Seeking Sanctuary preview 4 - 3:10 to Yuma

Natasha had Kermit vaccinated and brought home the papers.

Edgar bought Mexican Car insurance.

☼

In the end, they had a screaming session. Natasha would not quit screaming. Edgar had promised to leave this day and it was already afternoon. She wanted to leave and get it over with, or stay and wait until the creditors threw them out.

Edgar had wanted to sort through things more. A few hours more would have saved them later grief. Edgar was afraid her screaming would draw unneeded attention. He stuck the key in the motorhome ignition and posted a welcome note on the door. He loaded Natasha and Kermit in the car. He could not look at the motor home as he eased down the gravel road to the gated camp entrance.

Nobody in camp seemed to notice them as they rolled over the cattle guard and eased over the speed bump.

They left Quail Canyon at 3:10 pm, on Wednesday, September 4, 2003. The remaining Labor Day traffic was traveling in the opposite direction. Not until Sunday September 8, did they realize the losses they had suffered.

Natasha quieted down. She was on an adventure.

Kermit, however, screamed incessantly, He would not ride in his cat travel box.

Edgar had to pull over on the apron of Interstate 8 to let Kermit out of his box. Natasha feared that Kermit would go back to curling up and sleeping by the brake pedal. However, Kermit was content to curl up in the shade under the rear window. For the duration of the trip, Kermit behaved much better than Natasha behaved.

They drove tediously into the afternoon sun. At least, the car had air conditioning.

The Gila Bend tire shop sign reminded them of the path not taken.

As they left the Gila Mountains and headed east-southeast, the desert grew flat and featureless, except for its sparse vegetation. Since before Gila Bend, Luke Air Force Base stretched all the way to the Colorado River, with its unpopulated bombing and gunnery range. The sun drooped lower, blinding Edgar. Natasha slept.

☼

The lonely and long desert drive gave them plenty of time to dwell on their regrets and fears.

Natasha regretted her life of drinking. What was she to do? It was in her genes. Her mother had sent her to several drug stores with prescriptions from several doctors. Her mother, a nurse, had been addicted to pain pills.

Edgar, for his part, wished he had conquered his obsessions and compulsions, early in life. He wished he had taken high school more seriously. After working in the fish-packing houses of downtown Los Angeles, he had gone back to school. It was a hard fight up, and he never had reached high enough to take on the responsibilities he shouldered.

☼

The desert sped past--vacant and unpromising. Did it foretell the desolation and bankruptcy waiting for them in Mexico? Would they ever reach the border?

Of course, the desert was full of living things--special things--adapted to survive the parched baking summer days and bitter freezing winter nights. Nevertheless, two jobless, penniless migrants with a house cat would not last long out here where vigilant Highway Patrolmen , desperate illegal aliens, and ruthless highwaymen roamed the lonely ribbon of highway like buzzards.

Heat waves continued to rise from the blacktop. The road into the sun appeared to bubble and boil in the searing heat. The tires bowed out, almost flat, under the tremendous load Edgar had packed into the car and into the car top carrier. Edgar fully expected to have a blowout before they ever reached the borderlands.

☼

There had been no good reason to stop early. The more miles they put between Quail Canyon and themselves, the better. On the other hand, Yuma sat right on the border between Arizona, California, Baja California, and Sonora.

Yuma, normally a hellishly hot summer caldron, would be only warm and humid tomorrow. The radio reported the approach of a monsoon for the late morning.

☼

The sun sank visibly, now. On-coming traffic began to show their headlights.

A Highway Patrolman in the on-coming traffic turned on his red and blue blinkers. He crossed the wide median and came up behind them.

Natasha grabbed her vodka bottle and tried to think where she could hide it. “Is he after us?”

Edgar carefully watched his sped and tried to will the overloaded car to become small and insignificant.

☼

As the sun sank out of sight, Edgar spotted the Wellton off-ramp.

☼

They found a pizza parlor in the fading light. They ordered a medium pepperoni with anchovies and a mug of beer.

While they waited, they could not help noticing the teenagers in the window booth. An adult male chaperoned the group, They were conducting a student government meeting. Both Natasha and Edgar took in the proceedings with interest. Neither of them had ever participated in student government.

The adult counselor was full of himself--even before finishing the pizza. He guided the student council members through ‘their’ first meeting. He suggested one proposal after another. The student council members, so excited to have been chosen to represent their classmates, giddily approved every proposal the counselor suggested. He received carte blanche treatment.

