black bottle of beauty

it was dark.

it was cold.

it was late at night. by late, i mean something in the neighborhood of 2 am. truth be told, i was probably rounding the corner to being over my DOT hours.

i was filling the truck with diesel. and yes, i had my driving gloves on. they are leather.

the pay-at-the-pump card machine swiper was telling me that i needed to see the attendant inside to get my receipt after having just filled up the tank with fuel. awesome. normally, i wouldn't give a shit about receipts late at night but i now have to do things like expense reports because... oh yeah... i am working after all, and good employees turn in expense reports. follwing the orders of the card reader, i walked through the glass doors to the station only to be greeted by the typical aroma of stale triscuits, fried food, motor oil and car fresheners.

yep, another truck stop.

i explained my conundrum to the attendant and she swiftly produced a copy of my receipt with the words "DUPLICATE" in enormous black, bold letters at the top. this attendant was particularly beautiful which happens at a truck stop about as frequently as an ice age. so i stayed for about 23 seconds and talked about things like far-off destinations that were not in this current town of hibbard, arizona.

oh yeah, and i bought a coke.

i exited through the same glass doors and climbed back in to the truck. i put the key in the ignition and turned. click... click... click... click. nothing. i paused, swore to myself a few times and did the same thing again 10 seconds later. i got the same clicking and the same result-- the engine wasn't turning over. i turned to katie and gave the sort of look that suggested i had just eaten a piece of dog shit.

i have discussed at length before my lack of knowledge when it comes to automobiles. so sure, the laundry list of mishaps i have had in recent years is increasing my arsenal of automobile quick-fixes, but now i was in a whole new territory with this fucking diesel-powered sterling monstrosity of a truck.

i started to sweat.

then i opened up my bottle of coca cola and took a long swig, at which point i almost gagged up my midnight snack of chex-mix because the fizz was so strong. feeling like i just swallowed a garbage bag, i hopped out of the car and popped open the hatch of the truck. and by "popping the hatch" i unhooked the entire front cab and tipped it up so that the strapping diesel engine was exposed. i had no idea what i was doing. i tugged at a few belts, looked at the cover of the transmission fluid cap and then deduced i needed a mechanic.

that sounded about right.

luckily the beautiful attendant was still working the front desk when i ran back in there asking for a mechanic. she quickly replied with her infinite beauty telling me i needed to see "bob." i nodded my head not knowing what the fuck that meant. she had to be right though, she was gorgeous. umm, right. she handed me a business card for "bob's 24 hour truck service" and i dialed the phone number immediately darting back outside.

a grizzly voice muttered the words "bob's place" when the line picked up. i assumed i was talking to bob and just went straight ahead with trying to explain the problem. within 40 seconds, bob was talking about engine parts that i couldn't spell or understand. i informed him of my inability to comprehend his thoughts and he replied with the phrase "buy some starter fluid in the truck stop and call me back."

uhhhh, sure. starter fluid, check. i hung up the phone and went back in to the truck stop again. i asked the woman where some starter fluid was and she took me over to the aisle. as we walked i could smell what was likely about one gallon of perfume on her body.

i returned back to the truck reading the label on this "starter fluid" that i just purchased. totally clueless as to what i was actually going to do with this mystery fluid, i was looking for directions. all it said was "EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE" in about 12 different languages.

i approached the truck as i slid through the late-night cold. i got there and standing beside the truck-- well, leaning over the engine-- was a man that resembled what i would picture bob seger to look like after 15 years of heavy meth abuse. he had a mullet which i loved. and it dangled down somewhere in the neighborhood of mid spinal-column. i loved him even more now. he had a duffle bag and a thermal beverage container roughly the size of a filing cabinet that he was going to fill up at the fountain dispenser. as i approached this complete stranger (this was definitely not the bob from the truck service place), i got straight to business fully aware of the fact that he probably knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. turns out his name was aaron, and while it was almost impossible to understand each syllable that parted his lips, i could tell we would get along just fine.

i produced the mysterious shiny black bottle of mystery fluid and asked where the hell the air intake was on this monstrosity of a diesel engine. not understanding anything aaron replied with, i moved forward and approached the engine block. aaron was crouched nearly on his ass fumbling with some piece of the motor and i just looked on with mild admiration. he didnt find what he was looking for because i did understand him saying the word "fuck" about 75 times.

something was wrong?

eventually aaron pointed to the air intake because i didnt understand what he was saying and we moved onward. i told aaron i was going to spray the fluid in the air intake and then run over and start the engine to see if this mystery fluid would work. aaron objected with a yell that probably woke children up in the next town over.

