Under the Holy Bone

Gott was not mit uns. I have a thing or two to say about that and He has some serious explaining to do... plus pay-back. But that is for elsewhere. What matters is that we are now back under the protection of the Holy Bone.

Rushing in through the back gate, Fips heads to the kitchen door while Rosco heads off to a corner and poops. With barely a slurp or a splash of water, we all flop onto the bed exhausted. I close my eyes as my body slowly purges itself of 16 hours worth of driving vibration. I doze off for a few minutes and when I open my eyes I see Fips standing at my feet, panting contentedly as his fuzzy face stares off into somewhere. Without a doubt, without a shadow of a doubt he is smiling.

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To Hell and Home

By close of the work day, Jeff got the engine to act up during a test drive. Whereas he started out thinking it was a fuel problem, he now felt the problem is electrical. He thinks my new spark plug wires are defective and wants to install a premium grade set. My wallet sensor causes me to suck air, but I give him the OK. He thinks he should have everything done by 11.00 a.m. on Friday.

Apart from yet another parking lot poke about, I am too tired to do much of anything and the pack of us turn in early. Come morning there isn't much to do except lie in bed and wait. Jeff calls at eleven with disappointing news. He's changed the wires but the problem still isn't fixed. He's very apologetic.

Bellingham is hosting a soccer meet and I have to be out of the hotel at noon. Jeff's shop-mate, John, picks us up in my truck which he tests drives, again, on the way back to the shop. He explains that he and Jeff have a "difference of opinion" as to the possible cause.



John pulls the truck into the work-bay and goes off to consult with Jeff, as Fips gives me a sad and pleading look. I wish I knew how to apologize. I walk the doggies around the block, but they are not into it and Rosco still hasn't pooped. Jeff and John decide to run further tests, at no further charge to me. As the day wears on, they decide to pressure clean the fuel injectors. Nothing works, and by the now the doggies have given up, finally overcome with terminal boredom.


Now too, there is nothing left to do but to turn tail and rush for home as best we can.... if we can. I make my calculations and realize we will have to drive straight through all night. That will avoid the Seattle and Portland rush hours and put us at the California border at 8.a.m. or so giving us four to five hours of more driving before the temperatures hit 104 degrees. And that is what we do, after kill-time chow in a supermarket parking lot before Seattle and a two hour pre-marathon snooze in a rest-stop after.

At least Washington's rest stops have lots of tall pine trees which muffle the highway sounds and provide a camp-site ambiance. I make room for myself amid the bags and rags in the back. But as I close my eyes, I hear the scratching, rustling noises of Fips and Rosco trying to claw and crawl through the window into camper shell with me. Sigh. I should have known.

I heave the doggies inside and as they immediately make themselves comfy, I find some contorted left over space for myself. Somehow, I manage two hours of actual sleep. I would just as soon sleep until dawn, but I know that cannot be. At midnight, I get up, carry the dogs back to the front cab and set off. "God help us," I think, even though it would be an understatement to say that I was "less the sanguine" on that score.

Fips understands that something is wrong. The "wrongness" in engine speed bumping has gone on long enough that he has given up on co-piloting. But that doesn't mean Fips thinks all is well. All is not the same ergo it is not well. Ass the night and the road wear on, he alternates between needful thigh-hugging and time-killing, conscious-killing sleep.

Rosco too is stressed out, only in his case this is manifested in what is by now an obvious case of constipation. At least he doesn't seem to be in pain and finds blessed oblivion in The Snooze.

0O0

My calculations prove to be pretty much on the mark, given some extra pausing at gas-ups to let the engine cool off a bit more. A little after sunrise we begin the climb and long descent over the Siskiyou Pass. By nine we are outside Redding. Since about four in the morning I have been going through gas as if it were water, and come dawn I have the added pleasure of seeing how much black smoke I am blowing out my tailpipe. The nauseating smell of gasoline is everywhere, even with the windows open. The muffler as well as the engine is choking on fuel and begins making a constant baffling noise. By ten, the temperature outside has reached 94 degrees and the "wrongness" has become a seamless anxiety.