Natasha, “Do you suppose all ‘student’ governments operate this way?”

Edgar, “I think all governments and businesses are dictatorships. Woe to he or she who questions authority.”

☼

In Yuma, where US-95 intersected I-8, they found a Regal 8 Motel. They hoped the dark desert night would conceal the cat carrier. Edgar obtained a west-facing room, around the corner, but not far enough, from the office. They moved their necessaries to the room. Edgar bought a few Cokes.

When there was a lull in activity outside the room, Edgar retrieved crying Kermit and his box.

Kermit spent the night in the bathroom with food and water.

They lay in bed. The events of the day sank in. There was no going back.

Natasha, “What if they stop us at the California border?

Edgar, “They have no reason to.”

Natasha, “What if they don’t let us take all this stuff into Mexico?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where we gonna cross?”

“Tecate!”

“I never heard of it!”

“It’s a quiet little border town I discovered in 1960.”

“Where do we turn off?”

“Boulevard!”

“Boulevard what?”

“Have a drink, It’ll help you to sleep.”

☼

Just before turning out the light, Edgar saw the sticker on the mirror: “NO PETS.”

Seeking Sanctuary preview 3 - 118 Degrees in the Shade

Natasha and Edgar had only weeks left until the economic super storm hit.

If they did nothing, they would simply get evicted and live under the bridge.

Natasha got a job, two days a week as a nurse’s aid. She had to lie and say the job was satisfactory, even though it was only 24 hours per week at minimum wage.

☼

A monsoon swept through. A dark wall of dust loomed, closer and closer, from the south. Winds howled and ripped lose anything not bolted down. Heavy rain and hail pelted the motor home. Lightning crashed overhead with deafening cracks.

The storms stranded them--looking out on torrential rain for days--only venturing out for essential activities.

☼

When the weather finally cleared, precious days had been lost.

The heat flowed from the Sea of Cortez to the Colorado River, to the Gila River, and up Quail Canyon. The temperature soared to 118 degrees in the shade. The electricity went out. They stewed in the motor home box in the sun. They had no money to hire an electrician. Edgar isolated the fault to the heavy duty, air conditioner circuit breaker. He removed it and drove to town. The RV supply house was closed, so he found a commercial electrical supply store near the airport. He new the wiring had been overheated too many times by Natasha running the hair dryer and the microwave, while the air conditioner ran full speed. Nevertheless, they would know how to proceed come Labor Day.

He had to steal some heavy-duty cable from a large trash gurney at a local construction sight. The fix worked.

While they still had a phone, Edgar sold his life insurance policies for $7,000. He sold his mother’s sterling silver and best gold china for several hundred more, in a parking lot in Phoenix to a shrew antique dealer who wanted to keep the transaction off the books. He donated some of his best paintings to Saint Vincent de Paul, along with clothes and a heavy safe. He carried the remainder of his oil and acrylic paintings, across the super hot RV park, and left them on the sheltered porch of the man who had driven him to the parts store, for an alternator, last Christmas Eve. He donated his homemade 6-foot artist easel and all of his art supplies to the camp recreation room.

☼

He arranged all of his fishing tackle and all but two of his fishing rods, along with his Gerard turntable, by the trash bins for camp residents to recycle. He did the same with his homemade Pentium computer, and scanner, after removing his hard drive and smashing it with a sledgehammer to prevent the FBI and Sheriff Arpaijo from searching it for any information that could be used as an excuse to apprehend them.

Edgar sweated in the 118-degree heat, his brain boiling. What began to formulate was that he had to get rid of everything he did not absolutely need. He thought of himself as a coyote caught in a trap. The coyote paw, his possessions, would only be surrendered, to the hunters, his creditors, when they caught up to him. Most of these goods had been paid off years ahead. He figured that notifying his creditors would possibly inhibit him from crossing the border. Besides, there combined value would not pay a month’s interest on what they owed.

His feet and back ached and every muscle cried out from the hard work. Sweat poured down from his head and shoulders. In the Arizona sun, his perspiration quickly evaporated, leaving a slimy muck behind.

☼

In the evenings, at sundown, they wearily trudged across the gravel to the recreation center. Too weary now for billiards and darts, they would spend time alternately swimming lazily in the pool and soaking in the hot tub. The Spanish Clarinet Players, Great-Tailed Grackles, whistled and clacked in the nearby trees--occasionally emitting harsh tones of “chack, chack.”

