Follow the process, not the plan

The plan was to head to Kershaw, South Carolina Saturday for a track day with Bill the Vegan Welder. Shrop had been prepping the Suburban, the bike(s), and himself for several days. Hurricane Ian would have passed, giving us perfect post-hurricane weather.

Even simple things were going poorly. I requested that Shrop fix the wiring for the trailer on the Suburban before we left, since we would be returning after sunset. Whoever owned this truck decades ago wired it backward so that the vehicle was "male" and their trailer was "female." I'm sure it worked fine for that one trailer, but for every other trailer, it was pointless. It should have taken an hour, and it took two days. There were red and black ground wires.

There was a lot of "shucking corn" about which bike to take and in what configuration. The details of that are better left to Shrop, but the short version is the tires on the ZRX *might* not pass tech inspection but were still acceptable for the street, the brakes had failed on the Z600 track bike recently and needed replacing, the Z600 wasn't running quite right but already functions as a track bike (no lights, no kickstand, GP shift, etc.), and the ZRX is rock solid but nearly twice the displacement Shrop typically rides on track in a much more upright position.

We delayed our departure to Sunday morning so we could spend Saturday getting sorted. I’m really good at bleeding brakes on motorcycles now. Shrop was up at 4 am Sunday and in the backyard re-replacing the brake master cylinders. When I woke up at 7 am, he was ready to pack out and in good spirits. We were on the road by 11 am. Tech inspections were 5-7 pm, and we were on schedule to make it. Two glass fuses blew when Shrop hooked the trailer up to the truck wiring harness. He replaced them with the ones he kept in the glove box, but the old ones broke upon removal, so he had to vacuum up the glass before we could leave. It was just a tiny hiccup. The rest of the trip would be fine.

Suburban photo by Shrop

We stopped in Emporia to pee and get gas. When we left, the truck made a weird noise. It's hard to diagnose, though, because a 454 makes a lot of noise when you stomp on it while pulling a trailer to get in front of an oncoming car. After a bit, we smelled burning rubber, but the smell faded. The truck seemed to be running fine, so we kept our eyes and ears open.

A bit later, it felt and sounded like we were running over a rumble strip, but there was no rumble strip. As we pulled off I-95, there was a significant vibration and more burning rubber smell. We both got out of the truck, expecting to find one of the six tires in pieces. Every damn tire looked fine. I got on the ground and started sniffing around the truck to pinpoint the rubber smell like a daycare provider determining which toddler dropped a load. No particular part of the vehicle had a more pungent smell of rubber—none of this made sense.

As we left the side of the highway, the truck made a horrible racket. It sounded like the brakes had come loose in the rear drums and were rattling around like rocks in a rock tumbler. Shrop limped towards the next exit while I started googling mechanics that were open on Sunday. We had made it to Rocky Mount, North Carolina.

I called the first tire and brake place, but they couldn't fit us in and had no recommendations for other shops. I went back to Google and found Bus Stop Auto. The image on Google Maps was of a small concrete building with two bays right next to the road, but the reviews were promising. I called, and an old black man answered.
"Hello."
"Is this Bus Stop Auto?"
"Yeah."
"We have a 1974 Suburban that sounds like the rear brakes are dying. I am hoping you can help us out today."
"Bring it on in."

We were eight miles from there and driving about 15 miles per hour. Approximately 30 tense minutes later, we arrived at Bus Stop Auto. The Google image was accurate in that it was a concrete building with a hand-painted sign surrounded by gravel and mud. It also had at least ten vehicles pulled in at precarious angles and an alarming number of used tires stacked everywhere. We had an 18-foot-long Suburban towing an equally long trailer. We parked on the sidewalk of the laundromat next door.

Shrop started talking to the old black man. The old man asked if he could ride with Shrop to hear it. The back seat was full of all our stuff, and I had found two puppies in the shop, so I chose to stay behind while they went on their test ride. Shrop looked at me to be sure. It was clear the other guy there was kin to the old man. It was daylight, and everyone there knew I was beloved of Shrop. If he came back and I wasn't there in the same or better condition, Shrop would have destroyed that concrete building, every person, and every used tire on that lot. So I stayed behind and got my shirt and jeans filthy from greasy little puppies.

Shrop and the old man returned with a diagnosis that was not the brakes. Two-wheel-drive Suburbans have a drive shaft center support bearing about halfway down the length of the truck. That bearing has rubber in it, and after 48 years, the rubber had failed epically. That explained the burning rubber smell. With the missing rubber bearing, the drive shaft could bang around inside this much larger metal support loop, mimicking the sound of giant rocks in a rock tumbler.