My main concern, of course, is the fuzzies. I don't care if I get stopped for blowing gas or if the engine stops from choking on gas, but any stop means more languishing in the heat for two doggies who are both in pre-heat stroke status. Rosco, who manages heat better than Fips, has crawled into the camper shell and gone into ultra low-maintenance mode. Fips, on the other hand, is constantly changing position looking for the better breeze. He lets me air spray him with water because he has long since figured out that it is this that cools. But after a while, even this annoys him and he crawls up and stretches out on the Doggie Lounger. From time to time I reach back and feel his chest to make sure he is still breathing.

By 12.30 or so, we are at the I-5 turn off, with 40 hill miles to go. Sixty miles has cost us near half a tank of gas and so I fill up again. The last thing I need is to putter out of gas in the middle of really nowhere where even the phones don't roam. Fortunately there is the remains of an offshore breeze. Keeping an eye on the dogs, I let the engine cool before resuming our last sputtering stretch.

It is now close to 100 degrees. My eyes are burning and my throat is parched. What must it be like for the dogs, both of whom are very quiet and flat-lining as much as they can. I am concerned for Rosco whom I can't see but I don't want to risk a stop and hope that if he really gets bad he will sit up, pant or call attention to himself. Fips I can spray and monitor for life by reaching back.

The engine is blowing smoke almost constantly with a very small window for maintaining a more or less even idle. But mile by miserable mile we are getting closer to the end. And then, at the last rise, bend and descent before town, Fips suddenly sits up, mouth open and eyes alert head peering over the head rest and looking down the road.

Damn that doggie Auto Sensor is good! I am blown away. In spite of this exhausting 16 hour near death experience, over a thousand climbs and turns, Fips's sensor told him exactly when we were pulling into town. They say that dogs look upon us as gods. I donno. Today it is I who look upon Fips and his beautiful fuzzy wuzzy face with adoring admiration.

Yes, Fips, we made it. We're "homenow"

A few moments later Rosco's face pops up in the rear cab window. The dogs are expectant and being expectant, happy. Three more turns and I cut the engine. I rush to open the doors and the doggies scamper inside.

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Fips Struts His Stuff in Canada

It was my thought and plan to depart Bellingham and cross into Canada early in the morning, rested, showered and shaved. I could get my business done by noon and then explore Vancouver at leisure and either stay the night there or return to Bellingham, whichever worked out best.

But the truck's continued malfunctioning made that plan too problematic. The last thing I wanted was a break-down in a traffic line at the border. So, with a sigh, I took the truck to the local Ford dealership. Their courtesy shuttle then drove us back to the Motel where we all sat on the bed and waited.

At 11.30, the dealership called back. They couldn't find anything wrong with the truck. I spoke to the mechanic, Daryl, who said that he suspected I had a defective air pressure sensor, but without being able to confirm that he was reluctant to have me pay for a $200.00 replacement. We walked over to the truck and talked a bit more. Daryl showed me where the sensor was. "It's really easy to replace. You just unplug it from this wire here. If you don't have tools you can just drape the new one over this thing here..."

Wink Wink

"You can also try tapping it... Sometimes the switch inside gets stuck...."

As far as I could see, he was going out of his way to save me $300.00. I thanked him sincerely, checked out of the motel and headed up for Blaine. Needless to say, with or without tapping, the truck was still not working right. So once we got to Blaine, instead of going north, I drove East to Linden where I picked up a third party air pressure sensor for $37.89

Unlike the southern border which is a third world slum on both sides of the line, the road from Blaine to Linden is everyone's dream of what America was or ought to be. It is a place of green fields and small farms and simple, well kept, well framed houses, hugged by flower bushes, set back on green lawns bordering tree shaded streets or country roads. I thought back many years to what Stockbridge was like before it was invaded by trendy and acquisitive yuppies. The amazing thing was how quiet it all was. This was a border on a major route between two moderately large cities and it was nothing short of serene.