As the twilight faded, a large white owl passed through the early star twinkles.

As the desert heat began to normalize, more stars came out and bats flitted here and there, emitting their sonar chirps.

Edgar and Natasha absorbed these evenings in their memories. They knew all too well that these peaceful evenings could not last.

☼

Natasha, “Tell me again why you are throwing all our stuff away! We won’t have anything left.”

Edgar, “I don’t know. All I know is that something is going to happen after Labor Day. I’m not trying to deprive our creditors. It’s like--the best case scenario is that we get kicked out of the motorhome; I have a job with the sheriff; we file for bankruptcy; the sheriff fires me; I get arrested for passing a bad check; the sheriff puts me in his 118-degree desert tents; and you get mugged, raped, and murdered.”

“But you only passed one bad check for a five dollar haircut.”

“That’s all it takes! He’s not a nice sheriff and compassion only holds for fellow members of one’s church or family.”

“But, why are you throwing everything away?”

“Our basement and all our cabinets, including storage under the bed is full. Wherever we go, we’ll go in the car. I have to empty everything out and get rid of everything we don’t need.”

“Why can’t we just gather the things we need and go?”

“I have to get rid of most of the stuff so that I can inventory what’s left.”

Edgar wondered what the few heat freaks, who remained for the summer heat, thought of his activities.

One day the local husband of an outspoken nudist family accused him arraying his possessions for all to see just to brag about his wealth. “By the way, if you and the missus are interested, me and mine are willing to share our Tuesday and Thursday night all naked hot tub with you.”

“We’d love to join you, but I’m addicted to ‘Boston Public’ and ‘Grey’s Anatomy.’”

“Too bad! My Trixie could teach you a thing or two about anatomy.”

☼

The next day Edgar received a form letter from the sheriff--“ARE YOU STILL INTERESTED IN EMPLOYMENT BY THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT? If so, fill in the enclosed card and we will retain your application in our files.”

☼

Edgar grew dizzy in the 118-degree heat. The form letter almost got blown into the hot tub. “Oh shit! We can’t wait to see if they’ll want me in the next go round!”

He wearily trudged home on the hot gravel.

He sat in the Bounder driver’s seat, staring into space. He knew it was over.

He explained their dilemma to Natasha and drove to town.

He stopped at AutoZone and purchased a car-top carrier.

A biker stopped to talk to him as he installed the carrier in the parking lot. “I envy you--able to vacation in this sick economy.”

Edgar, “Not a vacation.”

Biker, “If I took off, they’d fire me.”

“I’ve been disenfranchised from pay checks.”

“I can dig it!”

“Goin’ a Mexico!”

“Friends there?”

“More ‘n I got here!”

“You got money?”

“Six thousand, six hundred.”

“Jeez!”

“I got a wife and a cat, and Social Security in seven months. With luck, I’ll get three thousand for selling my life insurance.”

“Sounds like you’re jumping without a parachute.”

“Exactly!”

☼

That evening Edgar and Natasha strolled around camp, before their hot tub. They watched the hawks searching for the wary ground squirrels.

Natasha, “If something goes wrong?”

Edgar, “We run drugs or get deported!”

“Jeeze! It’s more exciting than skydiving!”

Seeking Sanctuary preview 2 - Quail Canyon

Quail Canyon offered a hot tub, 3 free pool tables, several bocci ball courts, and group activities. $1200 rented a campsite for 6 months. It offered a refuge from the cold winters of Minden, Winnemucca, and Pahrump. Edgar and Natasha no longer had to move the rig for propane. They were lucky to get in. The season was from October 1 to March 31. The camp became a ghost town during the summer when triple digit heat alternated with tropical monsoons. Someone had canceled at the last moment leaving an available site. Edgar liked the camp because the nearest liquor shop was a nice Chinese lady, five miles away. Natasha did not drive.

Edgar set up their DISH antenna. Natasha watched soaps, crime series--'The Young and the Restless' and ‘The View’--when she was not whipping ass on the bocci ball court.

Edgar monitored MSNBC from pre-market to the closing bell. As soon as they could have a telephone connection, he began seriously looking for a job.

They were not going to get out of this state without wheel bearings.

He applied for everything he could. Arizona did not support good pay scales. He applied to a pharmaceutical company as an entry-level chemistry aid. He met all the criteria. They did not want an entry-level employee approaching retirement age.

