New Mexico Unimog 2005

February 13th, 2005 Sunday night, about 6:50 PM Mountain Time Phoenix, AZ David and Cassandra's House

So, this trip, the UNIMOG, a disaster. Two and a half days of grinding, howling, engine noise. Freezing. Floods.

Wait. Too soon. I'll back up.

I arrive in Albequerque just fine. Like, the plane didn't explode. Which I appreciate. As a bonus to surviving my flight, a woman who I was admiring from afar in the Denver airport, who I was *admiring*, approches me at the baggage claim and calls me adorable. and tells me whenever I'm in LA to give her a call She then gives me her card. A great beginning of a trip, I think. A rather auspicious sign, I reckon.

About two minutes later, the fantasy begins to slip away, like my willpower in the cereal aisle at Safeway. With a handshake, I meet the German outside with the goatee and smart tan. he is a semi-car-salesman-type. We drive back to his building, exchanging the standard dialogue, and scripted pleasantries employed in this particular man-act of long distance vehicle trading.

Long story short, my UNIMOG is not exactly as described, but I'm a very good sport about it. Always with the cool head and reasonable beyond reproach. Plus, my plane ticket was one way only, and I'm now 1800 miles from home. The adventure was now officially underway.

If I have learned anything from my travels, one should never stifle or otherwise abbreviate an adventure, much like a sneeze or other automatic bodily function.

And so, with only a tiny bit of trepidation, I was off and heading west again. nearly immediately, (on the freeway, on level ground) I break down. At least I was only running out of gas (gauge non-functioning). I switch tanks and I'm rolling once again. Full throttle, at maximum speed... 49 miles an hour. I feel good, excited. Thinking again about the woman at the airport, I smile. I begin to feel confident. So confident, even, I turn off of the big freeway, and onto (on my map, at least) what appears to be an only slightly less significant freeway. A shortcut to my destination for the evening, Phoenix. No sooner do I negotiate the off ramp to the smaller road when I in my vehicle, encounter a slight uphill grade and am forced to shift into a lower gear. Yielding about 30 miles per hour wound out full throttle, pedal to the floor. the noise in the cab is deafening. The engine threatens to come apart, fastener by fastener. Despite my slow speed, the canvas top flaps violently, just inches behind my skull.

About four hours later, I have travelled a hundred and ten miles from my start point. Barely over 25 miles per hour. Ouch. Not as planned. My ears are ringing, and fingers beginning to get numb from the cold Rocky Mountain air that has been passing freely through the unsealed cab. But, I tell myself, I can get a fresh start in the morning and grind all day, (or maybe just a few hours? There should be a downhill soon) and make it into Phoenix.

So when I freeze my ass off in the back of the truck, and I could go into more detail about broken battery terminals, disconnected heaters, uncomfortable "beds", but suffice it to say, it was not an entirely enjoyable evening.