The old man started calling parts stores while working on the coolant system of a Chevy S10 by the curb. With Shrop's help, he could explain which part he needed. None of the part stores in Rocky Mount had the part, but the O'Reilly's in Nashville had all three sizes. That's when I learned that Tennessee isn't the only state with a Nashville. That store wouldn't deliver, and the old man didn't have anyone who could get the part. I suggested that Shrop get it on the ZRX.

While the ZRX is street legal, Shrop had taped over all the lights and removed the license plate. But it was the only available vehicle we had on hand. I removed the ratchet straps while Shrop got his helmet and emptied his bike messenger bag to fill it with three drive shaft center support bearings of varying sizes. We got the bike off the trailer without dumping it in the street or getting run over. I sent Shrop the address on his phone so his comm unit could direct him to O'Reilly's. He gave me the keys to the Suburban and said, "It's 15 minutes away, according to Google? I'll be back in 30." He then left me behind at the Bus Stop Auto with the old man, his nephew (I knew they were kin), the owner of the Chevy S10, and the two tiny puppies.

The old man and the owner of the Chevy S10 said several times as Shrop pulled away, "He on a bike?? He on a BIKE! He'll be RIGHT back. Man … "

While Shrop was gone, the nephew asked where we were from. I explained what kind of bike Shrop was on at the moment and the other bikes we both own. He then showed me his two large sport bikes buried in the shop by stacks of used tires. He noted that the puppies loved me. I told him I had a mastiff/rottweiler mix at home and a shepherd. He said the puppies were pit bull/shepherd mixes. I asked how old they were because they were so tiny. He said, "A month. Maybe two." I didn't ask where the mama was because I did not want to hear anything sad about that.

Shrop got back with the parts. While he was gone, two other people had pulled in with a need for one or two used tires. The muddy gravel lot was filling up. We were also running low on time. When all this started, we arrived at the shop at 2 pm. By the time Shrop was back with the parts, it was 3:30. The shop closed at 5. The old man said there wasn't enough time for him to do it that day. He was genuinely distraught that he couldn't help us. He had to see a doctor that evening about his leg turning black and the spot on his eye where some corrosive chemical had splashed in it.

Shrop asked the old man about the procedure to remove and replace the bearing. The old man gave general guidance about not letting the drive shaft hit the pavement and having a hammer to get the bearing off. I started googling the closest auto parts store that would be open and have a parking lot for us to work. We got the bike back on the trailer, took our three bearings of varying sizes, and limped to Advance Auto Parts a few miles down the road.

We walked over to Hardee's to eat. Nothing good was going to happen until Shrop had food. After burgers, we watched some YouTube videos at the table on how to replace a GM drive shaft center support bearing. Then we walked back to Advance Auto.

I walked over to Rose's to get warmer clothes. I knew my body temp would not cooperate in these conditions, and I couldn't be the best helper if I were cold. I found the last two toques in the store, two sets of coveralls, some fleece-lined tights, and an oversized zip-up lined hoodie. I went into Advance Auto to get a Sharpie to mark the drive shaft, only to find out they don't sell any markers there. I scoffed in disbelief at the cashier while I purchased two sets of Mechanix gloves. Then I walked over to Dollar Tree and got two Sharpie markers.

Shrop had emptied the travel toolbox onto the pavement to see what sockets he had. We discovered that the toolbox had everything we needed plus a plethora of screwdrivers. A guy had driven up to us twice between Hardee's and Advance Auto to ask for money. We wanted to tell him that he had a lot of nerve driving up to us in a working vehicle to beg for cash while we were stranded. I later suggested we should give him a screwdriver each time he came by. He didn't come by a third time.

Shrop got the drive shaft loosened, but it was still in place. It had started to rain.

We got in the truck to watch another YouTube video about how to get the bearing off the drive shaft. That guy in the video was in his yard with the drive shaft free of the vehicle. It was sunny and lovely weather wherever he was. He was using an angle grinder to remove the bearing. He mentioned several times how important it was to be careful when doing this so as not to damage the drive shaft.

Shrop and I looked at each other solemnly. It was 7:30 pm and still raining. Advance Auto closed in 30 minutes. We agreed this was not something we wanted to do in the parking lot that night. We switched to plan B.

Shrop called Geico roadside assistance while I called Pandah. When we planned this trip, Pandah agreed to stay overnight with Ian while we were gone and get him to school in the morning. I told her she didn't need to come over once we learned that school was closed on Monday because of high winds and flooding, but she still came, which I thought was super nice.

