It was mid-morning when we finally turned the key and pulled out of the driveway. The jeep was fully loaded, blocking rearward visibility with bags and bundles and a mini refrigerator, but we were able to make do with three sets of eyes. We were off! The plan was to make for Utah, cutting through the wastelands of California and Nevada as we drove onward to our first target, Cedar City. The Jeep, though old and crotchety, had been checked out and certified a few day before. The AC was recharged, leaks were sealed, and fluids were filled.

Two hours later we were forced to pull off of the 15 and into a Wendy’s parking lot. The engine had been trying to overheat, slowly creeping past 210, 220, inching ever closer to the 300s. We could have kept going, sure — with the windows down and the heater on to pull the excess from the engine, we probably could have made it into Nevada and Utah and Colorado. We weren’t looking forward to it, though. Having the seats drenched in sweat and the outside air more refreshing than the interior wasn’t attractive. Nobody was expecting the trip to be the height of comfort, but the heater on? In the summer? Through the high desert?

Hell no.

We ended up in Clairemont, Dan’s hometown. He never thought he’d be in there again, but circumstances had us driving by his old house, heading for a mechanic that had worked on the jeep before. After a bit of finagling and a few phone calls back and forth and back again, they took a look at the engine. Nothing was wrong, of course. The engine was just old, and had a tendency to work up a bit of a mechanical sweat when pushed. We were offered a new radiator, as large as could be fit inside, in the hope that it would be sufficient to draw away the large amounts of heat generated. So it was that we found ourselves, after having been picked up by one of Steve’s parents, at a nice two or three level home in Sierra Madre. The jeep was going to have the new radiator installed the next morning, after which we could be on our way only a day delayed. Not too bad, especially considering the muggy and uncomfortable alternative.

Then I received a phone call.

It was from a random customer at the store I work part-time at, asking whether or not their envelope to Bolivia was on its way. Being 150 miles away, I of course have no goddamn clue, and try to explain this to the crazy lady on the other end of the line. It turns out that somebody at the store thought it a good idea to just give out my private cell number and let me deal with it, as if I was on call or something. I’m still trying to find out who gave out my number, and my next time sheet is probably going to include some independently billed time.