Needless to say, the new sensor didn't make a bean's worth of difference. Back at Blaine, I parked at a four way stop at the crest of a hill, overlooking the ocean straight ahead and "the line" to the right. I paused. I pondered. I plunged.

Fortunately, the line was not too long, and I with a certain amount of foot-play was able to keep the idle fairly even as we inched our way to the immigration check point where I handed the custom's agent my newly minted passport.

"Are you carrying any knives, weapons or guns?"

"No"

"Do you own any firearms?"

"Nah, nah.. I'm not into any of that."

"What are you coming for?"

"Just for a day on personal business"

"Okay, you can go"

"Do you want to see the dogs' papers?"

"Nah"

And so we stuttered up route 99 straight into Vancouver, 40 miles away. It was now past dusk and my sole concern was to find a place to spend the night. I couldn't find the list of dog-friendly inns I had printed out before leaving and unlike the US, the area was devoid of roadside motels. We ended up stalling and lurching around a strange city at night looking for a place that looked like it would accept doggies. In fact, I couldn't find a hotel at all.

At one point, on a dark street away from all phones, the truck locked up altogether. Miraculously it un-froze itself and I headed back for the border. This was simply no place to break down entirely without even a cell phone that would work out of area.

However, as I got back to Route 99 I ran across was a Quality Suites hotel on the corner. Fortunately they accepted doggies, albeit at $20.00 per pup per night. We signed in.

The View from Vancouver

As there would be no mid night pee abouts here, I decided to take the dogs for a longish walk. It was getting chill, so I walked back to the truck for my coat, before continuing on. Close to the airport, docks and industrial shops, this was not what one would call an upscale part of town. But a block back from the main thoroughfare (Marine Drive), the neighbourhood of small townhouses and three storey apartments on streets flanked by grass borders and thick trunked trees was surprisingly quiet.

It was perfect Fipsie Weather and the dogs were in their element. They trotted about eagerly happy to do what doggies like to do. Their behaviour confirmed a thought that I have been having about dogs, which is that they are neither moved nor impressed by the same sights as we. We humans are completely sight-oriented, and so when I think of taking the dogs to Vancouver, I think of showing them bay, the mountains, the rolling greens of the city's lovely parks. But the pups are basically indifferent to all of that. What interests them is terra -- sniffing humus, bushes and the bases of trees. I do not mean that dogs don't appreciate other things... Rosco loves warm sunlight and Fips has always loved swimming in water. Earth is not the only element they appreciate and I am sure they enjoy a general sense of environments and environmental changes. But the visual majesty of mountains, the impressive expanse of sea and the awe of far off lights in a dark sky are far less important to them than to us. This thought is of comfort to me because it means that our trip to Vancouver will be less of a disappointment to them than it has been for me.

We walk far down the road before returning to the hotel -- in part so that the dogs fully unload (although Rosco doesn't) and in part because the poor pups deserve a long sniff-about after their super-canine patience. On the way back, Fips decides he wants to walk down the middle of the road, just like he does at home. I watch him trot along briskly and laugh. Why does he do this? He is clearly taking command of the road and strutting his stuff.

My job is to keep an eye out for cars; and, as it happens, one comes careening around a corner. As I pull the pups out of the way, I take note of the driver's astonished and perturbed look. Fips returns to the center and with Rosco trotting behind we return to the hotel and to bed.

In the morning, we check out early and then wait in the truck until 9 o'clock when the rush hour traffic will have subsided. We then start off back in the direction of city center and a Service Canada office on Fraser off King Edward Street. Fortuitously enough, there is a parking space right smack in front of the office. Even more serendipitously, I have the bureaucracy all to myself and in very short order, from a very polite and nice agent, I get my paperwork done.

I had planned to swing by the credit union, a mile away, on the way back, but as there was only underground parking I decided to forgo that stop and instead headed back to Route 99 and the border. It was already getting warm at 10.30 and to my dismay the road advisories alerted to a two hour wait at the border. I was dismayed. How was that possible at mid-morning on a Thursday?