hmmmm. ok.

the next 30 seconds i was scared to the point of oblivion.

aaron instructed me to turn the engine key and while i was attempting to start the car he was going to spray the fluid in to the air intake valve. apparently this was going to work, but all i was picturing was the mystery fluid label that said "EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE" and "DO NOT SPRAY WHILE CAR IS ON."

i pointed to this particular area on the spray can because modern spoken communication simply did not work with bob seger and i. i heard another series of fucks from him and figured he was calling me an idiot for not believing him. i mean, the guy looked like he had been driving trucks for 80 years. so i hastily walked over to the drivers side of the truck, stuck the key in the ignition and closed my eyes. i truly thought that i was going to end up about 500 feet in the air having a party with bob seger above a series of major engine explosions before we would fall to our death somewhere a couple miles away.

i actually closed my eyes as i turned the key.

and the truck started. no problem at all.

aaron smiled and muttered some words that i imagine involved the words "fuck" and "i told you so." he dissappeared within seconds and i was left wondering how these things all come together. 40 minutes prior i thought i was going to be sleeping at a truck stop by the little debbie cakes aisle waiting for a mechanic to come in the morning only to tell me that the repair would cost $14,000 and was going to take a week to perform.

nope. not this time.

i pushed further on the highway, but there was a heavy snowstorm brewing in flagstaff so i pulled over at a dingy hotel in winslow, arizona. i grabbed a couple of tall boys of budweiser at the flying j, watched some CNN and remembered that there was a song by the eagles that talked about winslow.

the next morning i slept in past the checkout time like i do 99% of the time. the housekeeping attendant walked in to what she assumed was a vacant room in need of cleaning. to her combined surprise and dismay, i was spread sideways across the bed with drool covering my face and pillow. when this happens, the housekeeper always acts as if she just walked in on me naked and says sorry about 2,000 times only to walk out 3 seconds later.

i checked out an hour late and hit the road headed for pasadena, california. this would be the final push to get to the tour of california-- a professional cycling event-- where we were setting up at the finish line to slang some crocs.

as i drove along with katie, nighttime was fast approaching. the lonely stretches of road were getting monotonous. in many parts of this great country you can go hours without seeing anything other than a flat field and a truck stop. and this day was no different. a sign darted by my periphery reading "next service 57 miles." i quickly glanced down at the fuel gauge. it reported, based on the position of the dial, that i should make it to the next service stop without much of a problem, but it would be close.

and i made it no problem 57 miles later.

now that the truck was in fact in need of diesel, i pulled off the highway and did the standard look-around to see which station had diesel. i didnt see any so katie got out and asked a group of interesting looking gentleman, albeit one of them a police officer, where the closest diesel stop was.

the reply was devastating: 24 miles away.

shit.

the dial on the fuel gauge was below "E" at this point, and i wasnt feeling adventurous in the least bit. the police officer informed us to drive 45 miles per hour and we should make it just fine. fully aware of the fact that we had already just driven 1o miles on "E" i was kind of nerveous. putting my trust in this cop like i had bob seger the previous night, i got back on to the interstate. this time i was nervous, kind of like when i thought i was going to blow up at the hands of bob the previous night. i was certain we would run out of diesel.

and we did. of course we did. the truck came to a halt as the power steering went out.

a small explosion of light flickered on and off as every signal warning light on the dashboard lit up. i mean this truck didnt have one check engine light, it had three-- all in different colors. apparently when things were REALLY bad, the green one came on. or maybe the red one.

whatever.

there were other warnings about vacuum's being out and oil gone, but i knew what the problem was. i now thought i would be spending the night in the desert cold waiting for some sort of vehicular rescue team.

i started to sweat. i started daydreaming about macgyver and indiana jones. i needed a creative fix. goddamnit, i needed kevin sack and his dry-gas. the man gave me a case of dry-gas for christmas 10 years ago. it sounds like an odd gift, but it was totally appropriate given his desire to assure i was never in an adverse situation.

