Tucumcari Gets Her Stripes

For those of you who don't know, this is Tucumcari, my beloved vintage truck. Several (read 7) weeks ago while Smokey the Bear was down hunting goats I took her to a guy the lady at Schuck's recommended to have him install some brake parts I purchased. The thought process was that he would be done before Smokey returned and there would be no interuption in transportation needs. Ahem. I have rarely been so wrong in my life. Normally I do a lot of the necessary work on Tucum myself, but I don't have many tools here and no shelter from the cold and snowy weather.

I checked in with the guy every day or so at first. They sold me the wrong parts. They needed to order the parts. They ordered the wrong parts. The battery died. There was a puddle of fluid under the truck. The brakes are done. The puddle is clutch fluid from the slave cylinder. There's a new battery now. I'm trying to find a part. I know a guy who's suppossed to get back to me today about a part. I can't find a part so I'm rebuilding the slave cylinder. As you can imagine, this became a weekly check in after Smokey returned.

And then I dissapeared for 9 days for WFR. 'I wondered what happened to you' he said, 'I've just got one little thing left I'm working on with the slave cylinder'. Followed up by 'my wife is really after me to get a job'. To which I reply 'that's okay, I'm riding my bike and it's been above 20 this week'. I hang up thinking to myself 'didn't he tell me he was going back to work at Schuck's? Hmph, I guess he changed his mind. Or maybe they were fully staffed and he had to abandon that idea.'

You know that little voice? I wish I had a dollar for every time it was right. Because then I could retire in luxury. When is an autoparts store fully staffed? Never.

And then I went south for Thanksgiving. Upon my return I called said guy, and was met with 'I've been trying to call you'. To which I reply, 'Oh, my phone got unplugged while I was gone (by the dogs) and I know it just rings and doesn't go to voicemail when that happens. But I'm back now. How's the truck doing?' Quiet pause. 'What do you mean, didn't you come and get it?' Quiet panic sets in. 'Uh, no.' Is met with 'Oh f#$@!!! Oh no, I'll call you right back.' I sit and stare at my computer screen. This. Is. Not. Happening. Receptionist notifies me I have a call on line 4. 'Okay, I found your truck. It's at Alyeska towing, but they won't tell me anything because I'm not the registered owner. Here's their number, call them and then call me right back.'

The tow company needs the liscense plate because it's how they file their invoices. Who amoung you has your plate memorized? Luckily I found I had the above picture saved to my work computer from before my camera was stolen and I could call her back and tell her the plate number. Wait, wait, waiting. Call tow company again. Looking for the invoice. Find address on web and leave work early. Still can't find invoice, but now I know why. To say their filing system is 'special' is putting it mildly. I eat several pieces of holiday candy from basket and wait. Dispatcher talks to the driver who did the tow. From Schuck's. About two weeks ago. Their records say an employee was fired when he was arrested and they need his truck towed. This. Is. Not. Happening. Their yard is closed and you can't see through the fence, so I can't confirm it's my truck. And they can't find the invoice. One owner arrives and hears my story. They agreee to give me my truck for the price of the tow, in cash. I ask what time they open the next day and agree to arrive with second driver, tow strap, and cash.

I calmly inform Smokey I will be along shortly to pick him up from work; as soon as I'm done at the tow yard. No, I didn't get your truck towed. Tucumcari is in jail.