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(Red) I should have known better. When all a greasy pigfucker can say is “I wouldn’t rip you off man” over and over again, you should realize that you are about to get ripped off. Why trust somebody who doesn’t even trust himself? But when your balls are in a sling and the sharks are circling, you have to grasp for any piece of flotsam you can find... and Roberto was the fattest piece of driftwood in the harbor... So I clung with all the strength I could muster and hoped for the best, all the while knowing that I was about to take it hard in the ass. Breaking down on the George Washington Bridge at rush hour is an experience I couldn’t even wish on the most despicable of people (not even my ex-roommate who is sleeping with my ex-girlfriend... well... ok... him, but nobody else). Anyway, I’m cruising along, humming a little ditty around 5pm when I come upon the Jersey side tollbooth for the GWB. As I hit the Clipper’s breaks, slowing down on my approach to the center aisle toll to pay my fare, the engine suddenly cuts out from under me with no warning... leaving me dead in the water and sitting in a cloud of thick, rank smoke. As a line of vehicles begins to stretch far behind my crippled vessel (for nobody can see over or around me to tell that there is 30’of empty lane between me and my toll taker) I curse out loud and frantically run around the cabin of the Clipper, shaking my hands wildly like a baby with a freshly soiled diaper. All I can think is that I must have run out of fuel again so I abandon my sinking ship and attempt a dangerous refueling in the center lane of the freeway. Now people are pissed as it slowly dawns on them that some dumbfuck from Colorado has just ruined their commute home to their most precious Bronx. The congestion thickens around me as each car eventually wings around my ass end and ironically slows down to hurl insults and shoot rude gestures my way. Climbing back aboard the Clipper, I give the engine a turn. Nothing. Somehow I feel relief that it wasn’t an empty fuel tank although that would have certainly been the most favorable situation at the moment. I labor hard, sweating profusely, turning the engine over and over, smoke billowing from my dual exhaust as the engine tries to come back to life. Suddenly it does with a gigantic cough as if dislodging an enormous loogy from deep within. I find myself crawling towards the tollbooth with the pedal pressed hard to the floorboard, dying again at the booth. I sit dumbfounded as the attendant takes me for 8 bucks before she radios for help. Deciding to give one more try, my prayers are answered as the Clipper begrudgingly sputters back to life. We limp across 8 lanes of angry traffic to the pay phone in the breakdown lane to call for aid. I didn’t even get to the receiver before greasy Roberto comes swooping down from above, as if attached to a zip line, landing with a large smile and his consummate tag line... “I wouldn’t rip you off man.” Yeah right. Roberto is talking a mile a minute and I almost belt him in the mouth so he’ll shut up and let me think... it’s been a while since I’ve lived in Jersey but I know the score. We finally haggle over the tow cost and arrive at $125 to get me off the bridge to Teaneck and his friend’s auto/body shop where things are certain to go further downhill. But I don’t really have a choice at 5:30 on a Thursday night in the gray zone separating New York and New Jersey. My best bet is to get the hell out of here and to a place where I can reassess my situation and at least have a few more options... Pigfuckers body shop (DeGraw Service Center on Queen Anne Rd) took me hard and it hurt like I knew it would. $72 for a set of ignition wires (which I actually did need) and $50 for labor (they tried to charge me $100 for labor but I said screw). You sign on the dotted line, agreeing to pay all costs before they perform the colostomy so you don’t have much of a choice when it comes down to it. With wires replaced, the Clipper was running by 6:30 so I paid the piper and hit the road. Only to break down again at the New Rochelle toll with the same problem. This time I got it restarted and figured out that if I kept the pedal down, and used my gearbox to shift between drive and neutral, I could continue on up the pike... I just couldn’t stop or take my foot off the gas... Wanting to get as far away from Jersey as possible, I pushed on through the darkness, the Clipper chowing fuel with a voracious appetite and me sweating it out until the next inevitable breakdown. My saving grace came around 8pm when I abruptly hit a traffic snarl and was forced to throw the Clipper off an exit ramp before she died hard on the highway. I was near Guilford, CT and it was getting late so I decided to limp my way toward safety and deal in the morning. Hammonasset State Beach offered some shelter although I had to work over the night warden before she let me smuggle Loki in for the evening, promising over and over again that not a soul would ever be the wiser... and they weren’t. Guilford Texaco, Inc. Use them. Write down this number if you travel 95 through Connecticut – (203) 453-4961 (they also do local and long distance towing). These boys came through for me big time. Their new facility is tough to find but is jam-packed fixing wealthy Nutmegger’s automobiles. With a little coaxing, I convinced them to get me into the garage ahead of their regulars. They lifted my 9,000+ lb. rig into the air and actually let me work side by side with the mechanics where I got a crash course on my machine’s chassie. I watched everything they did and asked every question I could think of. I was baffled by my treatment and am certain that this was not standard procedure, but it explains their loyal following and it sure as hell gave me an understanding of the Clipper that is leagues beyond where it was before this whole fiasco started. We fixed a bunch of small stuff while we waited for a new fuel pump and Jamie, my mechanic, gave me a deep socket set so that I could do my plugs myself. I still need to overhaul my carburetor (the rear float was sticking and flooding the engine with fuel, hence the ‘voracious’ appetite of the Clipper and its problems once I would slow and the engine would flood) but we pulled my Holley apart and rigged it to get me back on the road since I didn’t have time nor cash to do more extensive work. Quality people and quality work. I can’t say enough about them
or the experience. All told I was in their shop for almost 4 hours
and it cost me less than my stop in Teaneck... plus they didn’t teabag
me... and I made it to Boston just in time, with 17 hours to spare before
my brother’s Bachelor Party... a little tight but that’s how we like
it.
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