9 years prior i had used dry gas for the first time after i had spent a late night at a girlfriends house. i mean i was in high school and had that midnight curfew thing so i wasnt doing anything too crazy. it was pissing rain out and i as i tried to turn the corner in my bronzed pink colored minivan (named monster). the dashboard went hay-wire and i was stranded in the middle of the street. cell phones didnt exist then so there was nobody to call. the same sweat poured down my face. i was certainly swearing to myself and i definitely thought of macgyver. and then the dry gas. and it worked. the dry gas got me to a gas station.

now, 10 years later i was sitting on the side of the highway nearly getting clipped by every passing vehicle wishing kevin sack had sent me some this past year. i placed a call to triple A and they informed me that someone would come and rescue me within the next 12 hours. i mean, that was about as effective as a band-aid covered in cat piss.

at some point, katie and i concocted an idea that made me sort of skirmish but i was up for trying anything. i drew a sign advertising to passers-by that read "NEED DIESEL." katie, being the sex appeal of the whole operation, gallivanted next to our motionless vehicle proclaiming our stupidity. well, wait. for once, i dont think this one was my fault. that fuel stop 57 miles later really should have had diesel. or at least a sign 57 miles prior saying "if you need to fill up with diesel, do it now because they dont have diesel for another 102 miles. all other fuel needs can be taken care of in 57 miles." that sign was probably too hard to read and so it never got made. and so there i sat shit out of luck.

katie holding the sign did absolutely NOTHING. or so i thought.

maybe an hour or 12 later, a fellow by the name of jack rolled up in an enormous tow truck and produced paper work that suggested he was with triple a. we exchanged words for a few and i marveled at the fact that he spoke coherently enough for me to comprehend his syllables. jack deemed me absent-minded for letting the truck totally run out of diesel. i acted like i didn't hear him, but was secretly shitting my pants wondering if i had actually done something seriously wrong.

he produced a jug full of wondrous diesel fuel and poured it in to the tank.

awesome.

the truck, apparently because of it losing its prime, still wouldn't start. in a fit of brilliance, i produced the mysterious shiny black container of liquid from the previous night and my adventures with bob seger and the beautiful attendant.

meanwhile, a cop showed up.

awesome.

i was certain that i was going to be arrested for some sort of obscure violation related to advertising a sign on the side of the highway requesting diesel from fellow truckers passing by. the ticket would probably cost somewhere in the region of $4,000 and i would inevitably lose my job. fully ready to blurt out "SHE DID IT!" and pointing at katie, i held my breath for officer friendly to tell me i was under arrest.

"are you the ones that were holding up a sign and yelling for help?" the cop spoke and then stared coldly. i mean, they always do.

"diesel!" i blurted out. that statement didn't make any sense in context. i mean, the guy was asking a question and i just shouted "DIESEL" as a reply. i thought maybe it would get me away from having to really explain the whole situation. mysteriously officer smoke (that was his real name) nodded and looked away. totally unsure what was coming next i turned to jack and continued onward with business as usual with my mysterious black bottle of fluid. i was just going to act like this was all normal. surprisingly jack followed suit.

with the truck not starting and now a cop breathing down my neck (a cop named officer smoke nonetheless), i showed them my starter fluid.

"uhh, i have this. it will work." jack looked at me puzzled as i spoke those exact words. i then continued to instruct him with fierce precision acting like i knew exactly what to do. of course, the only reason i was speaking with such certainty was because of bob seger and his hand motions the night before.

i belted out orders like i had worked at a truck stop for 15 years. "jack, i am gonna turn the ignition and i want you to point that can in the air intake valve and give spray a burst of that starter fluid for 2 to 4 seconds."

i didnt catch this, but apparently the cop commented to katie saying that i really knew what i was doing. had i heard this, i probably would have turned up the trucker jargon even more. probably a good thing.

and just like that, the engine fired up. i was silently cheering inside but showed absolutely no emotion to jack, officer smoke or katie. this was business as usual, people. i nodded to jack and told him thanks for his help. i looked at the officer and not knowing what the fuck to do i just shook his hand. i don't think he really knew what to do either so he started talking about the volcano that was in the distance. completely confused but very pleased with where this was going, i held a conversation about that goddamn volcano for another 10 minutes. apparently the cop wasn't going to gang beat me and usher me off to the sin bin.

awesome.

we packed up and got in the truck. jack stopped traffic for me and we hopped back on the interstate. officer smoke turned up a hurricane of dust as he spun the tires and gave us a lights show as he darted in the opposite direction on the highway. i was actually impressed because the moves he just displayed maneuvering his squad car made me think he was perhaps a stunt driver on the side.

we rode off and made it to the next truck stop to actually get a full tank of diesel. i had one of those "holy shit" moments thinking about this mysterious can of black fluid that managed to save me twice and bob seger that instructed me on how to not be engulfed in a full-scale explosion despite any label warnings.

awesome.

we made it to pasadena for the cycling event without another hitch. over the course of the event weekend i got to see some friends. brad diggans was working for another company at the event and mr pedro vaz came in from newport beach to hang out one of the nights.

so you could say things worked out just fine.