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Massachusetts - 1993

Trip to  Massachusetts - 1993

The end of May found me high-tailing it out of Phoenix because of the heat.  It was starting to get around 95 to 100 degrees every day, which is a little much for my Canadian blood.  I headed west to San Diego so I would be there in time for the annual party that we "hams" have every year when all the cruisers are coming back from Mexico.  That also gave me a month or so to visit all my "old" friends there.  Jan flew out for the party which was the last weekend of June and we had a great time.  She went to visit her family in South Dakota for a couple of weeks, so I delayed my leaving San Diego so we could cross paths in Flagstaff before I headed to Massachusetts to see my son and his family.

After Flagstaff, I stopped in Albuquerque to see my ham-friend, Kermit.  While there, I had tire trouble so decided to get all new tires so I wouldn't be worrying about them for the whole summer.  Leaving there almost the end of July, I followed every road that wasn't an Interstate.  Interstate highways are boring, they all look the same, and they are usually in bad repair because of the trucks that use them.  I found the U.S. highways to be a lot more fun, especially in a motorhome which notices the bumps more than a car does.  Also, the scenery is about 10 times better.

I can't say enough about the beautiful country east of the Mississippi.  It is so green you wouldn't believe it, especially if you have lived in California or Arizona for a number of years.  One tends to forget what "green" really means.  Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky are just out of this world.  The New England states are also very pretty; but, they are more congested so I didn't like them as well.  The people in New England are a little different, too.  My son, who has lived in Massachusetts for 8 years, says you just have to get used to them. Maybe so! I guess I wasn't there long enough. 

After visiting my kids and grandkids for about 3 weeks, I decided it was time to head out again; so, I meandered kinda south and west through Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey.  New York City was loads of fun! I wanted to avoid it; but, it would have put on quite a few more miles.  So, I said to myself, "Jack, you've driven in Los Angeles, Chicago, Bismarck, -- you're not afraid of New York!  Of course not... But, I should have been afraid of Murphy! 

There are quite a few wires under the dash (and all over the place) in a 31' motorhome.  When it's 17 years old, you can expect anything to go wrong at any time. Murphy says so.  The motorhome had been stopping on me periodically and I knew it was something electrical -- but I didn't have any way of finding out until it quit altogether.  Then I could trace the problem.  I knew it would be the most inopportune time; but what can you do?  Nothing - just wait. 

Well, I was roaring along the freeway, right in the middle of New York City, when it happened.  I was getting used to it by now.  You're always kind of picking your spot as you go along.  My spot, (this time) turned out to be the "V" shaped area of no-man's-land at each off-ramp.  I just barely coasted to a stop.  I had 6 inches clearance from the off-ramp and 12 inches to the outer lane of the freeway.  It wouldn't start!  I tried everything -- even praying!  The BIG trucks were roaring past - missing me by one foot.  To add to the excitement, there was a rough spot in the pavement right beside me.  As the trucks went over that bump, they rattled everything they had.  The car-carriers are the worst.  Every time one of them went by, I was sure I had been hit. 

Now, I'm a pretty fair "back-yard" mechanic.  That means you have the manual in one hand and the wrench in the other.  So, I dug out the manual and my dirty old clothes and went to work.  The only problem was that the clothes were in the back of the motorhome.  I didn't like that area one bit!  Therefore, I carefully planned my trip.  I ran back and got my clothes and changed them in the front of the place because I was sure the back was going to be an accordion any minute now.

After much pondering, I decided it was the coil.  I had no idea where I was or how far I would have to go to get another coil.  There was only one way to find out.  There was nowhere in my budget that called for a tow off the freeway in New York City.  So, it was a dash across the one-lane off-ramp, over the fence, and away.

I ran into a couple of kids on their bikes.  One was about 8 and the other about 5.  The 5-year-old said there was an auto parts store straight up the street.  The 8-year-old said he didn't know.  He also said that the 5-year-old didn't know what he was talking about. So, I kept on walking.  On a hunch, I followed the instructions of the 5-year-old.  He was right.  About a mile up the road, I found the store.

The young fellow, who was there by himself, was less of a mechanic than I.  He did, however, know that his uncle only dealt with cash-- no credit cards.  Also, there were no returns on anything electrical.  Explaining my predicament didn't get me much sympathy.  You see, I really wasn't sure whether it was the coil, or the electronic module; but, I was too cheap to buy both if I only needed one.  So, I took the coil and headed back to the motorhome (if it was still there).  It was -- and still in one piece even!

I changed the coil.  It still wouldn't start.  Back across the off-ramp and over the fence.  The electronic module had a problem that worried me.  Mine had five pins -- their replacement had four pins.  I couldn't get 4 to go into 5 evenly.  The kid didn't know how to do that either -- even with "new math".  Fortunately, when I got back, there were 2 or 3 more guys there.  One of them was brilliant!!  He opened the box and took out a little piece of paper that explained why the four pins would work just fine.  Great!

