12/29/95 -- Well, there we were at Horton's Corner, on the outskirts of lovely Chugwater, Wyoming. A turn of the ignition key in my Dodge Caravan produced nothing but a click...but the battery was conspicuously fully-charged. We'd driven 200 miles since 5:30 a.m., and had stopped only for a coffee break. It was the Friday before the New Year's weekend holiday.
Popping the hood showed oil splattered all over the inside of the engine compartment -- an obvious result of the dipstick not being seated in its holder. But I had checked the oil only a few hours earlier, and was quite confident it had been properly seated afterwards. Two diagnostic conclusions:
1. The dipstick had been forced out by internal oilpan pressure, which should not exist.
2. The resultant oil spray had soaked the ignition/starter electrical wiring to such a degree that the starter solenoid was grounded or shorted.
The girl at Horton's cash register was quite helpful. After noting that Chugwater's only sometime-mechanic had gone south for the winter, she dialed directly for me to (her choice) the Sinclair service center at Little America, a motel resort on the outskirts of Cheyenne, 60+ miles away. The voice on the other end told me he'd have a tow truck (from a different service) on our way in a few moments.
Outside the Caravan, despite bright sun, a brisk wind and frigid temperatures left a chill factor of about 15 degrees. We -- Thom., Jr. and wife, Wendy, youngest son Dana and myself -- descended on Horton's small group of coffee tables. I had been reading Crichton's novel, "Congo", and returned to it. British-born Wendy grabbed a National Enquirer to catch up on the latest Princess Di rumors. Jr. got on the phone, tried to make a couple of business calls -- but local telco would not accept his telephone credit card. Dana stared out the window.
We waited -- for 95 minutes (not unreasonably long, considering -- but a wait, is a wait). The tow truck, actually a flatbed car-hauler, arrived. We could not ride inside Caravan atop its trailer perch, so the four Foulks family members and the tow truck driver crammed ourselves into the single seat cab. Driver brags: "I've had six people in here a couple of times." Note that both Foulks' sons are 6-feet, 180-pounds plus. This is true family togetherness.
A little less than an hour later (Wyoming now has 75MPH speed limits), we entrusted the Caravan to the Sinclair mechanics, and retreated to the luxury of Little America's restaurant and lounge. It was nearing noon, but we had a sumptuous breakfast...thoroughly entertaining two waitresses not quite accustomed to Foulks extroverts.
An hour later, I strolled back to the Sinclair garage. The service center's manager met me, wiping oil from his hands. "Pawdner," he said, "I hate to tell you, you've got a collapsed piston." Three other mechanics gathered 'round, as though we were assembling for a wake. And, the manager noted hastily, "This isn't even something we can work on -- this van isn't going any further without a new engine." They had been able to get the engine running, after drying the starter connections, but oil was visibly splattering from areas where no oil should be.
Clutching at straws, I said: "Well, we've obviously been running that way for quite a few miles -- if we keep pouring oil into it, can we get back to Colorado?"
"If you drive that out the driveway," he replied, "a tow truck will have to get you the rest of the way."
Retreating back to the motel, I turned the next step over to Thom, Jr., the rental car expert of the family. Even though we were approaching the New Year's Day weekend, he decided he wanted to haggle over options. He even explored renting a Ryder truck-trailer ($400+), with us towing the Caravan back to the Springs. I told him I just wanted to drain the swamp, not fight the alligators.
Shortly, we wound up in a Hertz, southward-bound. The Caravan -- $300 tow later -- is now at Carlin Dodge, awaiting an engine rebuild. Junior and Wendy are on their way to Venezuela, St. Lucia and Port of Prince for a long-scheduled unique mid-winter vacation. Their two children (Chantelle and Tyler) are in Gillette, awaiting Grandma's arrival, tomorrow, to return them to Colorado Springs; with parents to meet them in a few days (at DIA) for return to California. Dana is back in Pleasanton, CA.
At Gillette, the Foulks family came quite close to a reunion, for the first time in seven years - Joe, Kathy and Jeff and their four kids (Kelly, Jill, Paul and J.T.) were all onhand. Missing, however, was grandmother Vi, who was stuck in Colorado Springs with a nasty throat-chest viral infection. I'm sure glad she didn't make it -- I've no idea how we ever could have squeezed all five Foulks into that tow truck's cab.
But, we'd probably done it. We have a knack for not doing things the ordinary way.
By the way, "Congo" is an exceptionally good book. If you've by chance seen the movie version, be aware it is a classic example of Hollywood trashing an original novel and ruining a very good story. Burn the tape, read the book.
