Psycho Rodents!

We pull out of site #12, excited to continue our journey toward the Canadian Maritime provinces for the next couple weeks of completely unplanned, unreserved, outdoor adventure and exploration.

We smell gasoline, a lot of it, then the engine makes a terrible whirring sound.  “That’s not normal…”  Hutch jumps from the driver’s seat and pops the hood; and then I see it, liquid spewing everywhere!  I reach over, turn off the engine…and just as quickly get out and away from the truck.  I don’t know what has happened or why, but fresh petrol spurting from the engine like blood from artery is never good in any situation.

We glance at each other in disbelief, then the coin drops, and we lock eyes thinking the same question, what if this had happened when the engine was hot?  We leave it at that, unanswered.  The fuel lines were clearly chewed by some critter in the night -- we can see the teeth marks -- but why?  In 6 years on the road, we’ve had only a few run-ins with animals, but none that left us stranded.  A deer ran out in front of us in the UP of Michigan, but we were able to bend the fender back and get on our way.  A sly Island Fox snatched a bag of crackers from our picnic table in the Channel Islands when our backs were turned for 10 seconds.  A sneaky chipmunk got into our backseat, somehow, at Mt. Rainer and ate all of our peanuts (but thoughtfully left the shells).  And a spicy little mouse in the North Cascades found two Taco Bell fire sauce packets forgotten in the door well and chewed them to pieces – there wasn’t a drop of that hot sauce left.  But, a fuel line in the engine… and BOTH of them?  What was this psycho rodent after?  Based on the forensic evidence left on the intake manifold, AKA poop, we believe the perpetrator was a red squirrel.  

There is one spot in the campground with strong enough service and we call every local mechanic in a 30-mile radius.  We get the same story from each; “Oh my! I’m sorry, but it’ll be the end of next week before we can even look at it.”  Wow, really…the end of next week? 

We discuss our options, but it's clear we’re going to have to do this ourselves.  If we can remove the parts (which is a pretty big IF as our truck is 18 years old and we have limited tools), we can take them to the auto parts store.  With some DW-40, a little patience, and a few choice words, Hutch disconnects both lines.  I make a sign for the dashboard from a mac-n-cheese box I find in the recycling bin, explaining what has happened and why our truck is half in/half out of the site.  We don’t want to get towed further from a mechanic afterall.  

No sooner after we take the bikes off the rack and get ready for the 6-mile journey into town, it starts to rain.  The phone rings, it’s the campsite manager.  In my fury to try and get some help, I left a message with the helpful folks who came and collected our $10 nightly fee in person.  Dennis asks, “Do you need a ride into town?  I can be there in 5.”  “Uhhhh, yeah, that would be awesome!” I reply. 

Dennis rolls up in his truck, looks at our issue in disgust, and tells us to hop in.  He’s got just one seat in the front, so Hutch jumps in the back with a huge stack of firewood.  On the way, I learn that he’s a boat engineer, we know some mutual friends, and he’s going to take us to his mechanic – they know him well.  We walk in to HC Rolfe’s & Sons auto and he introduces us to the very nice woman behind the counter.  We show them the parts, tell our sad story and the search begins for some new ones.  Within 20 minutes, we have all 3 office staff and 2 mechanics in problem solving mode on a late Friday afternoon.  We learn Nissan doesn’t make the part anymore and it’s a very specialized fitting.  We’ve had plenty of issues with the truck over the years, but never have we heard the words, “We simply can’t get that part.” 

My mind goes there…I try to stop it, but I can’t help it.  A feel heat run through my body, I begin to sweat, then tremble as my blood pressure rises.  “This can’t be happening!”  Our beloved truck, who has logged over 95,000 miles with us, who has towed Hamlet all over this beautiful continent, is going to be undone by a psycho rodent who chose our fuel line for a snack?  No way! She’s got at least another 60,000 miles in her.

I snap out of it, just enough time to ask, “What else can we do?  Junk yard parts?  Make a new part?  Anything?” the desperation rising in my voice.  “I’ll get Cory on it,” says the confident woman behind the counter.  Cory, a tall man of few words emerges from the back room and begins rummaging through his case of spare parts.  I can see it in his eyes, the wheels are spinning, the MacGyver instinct kicking in.  He’s got a plan, but he’s not saying anything, just searching through his stash of hardware.  He looks up and says under his breath, “If I had the right hose…” before he completes the thought, the resourceful woman reaches for a box on the shelf and says, “you mean this hose?” 

Cory provides a brief explanation of his plan and then disappears into the shop.  It’s a glimmer of hope, but we aren’t out of the woods yet.  He returns about 10 minutes later with his repair – one that incorporates the existing part with barbs, new hose, and hose clamps.  It looks solid and we are all impressed with his ingenuity.  He explains that it may be a short-term solution, or one that could last years.  He wasn’t sure, nor could the shop except the liability if something went wrong, but if we are ok with it, we could give it a shot.  It was our only shot, actually.  Without it, the truck will remain half in/half out of site 12 until a tow truck could haul it away.  So, of course, we were fine with it…more than fine with it in fact...elated even! 

Dennis runs us by the grocery store and begrudgingly accepts our 6-pack offering of gratitude.  Just so that we don’t encounter a repeat performance from our hose chewing neighbor, we decide to wait until morning to install the new parts.   But, before we’d even had our morning coffee, Dennis’s wife, Tera knocks on our door.  “I’m here to make sure you two are ok and find out if there is anything else we can do to help…we are so sorry this happened.”   Wow, what a sweetheart, and what amazing service for a $10 a night campground!  Did we mention how much we love Mainers?

We eat a hasty breakfast, and Hutch goes to work on the reassembled parts.  I cross my fingers and say a little prayer as the last hose goes into place.  I back away as he fires up the engine.  Everything sounds normal and there isn’t any spurting fuel. That's a good start. We drive it around the block, but not without the fire extinguisher from the camper in case the whole plan goes awry.   It works!  We breathe a huge sigh of relief.  

We are back in business and on our way to Canada….and only $32 and one 6-pack of overly hopped pale ale in the hole.