The same was true of Lockheed, the State Department, and many others.

He tried to land a job turning over old people in Gila Bend, but the listed address was incorrect.

He applied to be a correctional officer at the prison near Florence.

When he interviewed to be a clerk for the sheriff of Maricopa County, the interviewer laughed and said he would be better off with the sheriffs than he would with the prison. Nevertheless, Edgar had had to use glasses and a magnifying glass to pass the written test. Moreover, when he interviewed with his potential lady bosses, he said he had been clocked at over 40 words per minute. He did not tell them that that speed was clocked over forty years ago in high school. Lately his fingers had not worked so well. He was not sure as to whether his lack of motor skills was due to physical problems, nervous problems, or general old age. He had to admit that although he had compiled a 30,000 entry Spanish dictionary, he was not really ‘fluent.’ Before it was over, one of the ladies commented that his clothes looked like those of a street person. He was wearing polished shoes, a freshly ironed dress shirt, and pants that he had removed the tags from that morning.

☼

He remembered his last days at his old job. He had been given a task of analyzing code for a space shuttle mission critical function. Everyone on the project, except Edgar, had been told that they were scheduled to be laid off at the conclusion. Edgar had already scheduled a hernia operation. He had argued with his boss that there was no point in delaying surgery for a boss who offered no job security. Surgery cut his time available on the project to 8 of ten scheduled days. He was laid off January 30. His October Surgery allowed him enough recovery time to crawl under the car and attach the tow bar in February.

☼

As time went by Edgar realized that the odds of the two of them ending homeless under a bridge in Phoenix was rapidly increasing. Realizing that he only had months of security left. He worked on things he would never have another chance to work on. He researched his ancestry to find out he was largely Scottish, with a few Uzbekistanis, Jews, Ukrainians, and Goths thrown in to his 10,000 relatives. His database limit had been reached before he could find any Asians, or Mexicans. Although he found a few black Africans linked to Cleopatra.

He had so much fun writing about his ancestors that he decided to write a short story about lie detectors. Part of the reason he had lost his job was a lie detector. He felt that a lie detector was an invasion of his privacy. The old witch, who had complained when he tried to close the drapes to stay cool, had reported that she had seen Edgar stealing a case of glue sticks. The irony was that he had only taken 2 sticks in 15 years. The first one dried out from lack of use. He lost the second one. In fact, he thought of glue sticks as geek gear.

When the lie detector kept getting an inconclusive result on ‘stealing,’ his boss assumed the worst--secrets.

It did not help that Edgar had become frustrated with the system. He had told his examiner that as he grew older he had difficulty telling fact from fantasy. When asked what he meant, he told them about his recurrent Mao Tse Tung dream.

☼

Standing on Avenida Revolución, Edgar had observed beautiful young girls of apparent Mexican-Chinese extraction. They were congregating at the foot of a staircase. They mounted the staircase, and disappeared inside the building. Edgar had followed them and had found himself inside of a sumptuous banquet hall. He had helped himself to the grand buffet, with an eye to meeting one of the girls. He sat down to eat amongst a group of vixens and surveyed the room. There, on the far wall, he could not miss a magnificent tapestry of Chairman Mao.

☼

Edgar told his inquisitor that as time went on he had difficulty assigning the story to dreams or something he had really done.

☼

Edgar had assumed Natasha’s upper arm bump to be the result of her falling on a mesquite spine. It was now diagnosed as cancer. She had two surgeries--the aging doctor had left margins the first time. The insurance company only paid about the equivalent of one month’s premium. The anesthetist charged them ten per cent per month--highway robbery. This is when they first began to consider walking away from the motor home and fleeing to Mexico with whatever they could fit in the car.

☼

Christmas came and Edgar and Natasha sang carols with the Swedes. By Christmas, the die was cast. Edgar’s computer projections showed bankruptcy looming before another Christmas. He began to accept the inevitable and plan for past the big bang. He researched bankruptcy and discovered even the old bankruptcy laws were written to protect only the viable workers. Even if they moved to Idaho or Montana, they would only survive with their motor home and their life insurance. Were they young and healthy in a growing economy, they could find a job and keep the motor home. Moreover, unless Edgar could land the job with the sheriff’s department they were doomed.

