. The first one said he was leaving and two more were closed already, but I finally found a repair shop just off of I10 that was open all day Sunday and even offered me a place to park and sleep out front.
The next morning I hung around the shop and talked with the mechanics, walked to McDonalds for breakfast, and passed the time, as they fit me in sporadicly between other repair jobs. They ended up dropping the fuel tank to access the line, and then the straps holding the fuel tank broke when they were removed, requiring an improvised welded fix. I know that Eastern vehicles are hard to work on after the rust has attacked them for years. I’ve twisted off several bolts in my time.
All said, it took until noon and $350 for a $20 line, but at least I’m going again. Tonight I’m at Chiricahua and will probably stay for a couple of days. I want to make sure the fix holds and I don’t have any other related problems before I head out.
Bummer! There’s not much worse than having to spend money on a car repair that doesn’t even show it’s shiny self. But I’m glad you weren’t going 60 MPH on the freeway when you noticed your brakes weren’t working properly. So, we can look at the bright side and take comfort from that.
Enjoy Chiricahua!
Ouch! Maybe you ought to buy a used “Western” van here in AZ before heading back to salt country. I’m glad you’re OK everywhere except your wallet.