A Pissed-off Lucy
Telkwa, BC to Prince George, BC –
356 km (221 mi) – total = 8670 km (5387 mi)
Every now and then the steering wheel squeaked, and when
we arrived in Prince George the squeak had turned into
a hiss. Charlie figured that the problem was with the power
steering. Since Prince George was the largest city in the north
of British Columbia, he could easily find a garage that did
repairs.
This being the Sunday of the long holiday weekend in
August, we were lucky that they still had an available site in the
crowded Blue Spruce RV Park.
The devil was after Charlie. Or was it Lucy taking revenge
for the abuse he’d given her on the Cassiar Highway? She
seemed angry, big time.
While connecting the sewer hose to the RV outlet, Charlie’s
hand slipped and the metal wire at the end of the hose went
through his rubber glove and into his left thumb. We let it bleed
for a while to avoid infection and I sterilized his finger with a lot
of rubbing alcohol, then bandaged it. We were very concerned
about this tiny puncture. It was the worst possible type of injury
to get, sewer juice.
All campgrounds are pretty much the same. While the
kids headed for the swimming pool, the seasonal campers got
together to socialize. No doubt that the aroma of the barbecues
would later be replaced by the smell of roasting marshmallows
cooked over campfires.
Our site, surrounded by manicured lawns, had a large
concrete patio. Charlie extended the awning over the picnic
table. Since we were drop-ins, we sat on our makeshift patio to
sip our cocktails and people-watch.
As I went to dispose of the garbage, I noticed a woman
bent over in the dumpster going through the trash. Since there
were a lot of empty soft drink cans scattered around the bin, I
assumed that she was collecting them to recycle. She glanced at
me and returned to her search.
“Looking for cans?” I asked.
“No. I want some of these,” she told me as she stood up and
showed me a cardboard box with a decal on its side.
“I need the points for a contest in town. You have any?”
“Sorry,” I told her as I tossed in my garbage. Maybe I
should have hit her over the head with it. How desperate can
someone be to win a contest?
Charlie’s finger throbbed all night and by morning it had
swollen to double its size. The park staff directed us to the
nearest medical clinic in Prince George which, to our relief, was
open on this holiday Monday.
The doctor gave him a tetanus shoot, a prescription for
antibiotics and advised us, as a precaution, to stay in Prince
George for at least twenty-four hours. Grounded once more,
we were thankful that the campground had full hook-ups. At
the McDonald’s, next to the clinic, we treated ourselves to a
quarter-pounder and fries. I enjoyed the change in menu.
Charlie had little appetite. We ate in silence.
With the finger problem taken care of, Charlie’s attention
turned to Lucy’s squeak. We needed to find a service station.
As we walked to the RV, we noticed a parked truck with an
advertisement sign painted on its side that read ‘House Calls
for Auto Repairs’. We couldn’t quite believe it. We waited in
Lucy and hoped the truck driver would soon show up. When
Charlie spotted a guy with oil stains on his jeans come out of
the McDonald’s and walk towards the truck, he rushed over to
him. I could see the two of them in deep conversation and the
guy pointed down the road.
“He can’t do the job but he told me that at the Husky garage
they service trucks. We have to hurry before they close,” and he
sped out of the parking lot.
We arrived at the garage just as the only mechanic on duty
locked up the shop. Charlie parked Lucy to block his way out
and rushed over to explain our predicament. Whether it was
the way Charlie held his wounded hand or the sweet talk, or
both, he managed to convince the mechanic to take a look.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Charlie drove Lucy into the garage bay and, once again,
I stayed in the RV to keep out of the way. Ten minutes later
Charlie opened the door, stuck in his head, smiled at me and
said, “Louise, you make a good garage wife.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” I let out a sigh and smiled. He blew me
a kiss and shut the door.
The mechanic changed the power steering belt and did it
all for a $25.00 service charge plus $12.00 for the belt. Grateful
that we were getting this done on a holiday Monday Charlie
gave him a $40 tip. We were happy. Charlie smiled. His finger
throbbed big time.
We returned to the RV Park and set up camp. Outside
under the awning, I read a magazine, Charlie the local
newspaper and by three the park emptied. By four it started to
fill up as a caravan from Texas of about ten bus-size RVs pulled
into the empty sites. They say everything is bigger in Texas.
These RVs were huge. Charlie estimated their cost to be at least
$350,000 each. An impressive sight of luxury and largeness, it
didn’t surprise us that most of them pulled a car.
We were grateful the next morning that this caravan had
no clue on how to check their tire pressure with a hammer.
Charlie’s thumb wasn’t as swollen or as red and he felt better.
The tetanus shot and antibiotics had done their job. We packed
up and left.