I called while she and Ian were getting dinner. I told her our predicament and asked if she would drive my Honda Pilot with the appropriate trailer hitch to us in Rocky Mount. We three would crash in a hotel and return in the morning or "turn and burn." "Ok, well, I'm definitely coming to get y'all. I just have to figure out some stuff here first." Pandah is ride-or-die.

I gave her the address of the Advance Auto Parts store because she wanted to know where we were then. It was unclear where we would be by the time she got to Rocky Mount, but that's where we were at the moment. Shrop had talked to Geico, and Rickie's towing service was going to take the Suburban to the closest Chevy dealership. That left us and a flatbed trailer loaded with bikes in a dark parking lot of a closed Advance Auto. In the rain.

I started looking for a decent hotel within walking distance of an open restaurant. I found a Double Tree by Hilton with a Texas Steakhouse in the same building. The restaurant closed at 10 and it was 8:15 pm, so I thought we could make it. Next, I started looking for transportation. Uber and Lyft don't have any drivers on Sunday night in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. I found a number for Rocky Mount Rideshare, and an old white man answered.
"Hello."
"Hi, I hope this is Rocky Mount Rideshare. We're at the Advance Auto Parts on East Raleigh Blvd, and the tow truck driver is about to take our Suburban. We need to get to the Double Tree. Can you help us?"
"Well, I'm closed normally, but you all are stranded. Let me get a cup of coffee. I'll be there in a silver Chevy Malibu in about 15 minutes."

The tow truck driver waited to load the truck until we had our ride. We reminded him that the drive shaft was not super secure, and he skillfully pulled the truck onto his flatbed with no damage. We got in the silver Malibu belonging to Charles Wright of Rocky Mount Rideshare and headed to the hotel.

That's when Charles told us we were in a bad part of town, which is part of what encouraged him to get us. I hadn't felt unsafe all day or night, but apparently, Charles was concerned for us. He delivered us to the Double Tree and told us God bless. He was going to give us the name of another driver for Monday, but we told him Pandah was coming to our rescue.

As we checked in at the Double Tree, I told Shrop we were getting a tour of Edgecombe county. The middle-aged woman behind the counter corrected me, "Oh, no, this is Nash country." I got the feeling from her tone that Nash county was supposed to be better than Edgecombe county. All I knew was every address I had googled that day other than the O'Reilly's in Nashville had said Rocky Mount and was all within a 10-mile radius. But ok, lady, we're in Nash county.

Despite thinking I was familiar with the Rocky Mount vicinity from numerous childhood trips to the family farm, I learned from Google that Nash county is ranked 26 out of 100 NC counties for per capita income while Edgecombe county ranks 95 out of 100. I also learned that the train tracks divide Nash and Edgecombe counties, so my father's family is apparently from the "wrong" side of the tracks. I guess that's partly why the Double Tree lady corrected me.

After receiving our complimentary water bottles and warm chocolate chip walnut cookies, we dumped our bags in the room and went to the Texas Steakhouse in the lobby. We got food just before they closed and went back to the room. I put all my effort into a power nap while we waited to be rescued. I had a little over an hour.

Part of Pandah's other obligations that evening was helping a friend get a ride home from work. When she agreed to save us, she handed that task over to Shrop. Unfortunately, Shrop had been up since 4 am and had a rough day. While I tried to nap, he tried over and over to get an Uber to retrieve V. Shenanigans ensued, but V did eventually get home.

Also, while we ate dinner, Shrop called Pandah to check in. He learned that she had many commitments the next day, both her own appointments and other people counting on her. Coming to get us was a significant inconvenience, but she never hesitated. Shrop said he would help her on Monday and would send her the address for where we were. He didn't know that I had already given her the hotel address while he was talking to the tow truck driver. And he didn't know the address of the hotel. He still wanted to text her the address I had already sent, hoping to avoid confusion. He texted her something to the effect of "it's the same address" and then sent the hotel address I had sent her earlier.

Unfortunately, things aren't obvious when three exhausted people text each other. Pandah saw the text from Shrop saying, "it's the same address," and took that to mean she should use the original address of Advance Auto she had already entered when she started driving. We hadn’t yet picked a hotel when she left. I told her I would send her the hotel address when we talked on the phone briefly, but she never saw that text from me. She also never saw the text from Shrop with the address for the hotel, so she just kept going to the original address. Things were hard enough in an unfamiliar car in the dark and rain at the last minute while concerned about other people she wanted to ensure were okay in the storm.

These details are all critical because of geography. If you travel on I-95 in Virginia or North Carolina, you likely see signs for Rocky Mount. That always confused me as a kid when we went to the family farm. We never went to Emporia and then south on I-95 like Shrop and I had done on Sunday. We went this confusing winding way that involved waypoints in Franklin, Murfreesboro, Scotland Neck, and Tarboro to the farm in Edgecombe county. That's why I thought Rocky Mount was solely in Edgecombe county.