Fortunately I took the "Peace Portal" crossing which is lined with graceful parks. As British Columbia forbids idling, cars turn off their engines and move forward in groups. This Very Sensible Idea, allows us to stretch our legs and in the doggies' case to lie in some shade. In this manner we while away the time before re-entering The Homeland.

The border agents asks me if I am bringing anything back -- any drugs, fruits or perishables. I tell him no. He asks what I went to Canada for. He tell him.

"You got two pups, I see"

"You want to see their papers?"

"No"

And so on to the shoreline park at Blaine. Fips is wobbley on his legs and doesn't want to walk, so we end up resting under a shaded gazebo. As helicopters buzz back and forth overhead, I chat for an hour with a young man who had travelled to Chile and Argentina.

It is a lovely day, but it is still getting warm. Fips is obviously tuckered out, not by the heatso much as by this endless and tedious shuffling between car cabin and motel rooms. It is time to go home.

Because the engine is running rich, I decide to have an oil change before beginning the long trip back. So, back in Bellingham, I pull into a "Complete Car Care" center where I ended up talking to mechanic Jeff about my engine troubles. He's convinced he can fix it. Because the symptoms never occur in shop he will wire the car to diagnostic lap tops and drive the truck until they occur.

Back to Motel 6 / Bellingham.
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Creakle Crackle

By late afternoon Tuesday we get to Bellingham, a lovely spot where pine covered hills meet the sea and where we will spend the night. For the moment, however, we stammer on to Blaine-0n-Border, where I unload our cargo, before doubling back to Bellingham. I am curious to see if the truck will run better lighter. Alas, it doesn't.

Aside from Fips's brief piss-about at Tillicum's gas station, the poor, poor doggies have been cooped up inside the truck all day. So I called ahead to make a Motel 6 reservation before pulling over at a rest stop to let the pups stretch their legs. Fortune smiles briefly as Rosco finds a bone.

Back at the Motel I collapse onto the bed and sink into the imbecility of America's Public Awareness Program. Fips staring and Rosco pouncing, the dogs want up too and so I lift them onto the bed. Rosco wrestles with a pillow and Fips hugs my side.

I think travelling is traumatic for doggies. They certainly seem to get excited by the prospect of going somewhere and sniffing something new. But this excitement is no different from their friskiness on ordinary day-to-day outings to any place that is a different place. Fips scrambling to jump out of the car and Rosco's scurried sniff and piss at the base of trees is the same here as at home. I suspect that, fundamentally, travel is anxiety-laden for dogs. The security of familiar surroundings lost, I become -- ever more so -- their sole center.

It is for this reason that I do not like to have them on the bed. For, the moment I turn my back and go fetch something from the truck, one or the other dog will take a flying leap after me, which is exactly what happened this evening, to my distress. Such canine gymnastics were of little concern when the pups were younger -- no longer, given Fip's weak haunchies or after Rosco's injury three years ago when he fell from the Jeep.

To complicate matters, Rosco gets up (or will jump off) twice a night to go wee. So, ever since our trip to Mexico, I've used a rope leash to tie the dogs to my wrists to keep them from taking night-time leaps. This means that I have to get up twice a night to walk Rosco (and sometimes Fips) around a lovely moonlit parking lot. Tonight, I am not up for that; so, before sinking into sleep, I put Rosco down and a tarp on the floor. And at last, to sleep....

Creakle, creakle, crackle, creakle

?

Crackle, crackle, creackle, crackle

?

Creakle, creakle, crackle, creakle

What the devil? I look down and Rosco is padding back and forth on the tarp making as much noise as he can. He knows he has succeeded in waking me and stands nose to door. Hoping that Fips stays asleep, I get up throw on my pants and let Rosco out. He runs across the lot and unloads on a bush and then runs back to the room. He's such a sweetheart. Back inside I lift him back onto the bed.

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Of Rest Stops and Parking Lots

The prospect of driving through a Portland rush-hour with a vehicle that would suddenly slow down before surging forward was dreadful. But as my bio-rythm was already set to the wee hours, I was up at four. I got ready and loaded a very drousy Rosco into his berth on the doggie lounger, while Fips ambled over -- sleepy but curious -- to say "hi" to some stranger, who turned out to be the manager. Fips made a good impression. Moments later, when I turned in my key, the manager asked what kind of dog he was. I told him. He replied that he was looking for a dog for his son and one like Fips. I asked about Portland. "You're okay if you leave, like, now." We did and made it through Portland and into Washington by the dawn's early light.