Telkwa, BC to Prince George, BC –
356 km (221 mi) – total = 8670 km (5387 mi)
Every now and then the steering wheel squeaked, and when
we arrived in Prince George the squeak had turned into
a hiss. Charlie figured that the problem was with the power
steering. Since Prince George was the largest city in the north
of British Columbia, he could easily find a garage that did
repairs.
This being the Sunday of the long holiday weekend in
August, we were lucky that they still had an available site in the
crowded Blue Spruce RV Park.
The devil was after Charlie. Or was it Lucy taking revenge
for the abuse he’d given her on the Cassiar Highway? She
seemed angry, big time.
While connecting the sewer hose to the RV outlet, Charlie’s
hand slipped and the metal wire at the end of the hose went
through his rubber glove and into his left thumb. We let it bleed
for a while to avoid infection and I sterilized his finger with a lot
of rubbing alcohol, then bandaged it. We were very concerned
about this tiny puncture. It was the worst possible type of injury
to get, sewer juice.
All campgrounds are pretty much the same. While the
kids headed for the swimming pool, the seasonal campers got
together to socialize. No doubt that the aroma of the barbecues
would later be replaced by the smell of roasting marshmallows
cooked over campfires.
Our site, surrounded by manicured lawns, had a large
concrete patio. Charlie extended the awning over the picnic
table. Since we were drop-ins, we sat on our makeshift patio to
sip our cocktails and people-watch.
As I went to dispose of the garbage, I noticed a woman
bent over in the dumpster going through the trash. Since there
were a lot of empty soft drink cans scattered around the bin, I
assumed that she was collecting them to recycle. She glanced at
me and returned to her search.
“Looking for cans?” I asked.
“No. I want some of these,” she told me as she stood up and
showed me a cardboard box with a decal on its side.
“I need the points for a contest in town. You have any?”
“Sorry,” I told her as I tossed in my garbage. Maybe I
should have hit her over the head with it. How desperate can
someone be to win a contest?
Charlie’s finger throbbed all night and by morning it had
swollen to double its size. The park staff directed us to the
nearest medical clinic in Prince George which, to our relief, was
open on this holiday Monday.
The doctor gave him a tetanus shoot, a prescription for
antibiotics and advised us, as a precaution, to stay in Prince
George for at least twenty-four hours. Grounded once more,
we were thankful that the campground had full hook-ups. At
the McDonald’s, next to the clinic, we treated ourselves to a
quarter-pounder and fries. I enjoyed the change in menu.
Charlie had little appetite. We ate in silence.
With the finger problem taken care of, Charlie’s attention
turned to Lucy’s squeak. We needed to find a service station.
As we walked to the RV, we noticed a parked truck with an
advertisement sign painted on its side that read ‘House Calls
for Auto Repairs’. We couldn’t quite believe it. We waited in
Lucy and hoped the truck driver would soon show up. When
Charlie spotted a guy with oil stains on his jeans come out of
the McDonald’s and walk towards the truck, he rushed over to
him. I could see the two of them in deep conversation and the
guy pointed down the road.
“He can’t do the job but he told me that at the Husky garage
they service trucks. We have to hurry before they close,” and he
sped out of the parking lot.
We arrived at the garage just as the only mechanic on duty
locked up the shop. Charlie parked Lucy to block his way out
and rushed over to explain our predicament. Whether it was
the way Charlie held his wounded hand or the sweet talk, or
both, he managed to convince the mechanic to take a look.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Charlie drove Lucy into the garage bay and, once again,
I stayed in the RV to keep out of the way. Ten minutes later
Charlie opened the door, stuck in his head, smiled at me and
said, “Louise, you make a good garage wife.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” I let out a sigh and smiled. He blew me
a kiss and shut the door.
The mechanic changed the power steering belt and did it
all for a $25.00 service charge plus $12.00 for the belt. Grateful
that we were getting this done on a holiday Monday Charlie
gave him a $40 tip. We were happy. Charlie smiled. His finger
throbbed big time.
We returned to the RV Park and set up camp. Outside
under the awning, I read a magazine, Charlie the local
newspaper and by three the park emptied. By four it started to
fill up as a caravan from Texas of about ten bus-size RVs pulled
into the empty sites. They say everything is bigger in Texas.
These RVs were huge. Charlie estimated their cost to be at least
$350,000 each. An impressive sight of luxury and largeness, it
didn’t surprise us that most of them pulled a car.
We were grateful the next morning that this caravan had
no clue on how to check their tire pressure with a hammer.
Charlie’s thumb wasn’t as swollen or as red and he felt better.
The tetanus shot and antibiotics had done their job. We packed
up and left.