St Louis Glamping
What happens when your home breaks
They fixed it.
It broke.
We fixed it.
Then we didn’t.
Either way, the new rig is throwing error codes and running rough. We’re limited to 50 mph or less and we’ve found a gravel turn around to park in with the hood up just to keep the police and locals at bay from kicking us out.
On the shady, office side of the rig there are elms and oaks and maples. On the other side is Interstate 44 running to and from the heart of St Louis. While we’d rather be on the road, at least we’re not directly on the side of it. There’s a little creek complete with frogs and crawdads and little fish.
Humans aren’t good at making decisions when emotionally activated.
We’ve had our share of triggering and activation around breakdowns in the past six months. Our home is on wheels. It can avoid torrents and deluges and tornado. It is unaffected by earthquakes (we didn’t even feel two 5.5 earthquakes near Yuma). Our home has different breaking points.
With every new vehicle there is a challenge period. I wonder if, energetically, there is something in the collective soup about vehicles breaking down after purchase. It happened with Totoro and now with Soot Sprite. Maybe it’s my karma.
On Tuesday morning I finally had the space and place to sit and recenter, to allow. I did my self hypnosis, the grounding techniques that I’m still habituating, and did some karma clearing around our rig. This is a simple and effective process for removing limitations and blockages. It doesn’t hurt unless there is attachment, and is a simple technique for removing the junk that stands in the way of what you want and need.
So, I clear out all of the bullshit that was coming up for me. I’m centered. I feel good in my body.
And inspiration comes.
I called the tech in Las Cruces, New Mexico to get more information. We had a good chat and he put some pieces into place on troubleshooting and problem hotspots.
I get my wiring bag out and hope I have enough butt splice connectors to put it back together again once I start snipping. There are barely enough connectors for the four wires that need replacing. They aren’t water tight. I don’t have a heat gun. We’ll make it work.
I sit on the radiator and cut and replace one wire at a time so as not to confuse them. Senka assists with parts and tools and cutting. The Kid searches under the engine for lost pieces.
Dad gets mad because he has to go down and find the dropped parts. Kid isn’t being thorough enough. Senka has a look of guilt and shame and anger when confronted.
Enough.
What is enough?
I grew up in spaces where I was expected to read the minds and feelings of the adults around me. They held high standards that I could never meet. They expected me to be an adult at 15, 13, 11, and 8 years old.
I know the look on Kid’s face. It’s the same way I used to feel.
I turn the key in the ignition and it starts, purring like our cats when they were wee. I don’t fully trust it yet.
The roadside mechanic that I called at 8 am the day prior finally says he is on his way. But he missed the exit. Now he’s stuck in traffic and waiting to turn around.
Nomad Dad is less than thrilled with this company. Poor communication. Empty assurances. Shit follow through. He’s judging them as a measure to his own high standards. The same standards that came from his conditioning as an inadequate. The same standards that called forward a look of ‘never enough’ on Kid’s face.
Nomad Dad sees all of these structures flash before him.
But now is not the time for processing.
“Kid, can you start packing everything up as quickly as possible? I’m going to put this engine back together and we’ll road test it.”
Kid is effective and efficient, the legacy of growing up with a parent with high standards, keen eye and willingness to jump into trigger therapy recklessly. Kid knows my tone when I’m done fucking around and when the door is opening from feeling bad to excitement. Kid is highly perceptive, more so than myself.
We both scurry putting everything back together. The truck has been running smoothly for ten minutes.
The air filter slips into it’s shroud and I struggle to get the housing mounted on the firewall. Two more bolts and some tightened hose clamps and we’re done. I scan the highway for sign of a roadside mechanic’s truck. Nada. I meet Kid at the back of the rig and we load up the bikes.
The truck has been running smoothly for 15 mintues.
”Did I tighten everything, was the patch complete?” I wonder.
We’re seated. Cats are crated. Dog is dogging. Then the clutch is down and the truck in gear. Air hisses from the brake release.
We make it a mile without a code. Then two. There is a giant hill between Eureka, Missouri and larger St Louis.
“If we make it to the top of this hill, we’re good.”
We make it. In 200 yards we’re getting on eastbound I-44. We’re pumped. We did it.
Miles pass. We get past the snarl of downtown St Louis and I turn to Kid, “So, what happened back there?”
“I don’t know, what do you mean?”
“I got snarly with you about not being thorough enough when looking for the connectors I dropped. I knew they were on the ground and I knew that if you weren’t finding them it was because you’d stopped looking.”
“I also know that I’ve spent two hours or more looking for dropped nuts and bolts. I hate working on vehicles in grass for that reason. I also know that having to search for dropped things has made me very good at finding them. You don’t have that experience, yet I held you to the same standard that I hold myself.”
“I adultified you. I expected you to have the learned experience of an adult at the age of 14. When this happened to me as a kid I felt like I was not enough, guilty, and shameful at the same time. You don’t deserve to be treated like that. You and I did this together, we fixed the truck and got back on the road in amazing time. I couldn’t have done it without you and there is no one I’d rather be camping on the side of interstate 44 with.”
Time is short right now. Our trip has been delayed significantly with failed parts and wires. We need to be in Ontario by next Monday.
Between now and then we have to retool Soot Sprite and get her ready for Canada. We’re near Indianapolis, in the wet green of back east. The universe is unequovically saying “RUN!” and we are matching that energy with a prioritized list of shit we need to do. It is long and compromises have been made. . . so we’re out for this week.
Cheers to everyone that made it this far as a reader.