I wake up at 4:58, just in advance of the alarm clock. Sometimes that happens when I have an early morning. I don’t want to wake my wife so my subconsciousness wakes me minutes ahead of the alarm clock. It’s a nice trick.
I’m out of bed, into the shower, dressed, and out the door in under 30 minutes. First real road trip in Brother Blue. I’m excited.
Except I get exactly a half mile from home and I notice the low tire pressure indicator on the dash. It’s lit up all yellow and accusatory and discouraging. I’m at a stop light, so I can only stare at it. I checked tire pressures yesterday, part of my pre-trip routine, and everything was good. It shouldn’t be happening. But the Jeep’s computer says that the passenger-front tire pressure is down by 10 PSI. Not good.
It’s another half mile before I can find a parking lot to pull into; a dark and deserted gas station. Get out and look. I don’t even have to search, it’s right there on top of the tire. A nail. There’s a damn nail in my tire.
I’m surrounded on all sides by construction zones. Somehow in running to the hardware store, and getting gas, and going to the grocery store, I picked up a nail. To be sure, this happens not infrequently with our other vehicles. But I’ve had the Jeep for almost two years, and this is the first time I’ve punctured its factory-original KO2s.
I stand in the dark staring at the nail. I’ve got everything I need to deal with it. I could swap out the tire with the spare and be on my way. I also have a tire repair kit. This is my big chance to actually try it out. Gain some skills. Adapt and overcome. It all pings around my skull in less time than it takes for neon to flicker. Then I reluctantly get in the Jeep and drive home.
No one is waiting for me in Death Valley. No one is expecting me. I’m not picking anyone up. If I don’t go today, the only one disappointed is me. It’s one of the benefits of traveling solo: you can change your plans in an instant and no one cares. I’ll just have to take today to deal with the tire, then leave for Death Valley tomorrow morning.
Massive disappointment.
I don’t go back to bed. Instead I stay up, keeping myself busy with YouTube and iPad games and whatever else I can think to do until the tire store opens at 8 am. We have a relationship with them, been buying tires from them for years. Now, they look at my Jeep and they look at me, and they ask me to pull into Bay 3. I notice that no one else is driving into the service bays on their own. I’m not sure why I’m different.
These are Covid Times, so they don’t let me wait in the heated customer room. Instead, I have to stand outside in the 40-degree cold watching them from across the parking lot. I didn’t expect that. I’m not dressed warm enough for it. They ask me to not go far. I have the keys. If they need Brother Blue moved, I’m going to have to do it.
They do a good job. Not only do they plug the broken tire, but they check the air pressure on the other tires, and confirm they’re torqued to spec. I just did that yesterday, but still, it’s nice to see them being thorough. All in, it takes them a bit over half an hour to finish up. The cost to me is exactly nothing. We’ve been customers for years, and the service is free even though I didn’t get these tires from them. Someday I’ll have to replace the tires on the Jeep. I’d like to go to 35’s when that happens, which means new wheels because the factory originals aren’t wide enough for bigger tires. One of the ugly little surprises when I bought the Jeep. But all of that means a big purchase someday, and these guys are officially at the top of my list. Good business sense on their part.
While I’m waiting, those Rotopaxs start to nag at me. I’ve got an entire day with nothing to do. It seems like if I have a problem there, today would be a good day to deal with it. But do I really have a problem? It sure looks like both Rotopax and Rhinorack think I should mount the cans exactly in the way that I have. But I’ve spent a career looking carefully at what experts are saying. In my experience, experts are wrong between 10% and 20% of the time. I have 35 years of industry experience under my belt that says I’m right about that.
But if mounting a Rotopax the way that I have causes a problem, wouldn’t I have found out about it in my research? Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
What I need is some paint.
Back home, I pull the paxs off their brackets. Then I dab a bit of paint on the screw heads. Black. If the paxs are making contact with the screws, I’ll know it. I drop the cans back on the brackets, then pull them off.
Yeah. They’re making contact. I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all. How thick is that plastic, anyway? Maybe the screw heads won’t rub through. Then again, maybe I’ll be running down some washboard some day and suddenly have two gallons of gas pouring over my roof. It isn’t a pleasant thought.
I’ve heard YouTubers mention having Rotopax failures in the past, but they never give specifics. I wonder if this is one of the possible causes of it.
I spend the rest of the day dithering, keeping busy, running alternative mounting solutions around and around and in my head. Mainly I just want to not go to sleep. But the Rotopax thing is really bothering me. I can’t find anyone online complaining about this. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe its the screws I used. Maybe it won’t actually be a problem. In the end I decide to do the trip and see what shape the Rotopaxes are in when I get back. Assuming I can get out of time without something else stopping me.
My wife mentions that the State of California is implementing new travel restrictions. I spend time making sure that running off to Death Valley won’t violate them.
Starting a wandering era is never easy.
Eventually, I go to bed unusually early for me. Tomorrow, I’ll try this again.