On the road aga-- nope, nevermind.
The rumble of the train we’re riding north to Tewkesbury from Boston feels like a massage because we’ve clocked dozens of miles on our feet and bikes. Our day bags are over packed to bursting with extra clothes and food and the electronics we need to keep the administrative side of the tour in motion. We are stuck in Massachusetts. I knew it would happen just as much as anyone else did who has a solid sense of skepticism and the knowledge that our Van is younger than I am by only four years: the car needs unforeseen repairs that are going to cost almost as much as I originally paid for it. It was only a matter of time that something happened which would hit us in the wallet as much as it would our schedule. It came in the form of a seized cylinder on the rear brakes and old and cracked hubs due to excess heat from overuse after a period of dormancy resulting in a complete replacement of the rear break system. Why any of the three mechanics didn’t see this as necessary before we left Chicago is beyond me. We left the car with the mechanics in Cambridge MA hoping it would be taken care of first thing Saturday morning, (which is comical in retrospect.) The news of what needed to be done came Saturday. The bearings for a Van of this make and age wouldn’t come until Sunday, which meant that things wouldn’t be finished until Monday morning best case scenario. This was one more day than we had agreed upon with our hosts. My cousin Ashley and her new husband (and sweetheart since highschool) had been kind enough to take us in for two days. We return to the van on Saturday to swap out clothes, and pack additional food for the next day and a half. Traveling smart means provisions, traveling courteously means clean clothes, traveling cost-effectively means heaping it onto our backs and mounting our bikes to get around the city. We barely catch the northbound Lowell commuter train to Tewksberry where our good friend’s parents have graciously invited us to stay the night. This is perhaps the biggest silver lining in being stranded: we got full-on mom treatment for a night. All of the comforts of home, we’re fed, we’re provided drinks, television, more baked goods and candy than we’ve eaten in weeks and a warm bed. The next morning, we're off as soon as we get the go ahead from the mechanic. Driven to the train, the train back to Boston, bikes to the car and the car on the highway. Finally: our brief intermission complete. It's warm out, (unseasonably so) so we keep the windows down, even on the highway going 70mph. It felt good, the wind in our hair pointed south, our purpose clear, ready to forge on. And then we smell it. . . again. Burning rubber or metal on metal or chemicals or any combination, but it’s bad. “It’s that truck ahead of us. Look at all the emissions it’s putting out. Here- I’ll pull off to let it get ahead of us a bit.” We stop on the McDonalds and gas station oasis off of highway 90. Exiting the car, it’s very clear the smell is coming from us. If our olfactory senses weren’t enough to be sure (and they were) There is a light whispy white smoke coming from each of the wheel hubs. The mechanics from Boston are baffled, they ask me to put on and release the parking break hoping that by some miracle there’s a user error here but I was certain that wouldn’t do it. By 40 miles out, we’re closer to the Framingham AAMCO location, so we forge on. By the time they get it in, it’s 4:40pm. It’s up on the lift at 4:50 and too hot to the touch to do anything with before they close at 5 (or even an hour afterward) So they make room for us in the most private part of the lot to hunker down for the night. We walk for a while in Framington, not finding much but a pub. (The best thing about getting stuck in a small town is the price of a drink) So we do our best to numb the frustration for one more night and count our blessings, including fully charged laptops which allow us to watch the previously pirated movies collected on a flash drive for just such an occasion. The morning comes too early but a 7am wake up call is necessary if we want the second mechanic to be able to get to it first thing. The coffee in the waiting room is terrible, but we muscle it down along with peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches made from the Van before it got hoisted up. Two hours go by and they’ve finished, fixing the mistakes, adjusting what was missed, making up for what failed. We have keys back in hand, after what feels slightly like a lost night and we’re back on the highway, heading straight for New York City. And then we smell it. . . again. Pulled off to the side of the road. The same whispy white smoke, the same stench. Our capacity for optimism is growing thin. We are now closer to a new location in Connecticut. Sitting in a waiting room for a third hour after bits of updates and news are delivered which sound less hopeful at every turn. The cable is rare. It could take a week. Liability issues. One cable which splits into four. I can feel my stomach turn and I can’t tell if its from the greasy spoon next door or if my anxiety is telling me that we’re temporarily doomed. For once in my life, I hope I have food poisoning.