Well, this year is off to a GREAT start….

Those of you who follow my Instagram (@rcmwandering) or Facebook feeds might be aware that the current north-bound trip to Fort Worth to do Mom-related stuff went South rather abruptly. The first part of the trip went well enough, but as I got to Waxahachie, about 50 miles southeast of Fort Worth, my faithful 4Runner, Andromeda, traveling companion and best wandering friend of the last 11 years, coughed once and died. We got over to the shoulder safely, but things kind of went to hell from there. (Who knew Waxahachie, Texas was a hellmouth?)

Happily I was in an area with good cell service and was able to contact a couple of my adopted brothers for advice and assistance, since the last time I lived in this area was before college and all the mechanics I knew here are long out of business. (As it happened Mom has arranged things such that I’ve actually got several siblings from other mothers up here, which is turning out to be surprisingly pleasant as well as quite useful – I’ve never really been part of a non-dysfunctional family before. A guy could get used to this.)

(Thanks, Mom.)

After a few phone calls and a short wait, the nice AAA lady came along with her big truck and took Rommie and me up to Brother M’s driveway, where M and I set to with wrenches and prybars and implements of destruction and swapped out the fuel pump, then stared at each other blankly when that didn’t fix the problem. (We were SO sure…) Out came the Haynes manuals, and after prowling through them for a bit we decided that the SECOND most probable cause was beyond what we felt comfortable tackling under a tree in the rain. Out came the trusty cell phone again. The shop my OTHER brother, G, recommended was actually nearby and had a tow service THEY recommended. So Rommie got to make another trip on the back of another big truck, and Brother M and I piled into his picking-up truck and followed.

We wound up at Callaway’s Automotive on Davis Boulevard, where Bruce McLeod, the General Manager, (and isn’t that a fine Scots name?) assured me that his techs would take a look and let me know how bad it was….

On the theory that a wanderer can never EVER have too many contacts or emergency backups, I’m going to throw in a very serious plug for Callaway’s. [5832 Davis Blvd, North Richland Hills, Texas, 76180. 817/485-8189. Bruce McLeod, General Manager] I came from nowhere with no appointment or advance notice and a truck in what turned out to be mortal distress. They were polite, professional, helpful, and went WAY above and beyond to save my happy ass. I could not have asked, and would not have dared hope, for better people to work with. If you’re in the DFW area and need mechanics, these are your folks. They don’t come any better.

Then off to Mom’s for dinner, a shower, and a couple of stiff drinks. Been THAT kind of day… two of them, actually.

About a day later the phone rang… Bruce. Long story short, Rommie threw her timing belt and probably swallowed a valve or several. Beyond economical repair, as the saying has it. It’d cost close to a grand just to find out how much it was likely to cost to fix, with a top end in the middle thousands. Yowtch. And, as Mom pointed out several times, even if I put in a rebuilt engine the REST of the truck would still be 24 years old and starting to fail on a depressingly regular basis – and I no longer live in a house with a well-equipped shop and several other cars with which to fetch parts as needed. And, too, if Rommie had gone on strike or suicided outside of, say, Presidio or Comstock or some other backside of beyond cosmic garden spot of the sort I frequent, I’d have been several different kinds of up to my whatnots in whatevers. (Moms worry about their kids wandering the universe in old shaky fragile machines, it’s kind of their job…)

Plus there’s this whole thing about having to make a living and boost my writing and photographing career and all that terribly practical stuff. (My mother, in case you haven’t caught this already, is one of the Divine’s personal instructors in Practicality, Responsibility, and Dealing With It.)

Now in a perfect world I’d have a place to store Rommie until the time and money and facilities came together and I could drop a new engine in, but in this world… was NOT going to happen.

So, like it or NOT, it was time to actually look for another truck.

Back to the phone. Fortunately sister A had a friend of a friend with a cousin who knew a neighbor whose fourth cousin once spoke with a cook whose doctor had a miscellaneous relative of some flavor who worked at an Auto Nation dealership in the area. (The chain of links was a bit vague, but it worked out something like that, anyway.)

I haven’t paid attention to the used car market for over a decade now – up until a few days ago I had a perfectly serviceable truck. I wasn’t aware that there are now used-car CHAINS with branded dealerships, so when I found a vehicle that looked promising at Auto Nation, well… Auto Nation is Auto Nation, right? I kept hunting and found there were several prospects at Auto Nation, plus several other prospects within a few miles.

Mom and I accordingly drafted Brother M (“Bare is the back without a brother.” – MZB; we bribed him with good Mexican coffee.) as driver and expert (HE had a working truck, and it turns out he’s even better at this stuff than I am, and I’m no slouch.) and went truck shopping. Our first stop was the Auto Nation Chrysler Dodge Jeep Ram (etc etc etc) dealership, which is not the one where sister A’s contact worked, but again I didn’t know the difference, and it WAS where my #1A prospect was parked, so…

Long years ago, I needed a vehicle post-haste, so I walked onto a lot and the first guy I saw sold me the first truck I looked at, which turned out to have been waiting there for me to find her. And THAT was Andromeda I. The magic held… it happened again.

Despite warnings from Mom, Brother M, and my inner paranoiac that sales listings are never accurate, it took us all about an hour to conclude that, once a couple of minor glitches (light bulbs, in this case) were dealt with, the first truck I looked at was just what I needed… a nicely set-up 2007 4Runner with a 4-liter engine, a 5-speed automagic transmission, all sorts of luxury goodies and a ride… well, I’ve driven bumpier Cadillacs. She came with just over 100k on the clock (which counts as barely broken in for a Toyota), a good price, and another very helpful salesman. This time it was a gent named Alex Ajraz, who is, it turns out, both Chilean and a very talented hand with a camera himself. Inevitably, we hit it off. (Another recommendation here – contact me and I’ll put you in touch. Another Above and Beyond sort of place.)

So far the only thing I’ve found missing (aside from the sunroof, which is a nice but utterly nonessential thing) is that for some reason Rommie II came from the factory with a 7-wire trailer wiring harness – but no trailer hitch. One of the things that’ll eventually make sense, maybe. I’m an old JC Whitney customer anyway; I’ll have a hitch bolted up in there in no time as soon as I (and my bank account) recover from the shock of buying her in the first place. New trucks are EXPENSIVE, even when they’re only new to me.

So as of now we’re back on the road with a new and improved body for Andromeda/Rommie and a bunch of new adventures waiting. She’s not quite as well set-up for true off-road adventures as Rommie I was, but the new JC Whitney catalog is on the way… You Just Never Know. Time to rock.

(Obligatory marketing teaser: Look for the tales of our adventures here, over at The Other Texas, and on Instagram, where we’re @rcmwandering using hashtags #AndromedaII, #howtostopatruck, and #attheendofthepavedroad. I’ll toss links, snark, and occasional raging liberal political comments on Twitter sometimes, too – @rcmwandering)

(Obligatory commercial note: If you haven’t already, please use the link on the front page and sign up for the mailing list. It’s a way to keep in touch and I promise personally that you will never be sold or spammed, because I get all sorts of raving and rantish when that’s done to me, too…)