As I learned from the front desk woman at the Double Tree by Hilton, Rocky Mount is in both Nash and Edgecombe counties. We broke down in Edgecombe county, but our hotel was in Nash county. If you put the address for the hotel into a GPS from my house, it will tell you to take 58 west to I-95 south, which is well-lit, populated, and pretty reasonable. If you put in the address for Advance Auto Parts in Edgecombe county to the east, it will tell you one of those direct but desolate routes. The way the GPS took Pandah was all two-lane roads with deep ditches on either side, almost no towns, and darker than the inside of a cow for three hours in the rain. She managed all that in a car where even the windshield wipers are unfamiliar only to arrive at a parking lot containing the trailer but no Genie or Shrop. If she were Mrs. White from the Clue movie, she would have been all, "Flames. On the sides of my face."

After a brief tense phone call, she proceeded to the Double Tree by Hilton. When my power nap mostly failed, I made a brilliant move and downloaded episodes from Netflix to my phone to keep myself awake. My car mates were in no condition to drive any further, so I prepped for a solo run.

Pandah built a blanket fort in the back seat of my Honda Pilot. Shrop asked if I needed anything from him before he took a nap. I reminded him we still had to get the trailer from Advance Auto on the east side of town where Pandah just was. There was no way anyone would have asked her to hook up a trailer alone once we realized she was at the wrong address. We read the room.

I drove us back across town and Shrop hooked up the trailer, which took way longer than it would have on any other day. Shrop got in the Honda and was almost immediately asleep. I got out my AirPods and rotated my phone to landscape in the holder. I put my home address in the GPS, and because we were back on the east side of Rocky Mount (Edgecombe county), it wanted me to take those little two-lane roads through pitch black farmland.

Fuck it. I've been on those roads over and over my whole childhood going to the farm. I remember my mother talking about taking those roads alone long before GPS and 24-hour gas stations existed. It would get us home faster and I was ready. I angled the side mirrors to see the running lights on the trailer and keep us out of the ditches. We left Advance Auto Parts at midnight and arrived in my driveway at 2:47 am.

Pandah went home to sleep before her doc appointment. Shrop crawled immediately into bed. As I was in the master bath, I noticed I couldn't see the EZ-up out the window. I put a robe on and stepped out onto the deck. The EZ-up I had bought two weeks ago that perfectly fit my deck was gone. The wind had taken it and twisted it into a pile of metal on my side yard. Shrop and I both didn't realize there was a Nor'easter coming and thought we were all done with Hurricane Ian. So while I was showering and packing to leave Sunday morning, he raised the EZ-up back to full height and removed all the bungees I had used to secure it. It was the icing on the cake of our day. I changed from my bathrobe into sweats, a shirt, and rain boots and wrestled the 10x20 EZ-up off the neighbor's bushes and back into our yard. I used the destroyed EZ-up to partially hold down the 85 feet of above-ground pool walls that I hadn't yet figured out how to get to the curb. I resigned myself to sleep to the sounds of aluminum rattling around outside my window.

V made it home Sunday night. No one messed with the trailer while we had to leave it at Advance Auto on the wrong side of the tracks. Every person we met in Edgecombe county was lovely and kind and as helpful as they could be (except that one guy asking for money and nearly getting screwdrivers instead). Pandah made it to her doc appointment Monday morning. Ian did a great job of helping me cut and roll up the pool walls and compress the EZ-up skeleton on Tuesday. A picker delightedly loaded those items onto his truck this morning. And I got to enjoy the first four episodes of "How To Build a Sex Room" on Netflix.

Bill the Vegan Welder made it to the Airbnb I reserved, so he slept in a comfy bed before his track day. He had a great time on his bike Monday. Since most of the food I had packed in the cooler was vegan, it won’t spoil in the back of the Suburban while we wait to retrieve it. The shop called today and the bearing is fixed. They’re pricing leaf springs while it’s there.

Shrop and I were good to each other the entire time this shit show unfolded. After everything that happened, we curled up at 3:30 am to the sounds of 30 mph wind gusts and my pool walls roaming all over the backyard. Pandah is amazing. It could have been so much worse.

On that fateful Sunday morning, I put on my t-shirt that says "Follow the Process Not the Plan." It's a saying by Adam Savage (of Mythbusters fame and host of YouTube’s Tested series). Shrop and I started the day with a plan that went all to hell. So instead, we followed a process, leaning on our strong suits. We didn’t make it to track day and I’m still calling the trip a win.