Although I had heard countless descriptions of trips– the grandeur, the beauty, the fun– and although I only live 3 hours away, I had never been to Lake Powell. My first trip there came for a couple of reasons.
1. My cousin worked for my husband and was a Lake Powell junkie.
2. My hubby’s company had done some work for friends who wanted to trade out the pay for a trip on the houseboat. So my cousin helped arrange for the trip and we took all the couples from the shop. This is where our “Boating Vacations” began. (Think Griswold here.)
We had so much fun on that first trip that the next year we decided to go as a shop again and take our families. Some more remodeling work and some more trade later, we were set to go for a couple of more years. We planned the trip for August. Nice and hot.
We owned a van that was having some brake problems, so it was necessary to have them worked on before the big trip, at the last minute, of course. We picked up the van the night before we were going to leave. The next morning, we finished loading, hitched our “new hillbilly boat” (an old boat acquired through trade which is another story in and of itself), and set out for Lake Powell. We had four kids at the time and also had our 16 year old neighbor, whom I’ll call “J”), in the van with us. J worked for my hubby, too.
As we began driving, Mr. Perfect said, “These brakes don’t seem to be working quite right. They feel funny.” We shrugged it off as “new brakes needing to be worked in.” As we turned onto the Boulevard (about 10 minutes from our home), there was a big BANG under my seat, and the brakes went to the floor.
Fortunately, it was early in the morning when we left, so there wasn’t much traffic. We negotiated to the end of the Boulevard and turned into the Ford Dealership to have them fix whatever they didn’t do right the day before. Everyone was antsy and anxious to be on the road. But here we sat in the Ford dealership for 1 ½ hours waiting for them to finish all the brakes. By about 10 a.m. we were finally on our way again.
We made a quick stop in Hurricane for some more stuff, then we were off, and made it to Lake Powell without a hitch.
We had a wonderful weekend on the lake! Here’s proof:
The Fun Begins
We had everything loaded up and started to head for home. We left about 6 p.m. because we wanted to get home early enough to get everything unloaded that night. Little did I know that the brakes had been the omen for the remainder of the trip.
About 15 minutes from Lake Powell, we heard a POP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP! We pulled off the road to find that the back left tire on the van had gone flat. Technically, this should be no problem, we could change a flat! We just had to find the jack first. Let me help you understand the scene: we’re all sunburned, scaggy-haired, ugly, and tired. The kids had just started going to sleep. The van is LOADED with crap. So is the boat which is hitched to the van. We’re on a busy stretch of highway and have to keep the kids in the car (think over 100 degrees here), and we had to find the jack. Yes, I repeated myself. Finding the jack is imperative to changing a tire and we didn’t know where it was.
In my perfect angelic manner *smile, polish halo*, I wanted to maintain a positive attitude so I could show our teenage neighbor how to have a good attitude in a frustrating situation. Little did I know!
First, we had to unload part of the things out of the back of the van to get to the jack. Then we had to unhitch the boat because of the weight. Then we realized that this was a little dorky jack that had a thin metal bar crank. No problem, have a good attitude, get started. So MP, my hero, did just that. He positioned the jack and started to crank. Then came the time to loosen the lug nuts; typically not a problem unless they have been screwed on wrong with a power wrench. MP, the buff man that he is, had no other choice than to break three lug nuts just to get the tire off.
Now, here was MP, sunburned and lying on a hot asphalt road that had recently been tarred and rocked. I was feeling so bad for him, thinking how painful that would have been to be lying on the ground with those hot rocks smashing my sunburn. Truly, MP was my hero. Just to keep the mood light, I made some wifely comment about how he wouldn’t win any competitions at changing tires so quickly like they do at the racetracks. It didn’t receive quite the funny reception I thought it would. So I stood there wondering if I could hand him tools or something to be helpful.
After finally getting the tire off, we couldn’t find the spare. Honestly, it’s large, how do they HIDE these things?? Finally MP realized that the tire was UNDER the van—in its belly so to speak. MP was laying on the ground again, and shimmied under the van trying to unscrew the tire, but it wouldn’t come out. (Make sure you add children whining and questioning and trying to get out of the van all through this commentary. It adds truth to the moment.) He finally put me to use finding the owner’s manual and trying to find the secret code and ritual to the spare tire release. At this point, I was wondering if it included the words, “Oh Mighty Isis!”
Alas, our search turned up the valuable information that the little wimpy jack crank held the secret powers. Somewhere inside the van, you place this crank and turn. Voila’, you’re spare tire lowers. Thank you to the Secret Combination Gods. NOW, we could make some good time. MP put the tire on, twisted the nuts on the remaining lugs, loaded up the crap, hitched up the boat, and climbed back in the van. It had taken approximately ONE hour. Needless to say, MP was a little irritable. I, on the other hand, was still trying to be Miss Positive, but still knew better than to say a word, when our little daughter, from the back of the van said, “Where did you get the new tire, Daddy?” (Aww…so sweet!)
“FROM HELL!” He responded abruptly. MP never swears. Never. This caught everyone off guard, except for the little kids in the back who couldn’t hear him anyway, who asked, “What did you say?”
In my mind, I’m thinking, “Yea, that’s pretty much where he got it from. Can’t argue with that,” as I look at him and we both start laughing. I notice little tiny rocks stuck to his shoulders with tar.
We’re not done. Oh, no! To be Continued…….