A Blessed Breakdown

Mission, TX - July 9th

 We made a right turn out of the parking lot, happy to be leaving Brownsville’s Flamingo Motel behind. He was happy with the $42 price but expected to find hangers in the closet. No in-room coffee meant ODB was a bit grumpy this morning (In my book, that’s better than chipper).

Because they already have all the firearms
 and ammo they need

That right turn took us south. From Brownsville? Yup. He’s a stickler (compulsive obsessive, if you want to know the truth) on following roads from end to end. He “had” to drive two miles to the southernmost tip of Texas to THEN get on US 83, a highway we’ll follow from Mexico to Canada.

 Our 4 AM departure meant empty roads. The sun wouldn’t be up for hours. But this part of the world is 100% developed with mostly commercial/industrial along the highway. Plenty of light from all that.

 As the road narrowed from freeway to two-lane highway in La Joya, I started feeling it. My battery wasn’t being charged and was losing power fast. ODB looked down at the volt meter and saw it getting low. About then a warning light came on. We just had time to make a U-turn and go back one block to a McDonalds before everything shut down. ODB went in and called Harley Owners Group Roadside Assistance. (Best deal ever. For $29 in dues per year they will tow you from anywhere to the closest Harley dealership for free.)

 Dawn was breaking. ODB had his coffee now and came out to see me. I felt bad for the old guy. He sat down on me sidesaddle and leaned back against his pack. It was warm already. La Joya was coming to life. He sipped his coffee and started to tell me how grateful he was.

 Grateful?

 He said there was a state-of-the-art Harley dealership 15 miles back in McAllen. A tow truck was on the way. And that we would be okay. Then we started talking about the possibilities. How about this happens on the 550 where there IS no side of the road? How about in the bowels of the San Antonio vortex? Or the middle of New Mexico on 285 with no cell phone service, traffic or civilization, for that matter. Worse yet, how about next to that huge Hereford bull standing on the road up on Hwy 139? I said we were lucky. He said we were blessed. We split the difference and agreed that we were lucky to be so blessed.

 The tow truck guy called to say they were on the way and arrived in due time with two trucks. They, like most people here, were Mexican. The papa drove the big tow truck, his son drove a pickup. The papa didn’t speak English. The son did.

 As they worked at loading me on the big truck, ODB and I noticed how the son, a full-grown man, always differed to the papa and how graciously respectful he was. The son would tie a strap on one way and Papa would tell him to take it around the other way. No big deal, but we did notice. It happened several times.

 The Papa drove me. ODB got in the pickup with the son. My 15-mile ride was uneventful. Later, ODB told me about his ride. He said that he told the driver that the driver was a good son. That he had noticed how respectful the son was of his father and how that impressed him. ODB went on to say that being a good son was one of the most important things a man could be.

 She Who Keeps the Home Fires Burning knows this. And I know this. You do NOT want to get ODB started talking about his father. His dad died six years ago and . . . well, he’s still dealing with it. All he has to say is, “I miss my Dad” and off he goes. So, I’m not one bit surprised about what happened next.

 ODB and his driver started talking about families and about what’s important and what’s not. The driver said he felt lucky (there’s that word again) to be able to work with his father and how he usually goes along to interpret when the client is “a white guy.” ODB said he prefers to be called Euro-American. They both laughed. Then they went back to talking about family. Of course ODB thinks he can successfully relate that his father has died.

 Right.

 ODB no more than gets to the word “Dad” before a huge bubble of emotion comes gushing to the surface. He does his best to keep it down – like that’s gonna happen. What with being physically exhausted from short nights in motel beds, long days on the road, and the huge relief of his motorcycle breaking down in a near perfect location, ODB is ripe for something like this.

Conversation in the pickup truck comes to a standstill as tears stream down ODB’s face. Both he and the driver keep their eyes forward like two guys standing next to each other at a urinal.

 Then the driver tells ODB that his grandfather who lives in Mexico has died. Things are so bad in that part of Mexico that the family is too afraid to go there for the funeral. He starts saying that his father is heartbroken about this and . . . then HE loses it.

Wonderful. Now we have two guys, who don’t know each other from Adam, driving along in a pickup, crying. That’s just great.

 By the time all we meet up at Desperado Harley-Davidson, ODB and his driver have regained their composure and are acting like they’re soul brothers. Six hours later, I’m good to go with a new stator. That’s the part of a motorcycle that generates current to run the electrical systems and charge the battery. It was part of my original equipment.

 By now it was mid-afternoon. ODB decided to bag it for the day, got himself a room one mile down the road, and called it all "good.”

(Google Map Update)