Edgar decided to do something he wanted to do with his last days. He began to write--novels. He ‘finished’ his adventure story by the end of February--500 pages--and sent it to a big publishing house. He continued to write and completed three more novels by summer. Due to turnaround times and hoped for advances or royalties, their only hope was either the sheriff or the story.

☼

Edgar also tried to establish ties to his estranged son, Zach.

Zach lived on an obscure twist that Sidewinder Track took, before it bumped against the barbed wire fence of the Western Edition of the Saguaro National Park, where he prospected for gold.

Edgar, having dealt with too many hypocrites in his life, probed, even his own son relentlessly. He had every reason to believe that prospecting served his son’s hidden agenda of sabotaging food and watering caches left in the desert by Tucson congregations to sustain illegal aliens traveling the ‘Desert Night Highway.’ In fact, Zach all but admitted his obsession and possibly even guilt with seeking out and firing upon illegal immigrants in the desert for sport.

Edgar had always thought of Zach as a sociopath. If society ostracized Edgar just for growing old, why should he care that his son, whom he had played no part in raising, was a subversive. Edgar had too many personal problems of his own.

Years later, while researching the Ku Klux Klan in San Diego, Edgar would discover that the opinions of Zach and the Pennsylvania side of his family marched in lockstep with those of the Ku Klux Klan of 1930’s San Diego.

☼

As time ran out, Edgar counted the days left before they would be homeless. A bank statement showed that the check he had passed for a job interview haircut had bounced.

Natasha received an offer for a loan from Phoenix Bank.

The loan money would be available August 29.

Their money would run out in September.

The sheriff was due to hire Edgar by Labor Day.

The publisher was due to accept or reject his novel by Labor Day.

They decided to take the money.

Natasha, “Well we can’t leave Kermit!”

Edgar, “We’re broke--not heartless.”

‘He needs his kitty travel box!”

“Yes, I know!”

As the clutter inevitably grew around the motorhome, trucks came and went, mysterious rendezvous took place.

Seeking Sanctuary preview 1 - Gila Bend

A large Bounder motor home sped east on I-10. The Cruise Control kept it at a steady 55. Edgar knew he was running old tires and figured he could handle a blowout below 60. He did not want to buy tires because their money was running out. The stock market had been lousy since George W. gained the presidency--something about M2 or M3 money. Then came 911 and the market did not even open for days.

Kermit curled sleeping on Edgar’s lap. Edgar had just enough space left to turn the wheel and operate the pedals.

The cassette player played a tape of the Crusaders, just loud enough to override the hissing air conditioner. Edgar welcomed the cool Texas jazz. He had waited for Natasha to fall asleep to swap it for her favorite Bruce Springsteen tape.

A dirty smudge grew on the horizon indicating a large concentration of humanity congregated into a desert metropolis up ahead.

Natasha had drunk too much Vodka to swing out the sun visor side-flap to block the sun.

☼

Two nights ago, they had slept in Hope, Arizona--a good place for aging desert rats.

The night before that, they had laid over in a Yermo trailer park run by a spiky-haired lesbian. Actually, she had moved on, but Edgar felt like kissing the ground she had walked on. After 911 they had elected to layover an extra month in snow country rather than travel through paranoid country. The sultry Mojave air had been a breath of heaven. That morning they had pulled up stakes in Minden, Nevada, sniffling in 18-degree weather. Snow had fallen and still covered the surrounding hills. Coyotes had howled all night long. Edgar had been sick with the flu for a few days and had known he had to reach the desert quickly. One long day’s haul, down 395 to Spike’s, had brought relief.

This morning, they had dropped down to Parker to cross the Colorado. Edgar wanted space between their crossing and Boulder Dam. Who knew what Al Qaeda would blow up next? The feds had even banned motor homes from crossing over Boulder Dam.

☼

A sign came into view--Palo Verde Exit ½ Mile. Edgar peered off to the south, out Natasha’s window. He could not see the largest nuclear reactor in the U.S. Still he knew it was there. Boulder Dam and Palo Verde Power Plant--two prime targets for terrorists--stood out like milestones on their trek.

A sign came into view--85 South Exit to Gila Bend ½ Mile. Edgar pumped off Cruise Control and allowed the behemoth to slow to exit speed. Last year he had gotten lost, pulling through Phoenix out of Wickenburg. He hated Phoenix and had vowed to give it a wide berth by traveling south on paved state highway 85 to I-8.