I thought Oregon was trashy but everything changed almost immediately over the state line. The air was fresh and tall evergreens were everywhere. Having escaped the metallic stampede of rush hour, we could now relax and take a breather, which we did in a park-like rest stop with a wide and foresty dog area. It was also Fipsie Weather -- cool and brisk. I let the pals have an hour of sniffing and poking before giving them a fresh air breakfast.

Washington state was simply lovely and got more so the further north we got. The road was not quite as level as before and this caused the truck to act up more frequently. Each time it did, the Fuzzy Co-Pilot would sit up and confirm that something was amiss.

As we reached the outskirts of Tacoma by noon the truck was acting up more often than not and I decided I had no alternative but to seek out a mechanic. I pulled into Tillicum's Auto Tech and had them do a diagnostic.

Fips had to pee and wanted out of the truck, so I walked him around the gas station for a while. As we headed back to the office, across the filling area, I caught him going for a lick at some puddle. I quickly jerked him away, and was left to hope that I had yanked him in time.

It was getting unpleasantly warm. Rosco does better in the heat and so I left him in the car, while I took Fips into the air-conditioned office where he sat down very bored and demonstrably eager to leave.

An hour and half and $250.00 later we left. Being back on the road brought some breezy comfort to the dogs, but the engine problem was not fixed. We lurched our way through Seattle, finally making it to Bellingham by early evening where we again put up in a Motel Six and where the puppers again got to discover the olfactory details of another parking lot.

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Stuttering through Oregon

The engine's cutting out and loss of power followed by a surge felt like a classic blockage in the fuel lines. But its low level tremolo and stuttering felt like a classic timing problem. The fact that the symptom was intermittent pointed to a subtler problem, given the interlocking sensors that control an electronic fuel injection system. I debated the options.

As we completed the descent into Oregon and rounded Grant's Pass, I decided to forge on. If the problem persisted a mechanic would have to look into it; if a mechanic was required time would be lost but the time was lost just as equally in Oregon as in California. And so on we went.

This part of Oregon is fairly flat and uninteresting although the engine problem ruled out any exploratory detours. Consigned to boredom, the pups went back to snoozing.

For longish stretches the engine turned normally, but every now and again it would drop out, stutter and surge. Each time it did, Fips would start up and give me his inquiring and worried look.

What's wrong?

I donno, Fipsie... donno.

By the end of the afternoon, the truck was acting up fairly consistently. We made it to the outskirts of Salem where we holed up in a Motel Six by the side of the freeway, in an area of gas stations, fast fooderies, warehouses and lots of traffic on chaotic intersections. Fortunately what was visible was of no interest to the pups who were more interested in ground smells.

I noticed some people hanging around an open motel room door drinking beer. A truck pulled into the lot and left soon thereafter. I didn't want to leave the truck unattended for too long and gave the dogs as much time as was feasible before chow and bed.

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Co-Pilot Fips

Like all dogs, both Fips and Rosco enjoy a good wind-rush. They also like to stare out the window watching all the blurs go by. Once the Doggie Lounger was installed, they now take turns sitting up and staring down the road. But for the most part, there being nothing to do, they do nothing and go to sleep.

Like all dogs, Fips and Rosco are equipped with an Automatic Sensor that triggers an Alert State whenever there is a change in atmospherics. Modern cars supposedly have similar sensors that trigger motor-responses to air intake, load conditions, gear changing and so on. These sensors enable the engine to make a proper and smooth response to ever changing circumstances. The auto sensor in doggies enables them to detect a slowing down, which triggers an alert state and the expectation of something to do.