Back down the road.  It's starting to spit rain now.  How exciting!  I changed the module and, "voila", I have spark again.  But, alas, it still won't start.  After only a few moments, I suspected the electric fuel pump.  Pretty good for a back-yard mechanic!  The only problem was that, because of the noisy traffic whizzing by, I could not hear the fuel pump as I normally could. That meant I had to get under the vehicle with my volt meter to check if the voltage was getting to it.  I just knew I was going to get hit while I was down there. There were no other volunteers, so I had to go.

No juice to the fuel pump.  Okay, I'll hot-wire it.  Here we go -- it's got to start now.  It did!!!  I don't remember when I ever liked the sound of an engine; but that sounded like music to my ears that day.  It took me only a few minutes to get the heck out of there and onto a nice, quiet, side-street so I could finish my repairs properly and in safety.  I had spent from about 1:00PM until 5:00PM on that freeway.  During that time, no cops stopped-- and no robbers.  I considered myself lucky on both counts.

It was just dusk when I finally crossed the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey.  In another hour, I found a nice quiet place for the night.  And I lived happily ever after.

I spent quite a bit of time in Washington, DC.  I wasn't even sure I would bother stopping there as I hate big cities; but, a friend of mine told me on the ham radio that I would regret it if I didn't at least check it out.  I'm glad he did as it turned out to be an interesting place. Actually, out of about 5 days, I spent 3 of them going through the Air and Space Museum which is part of the Smithsonian Institution.  That is a fabulous place and one could spend a whole month going through the Smithsonian and all that goes with it.  They had every airplane you've ever heard of and all the spacecraft.  In most cases it was the "original", unless it had been destroyed in some way, in which case they had a duplicate.  I even got to go in the space shuttle that was up there for 3 or 4 months.

Other highlights along the way included a visit to the offices and museum of the Statler Brothers in Staunton, VA. They bought the school where they all graduated and made it into their facility.  Their offices are upstairs and the store and museum are downstairs.

Everybody said they'd have to move to Nashville if they wanted to make it big in country music.  They showed 'em!  They still all live in this little town of about 25,000 people and have made it pretty big in the country music field.  I'm not really a country music fan; but, I have always liked their music.  I could have sworn that they were ex-barbershoppers; but, I was wrong again -- they started out as gospel singers.

While travelling, I spend a lot of time reading the roadmap.  I guess I'm fascinated by the names.  You wouldn't believe how the same names pop up in different states.  But, you could be sure that Boissevain (my home town) was not going to show up.  There was only one of those!  So, here I am - in a little town in Southern Virginia - reading my roadmap as usual.  Lo and behold, I see this little town of Boissevain.  I couldn't believe my eyes!  Well, I just had to go there - - no matter what.

It was certainly out of the way.  I knew that to start with.  It was in "them thar hills".  It was probably 40 or 50 miles off the beaten path.  So, I started out.  I got about half-way there and it was getting dark and raining; so I stopped for the night in a small town.  The next morning, I continued along.  The road kept getting narrower and the trees lower.  They didn't get many big vehicles here.  But, I pushed ahead - there was no backing out now.  I did have to stop a couple of times to negotiate a meet with another vehicle.

Finally, I made it to the big town of Boissevain, Virginia --population 300.  I stopped at the general store and told the guy I was from the other Boissevain.  Of course, he hadn't heard of it either.  We had quite a talk.  He called several of his friends in town to come down and visit.  They were building a museum across the road.  This was a coal mining town way back when.  They had some machines there and that was about it.  They had just started the project.

The storekeeper was pretty much in charge of everything.  They didn't have a mayor; but he was it anyway.  He had gone to law school, had practiced law in the big city, had enough of it and went back home.  He was an interesting guy.  He said I could park across the street in the museum for as long as I wanted.  I stayed the night, then walked the town the next day.  When I went to the store, the guy asked if I would be willing to be interviewed by the newspaper from the nearest city (about 40 miles).  I said, "Sure, if they want to drive that far; but why would they?"  Anyway, he called them and they came out.  They didn't have much going on there, I guess.  Actually, he was promoting his museum and I was a pawn.  That's okay.  I never did see the article they wrote.  I left before it came out the next day.

I also wrote a little article about this for the Boissevain Recorder in my home town.  I'm sure they were all surprised to hear about another Boissevain.

At this point, I became a truck driver.  I had told Jan I would be back to Phoenix in time for her birthday and it was getting pretty close.  So, instead of my normal 40 or 50 miles per day, I took off and put in 400 or 500 per day.  A big step for me; but I managed!

P.S.  My son, Terry, beat me at arm wrestling destroying my previously unbeaten record.

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