The Grand Canyon and the Trail of Oil Tears

It's just after 1 a.m. as I jump in the bus to get it warmed up for the drive I have ahead of me. I've been in Phoenix, AZ for the past couple of days, but it is time for something a little bigger, something a little more exciting! I have been hell-bent on getting to the Grand Canyon at some point during this trip, and the warnings that there is snow on the ground, and freezing temperatures, do absolutely nothing to quell my excitement. In fact, the thought of the upcoming hardship I will have to endure in a VW with no heat, heading to the Grand Canyon in the middle of the night so that I can hope to catch a glimpse of the sunrise, only heighten my anticipation.

On the quiet, almost deserted drive there I keep hoping that my engine won't cut out because of the cold. I've heard of it happening before from fellow Bus owners, but until now I had dismissed it as an impossibility. Two hours into the four and a half hour drive and the temperature inside the Bus is dropping steadily. This tends to happen when driving down the freeway at 65 mph sounds like you are strapped to the back of a rocket. There are so many nooks, crannies, and cracks throughout the exterior that I may as well have no windshield.

Luckily, I was prepared for this. Wool socks, long johns, wool gloves, a hat, and four layers of thermalwear and jackets should do the trick. Flying down the frigid highway I am constantly gaining elevation, and the only other vehicles on the road are Semi trucks that barrel past me as if I'm standing still. This can be disheartening during a long drive when, try as you might, you can only build up enough speed to pass when there is a downhill... Coming to the base of another long climb there is suddenly a strange feeling being transferred to my foot through the gas pedal, a hesitation, and then a loss of power that I immediately realize is entirely my fault. I am out of gas, it's pitch black, freezing, and it has dawned on me that this is how 90% of horror movies start. As it turns out my saving grace is that I am the only idiot who wants to drive to the Grand Canyon in the middle of the night!

After filling up and buying some coffee for my hypothermic hands, I can barely get the bus running for the last hundred miles, but finally I'm on the road again. Pulling into the National Park the entrance gate is deserted, and I get to skip the fee, the one positive so far! I'm ahead of the sunrise by about 45 minutes, but I can't kill the engine or it may not start back up again. At this point I have lost all feeling in my feet and ankles, my fingers will barely function, and my runny nose is starting to freeze, with little chunks of ice forming on my upper lip. I am not in good shape. Crawling into the back of the Bus and pulling my sleeping back over my head is the only option now, I have to get warm if I'm going to be able to stumble out into the sunrise and enjoy what I came here for!

I have been on the road for a month. I thought that by now I might be slowing down, that the trip might lose some of its luster, that the newness might be wearing off a bit. Not in the least. Every time I get behind the wheel I cannot wait for the next stop! I have put about 3,000 miles, give or take, on the bus since Napa, and back in Tucson I decided it was time for a tune-up. Turns out I chose the wrong shop, and ended up paying $200 for a tune-down.

Leaving the Grand Canyon at 8:30 a.m. I notice the enormous oil slick that has built up underneath my idling engine. This is not an oil leak that will be measured in drops. There is already a solid half-cup of oil littering the ground where I am parked. I have over 1,200 miles of driving ahead of me over the next two days if I am going to be able to make it to Austin, Texas on time to pick up my brother at the airport Saturday night. Damon is flying out from Portland, OR because he has a 3-day weekend from work and was originally supposed to join me on this cross-country journey! I have to make it there in time, have to. My solution to the oil leak turns out to be a simple one. All the environmentalists out there should skip this next part if you know what's good for you.

Gus, my Bus, averages about 200 miles on a tank of gas. This is not a small gas tank issue, this is a big, boxy, least aerodynamic vehicle of all-time issue. However, my gas gauge doesn't work properly. I am left writing down my mileage every time I fill up and then hopefully noticing when I am almost dry. All I have to do is buy a quart of engine oil every time I fill up, so now I am paying to fill up my gas tank and then paying to fill up my engine with oil. On the 1,200 mile marathon drive from Flagstaff to Albuquerque, Albuquerque to Abilene, TX, and Abilene to Austin, I end up blowing through 6 QUARTS OF OIL!

Finally limping into Austin around 5 pm Gus is one sorry Bus. Coughing and spitting, the engine sounds more like a dying rhinoceros than what it really is. I am gridlocked in traffic, some streets have been blocked off and traffic is being redirected. I finally get my turn to scramble through the intersection on the 5th green light I have seen and the Bus dies. Flatline. there is nothing as I'm frantically trying to get him restarted. Throwing it into neutral I hop out and start pushing and steering myself out of the intersection, a two-man job I might add. Safely maneuvered out of the way into a closed down turning lane I am cursing my luck as traffic creeps slowly by. Punching the steering wheel, pulling out my hair, I'm getting a bit animated about it. Looking to my left I see two of the most attractive blondes I have seen on the trip in the backseat of a cab, and they're trying to get my attention!

Rolling down the window I hear the belle closest to me ask, "Is that your Bus?"

"Yeah..." I reply, holding off on the "...obviously"

I try to start it again with no luck, and the stunning girl next to her pipes up with a giggle, "It looks really, REALLY good!" she gushes.

I can't take it anymore and blurt back to the pair, "Well, it's a good thing that is all that matters!" and the cab slowly creeps away...