The amazing thing is how much program information the doggie Auto-Sensor is capable of storing. It was during our trip to Mexico that Fips discovered topes or speed bumps. The toll booths on the highway are preceded by two or three strips of corrugated concrete that produce an even rumbling as the car rolls over them -- BrrrrBrrrrBrrrrBrrrr ...swoooshhh

Fips immediately sat up and gave me an inquisitive and decidedly annoyed look.

Something is different. Something is wrong. I don't like it.

Topes, Fips, they're called topes.

Fips programmed the information and after a brief while, he classified this particular rumble as nothing to worry about. Mexico has many many topes and by the end of the trip Fips could sleep through any rumble with a Plus ça change.... attitude. Rosco of course can sleep through anything.

As he was now as we began our climb into the Tehama mountains. It was bright and pre-warm as we ascended steadily on gentle grades winding through pine covered hills, Mt Shasta looming in the near background. As we wove along on the level trestle that spans Shasta Lake I took note how severely low the water level was but such a thing was of no concern to the dogs who were back to snoozing.

The road swung to the left and we began the climb to Mt Siskiyou Pass (4,00o ft). I kept the Ranger at a steady 50-55 with an even deep hum. But just as we were nearing the summit, the engine missed and gave a short start and stutter before surging again.

Fips immediately sat up and looked up at me with inquisitive and worried eyes. I looked down at his fuzzy face looking up at me and there was no doubt in mind that he detected the difference between topes on the road and topes in the engine. And there was no doubt that Fips also new the difference between cause-for-expectation and cause-for-anxiety.

And as I looked into his eyes, there was also no doubt that Fips had appointed himself as co-pilot. He had not really been sleeping but was monitoring things with invisible head phones that only looked like Floppies (ears). And he was now reporting an Alert State to me.

Damn. I hope not Fips.

As Fips looked on, I worked the accelerator hoping that this resurgent phenomenon, that had supposedly been fixed, was just a passing hiccup at 4,000.00 feet. We crested the summit and began our descent into automotive hell.

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Mutt mit Uns

Loaded up at 3.15 a.m and all ready (?) to go. The pups have figured out that something is afoot which is why they have been unter fuss for days. So though they may be groggy they securely know they are not being left behind and that the us-of-us is going somewhere.

Soon, as we start hauling slowly but steadily through the eastern hills of Lake County, the pups return to doing what they should be doing at this hour.

The sky is clear. A sliver of moon shines in the darkness. I count three shooting stars. By morning we are outside of Redding having beaten -- so far -- the dread heat wave rolling in behind us.

The Ranger has hauled well at a steady 55 mph un-rushed by non-existent traffic. The pups pooped, the truck gassed up, we set off for Mt. Shasta and the climb over to Oregon.

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Doggie Boy Learns Something About Hills

This past week took us to San Francisco on personal Food-Provider business. Friends of ours who live on top of Portrero Hill were out of town but generously allowed us to kennel ourselves at their home.

On account of business, there wasn't much time for long ambles on grass through fog. Instead, the pups had to content themselves with short walks around Portrero Hill, which has some of the steepest climbs in the city. At first the pups just sniffed and poked around the summit, which is fairly level. But after sniffing all there was to sniff and poking all there was to poke, Fips stood at a corner looking around which way to go. Two ways were on the level and two ways pointed down.

I watched as Fips looked to the level right and then to the left and down. Pause. Doggie Cogitation. Again, to the right, and again to the left. The moment of decision came. Fips bolted and chased down the hill with Rosco chasing after. Wheeeeeeeee.....

He was just like a kid....only he's 90-something.

But when we had reached bottom there was nowhere left to go but back up. Fips hopped along for a few paces but then tired out. For every down, there is an up and Fips worked at it doggedly. Now, it was Rosco who led the way, but for Fips it was clearly a great effort. I almost thought of carrying him, but instead just walked very slowly and took several pauses for pats and encouraging sounds. Fips was at strength's end just as we reached the top and then his gait suddenly picked up again.

None of this put a damper on the fun of chasing down hills. Later at night, Fips was poking along until we came to another hill's edge. He saw the drop, got excited and began chasing down; but this time, I only let him go half way....mainly because I didn't feel like hiking back up.

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