Less traveled and more remote, State 85 followed a lonely route. Midway across 85, they passed through the Maricopa Mountains. A midday breeze picked up and rocked the vehicle. Something felt strange.

Edgar pulled to the side of the road. The motor home leaned too much for the slope of the dirt.

Natasha woke up. “What’s wrong Daddy?”

Edgar, “Shit! I don’t know! The tires feel funny. I wanta take a look.”

Natasha, “Shit!”

Edgar stepped down off the automatic steps. His driving moccasins scrunched the desert soil. He slammed the door and walked around. Everything looked okay. He hunkered down on his hands and knees between the left rear lights and the left Honda headlight and sighted through the left double tires. Okay! He walked around to the right side.

Natasha slid a bedroom window open. “It’s getting hot in here can we go?”

“I’m almost done! Hold your britches. Better, why don’t you go pee before you wet yourself?”

When Edgar sighted through the right rear tires, he saw the problem. It was the inside tire. “Damn!”

He pulled out on the road. The air conditioner kicked in.

Natasha took a swig of straight vodka. “You look depressed.”

Edgar took a hit of cool Coors. “It’s a tire.”

“Now what are we going to do?”

“It’s the inside right tire--right behind where I loaded the safe. It’s going flat fast. It’s bulging against the outside tire. It has to be fixed.”

“We don’t have any money for a tire.”

“I know! I know! I’m 60 years old. My eyes are failing. Nobody will give me a job. I couldn’t work at MacDonald’s, ‘cause I couldn’t find the key on the cash register with the French fry picture. And besides, my sinuses would drip into their colas. I tried to get a job at the Nevada Department of Transportation.”

“You shoulda kissed more ass at your old job!”

“I got tired of those CIA creeps and they didn’t want me around after I told them about my Mao Tse Tung dream.”

“That was stupid!”

“They had hosed me for seven years.” He crushed the Coors can. “Maybe the stock market will go back up. I think I’ll see if I can find a job when we get settled.”

“Where you gonna find a tire that size out here?”

“I  don’t  know. What’s worse is we have to slow down so the outer tire doesn’t go too!”

“We’re screwed! I should have married a Republican!”

“Maybe we can find a tire shop before the other one goes.”

☼

The last seven months in Minden had given them little solace. They had made friends with a Mexican family who worked as servants in Incline Village. Several people in the campground had worked in Incline Village. Next thing they knew, one of their major credit cards had an Incline Village address and new charges at Harvey’s in Lake Tahoe.

One of the neighbors had tried to recruit Edgar to be responsible for the computer support of a secret redneck invasion of China. “We’ll get our cargo planes landed in China with heavy armaments by bribing the Chinese radar operators.”

The bump on Natasha’s arm had grown as big as a cherry while their health insurance had almost run out.

One morning, as Edgar had watched MSNBC, the market had begun to tumble. Then the television had shown one of World Trade Center towers on fire. Natasha and Edgar had looked on mesmerized, as the second plane had hit. The market had closed before Edgar could find his slippers. He had sent an e-mail to a friend about the symmetry of the buildings collapse, comparing it to a banana being peeled. At the time, his friend had thought the remark to be traitorous. More recently, callers have expressed the same feelings on Coast to Coast radio; using the symmetry as a basis for their conspiracy plot that the government had set off pre-positioned charges in the buildings.

Edgar had predicted such an event, but had hoped it would not happen in his lifetime. Now, he was looking for signs that his second dire prediction might be in the offing--a major epidemic of gargantuan proportions.

They had acquired Blue Cross health insurance at $700 per month.

Things had gone crazy in the camp with pickups carrying banners about killing the f___ing rag heads.

☼

The first thing Natasha saw as they approached I-8 was a giant ‘TIRES’ sign.

The mechanic had to call out to have the tire delivered. He jacked up the rear end and removed the outer tire. Grease streaked the inside tire in a radial pattern. “You’re losing your bearings.”

Edgar, “You can say that again. Can you fix it?”

“$65 for one Michelin radial! Nothing fancy! $85 and leave it overnight for bearings on this end of this axle!”

“We can’t leave it! We can’t afford the bearing.”

“You ain’t gonna go far.”

“Quail Canyon Trailer Trails! Between Phoenix and Casa Grande! Over by Gila Bend Indian Reservation.”

“You got enough bearing for there and back for the bearings. You’re lucky they deliver propane to your motor home in Arizona. Drive Slowly.”