REAXblog

This morning I headed down to Seatac to pick up Eric and his girlfriend Chrissy, they were going to ride with me to Missoula. Again it was a tight squeeze, but very comfortable I heard.

We stopped in Ellensburg to have breakfast at Campus U-Tote-Em, I had a Wildcat burger - recommended. I was actually a little bit worried Van Go wouldn’t make it over the pass, but it was pretty much uneventful. I got good gas mileage and putzed along around 60-65mph, trying to coast in neutral as much as possible. Eric and Chrissy (well, mostly Eric) had some cool stories to share about their lives as rail tramps, which has pretty much been Eric’s life the past three years. I couldn’t tell if Chrissy was a “road girlfriend” or his real girlfriend, but she was just getting introduced to tramping.

The ’service engine soon’ light has been on quite a bit and seems to move without rhyme or reason. At this point, it should really read “service sanity soon” because it is so skittish. One thing I can say is that I am burning a good amount of oil. I dumped four quarts in today (probably been 1,000 miles since I last added oil). On one hand, it’s an old car so there could be any number of things going wrong, and I’m tempted to push on through. I could keep adding oil indefinitely I suppose (or, at least until I get to Chicago, where I could try to trade it in). I’ve done so ‘internet research’ and although I likely have a problem, I don’t have all the symptons of imminent engine failure just yet - so I’ll probably just slake the engine and ride it out.

Eric had some cool stories about life tramping. His tramp crew, Hakuna Matata, their stories. One girl who lost a leg when she fell/got pushed off a moving car, perhaps by her boyfriend. Another man who lost a leg when he was sleeping in a dumpster which was picked up by the garbage truck. He promised to send a ‘crew change guide’ which is the book you need if you want to hop on a rail car hobo style. It’s always a bit risky to jump on a train in the yard, as there is generally security; but due to union laws, trains have to change crew every eight hours, and those changeovers are the best opportunity. It might be out in the wilds, but still your best bet, if you know when and where.

We stopped in Spokane. I added some oil (the first two quarts in probably 500-700 miles). The engine purred and the oil gauge jumped back up. We rocked it out of Spokane, I was breaking Chris’s advice to keep at 60 and pushed 70-75. It didn’t take much coaxing and Van Go obliged. I was making nearly 20 mpg the way out here, way ahead of my projections, so I felt good about it. It was 200 miles to Missoula. We climbed near C’ouer d’Alene, it was so beautiful. I saw rich people on jet ski’s flying around. I wanted to jump in the lake real bad. It was getting hot in the van, but not too bad.

We reached Missoula, at which time I realized that I had to push the clock ahead an hour, which screwed my plans to get to Billings by 10pm. I called Brandon and asked how late would be cool. He said 11 or something, but I knew that even by that time, I couldn’t make it. When I rolled into downtown, a thermometer read 105. Remember that heat wave I wanted to beat? Not gonna happen.

I let Chrissy and Eric out. I said we should settle up for gas. I’d probably put in about $90 to this point with them. I didn’t expect them to pay their full share, as it was clear they didn’t have much money, but Eric said “Don’t look at me!” while Chrissy gave him a bad look and handed me $20. It was better than nothing. Eric mentioned to me earlier, “If you loan someone $50 and you never see them again, it was worth every penny.” I concurred.

I walked around Missoula for a while - 100 degrees felt cool compared to the van. I looked for a corner store or something, but couldn’t find one, until I finally hit a gas station at the edge of town and bought a few more energy drinks. I hate them, but damn they keep me going. I knew I had to make some hot time to Billings 400 miles away. It was already 7pm, so it would be 1am at the earliest before I got there, so I called Brandon again and apologized for bailing on him, and decided to stop in Bozeman, where I knew there was a hostel. That was still 200 miles away or so, but I could do that.

Along the way, my oil gauge started jumping all over again, and I got paranoid. I stopped in Warm Springs, a nothing spot and went to the “Bar/Store”, where I got 4 quarts for the highway-robber price of $15. It was worth it not to break down. I checked the oil - bone dry. Added all four quarts. Presto. back in business. A local drunk named Jeremy looked at my engine a bit, didn’t see nothing special. Said I had bad P-rings probably. I bought him a(nother) beer then drove off into the dusk. My time shot, I took easy, cruising between 55 and 65 the whole way. I thought I could make it to Bozeman on my current tank of gas, but added some just outside Butte anyhow, better safe than sorry. It was night now. I drove onward.

I got into Bozeman around 10:30pm or so. All told, I’ve gone 885.3 miles, and have averaged 19.6 mpg. This is way better than I expected. I’ve spent $168 on gas, an amount that should get me well into Wyoming.

That night, I pulled into the Bozeman’s Backpackers Hostel, which was a nice enough place. I was dang tired and went mostly straight to bed after talking with a few of the night owls. My room featured an avante-garde snorer, a man skilled in the chainsaw, the life-support, the snot gurgle, and the darth vader hiss styles of snoring. His timing and rhythm were impeccable, producing anti-sleep vibrations that prevented anyone else from likewise slumbering. I got up and went to the bathroom at about 1:30am. This was noisy enough to get him to turn over on his side; he stopped snoring. He started talking in his sleep. I did all I could not to laugh out loud, but as it is, I chuckled for minutes. I finally got some sleep, had a dream about the events at an oddbal hostel also in Bozeman, where I received the nickname Chameleon. Maybe I’ll write that story later.