This was supposed to be a story about a fun (but fairly unremarkable) camping trip to the Pismo Dunes.

 

 

  

It was supposed to be about going out on the quads with Marv, Connie, and Big Jeff and having a blast, and then going out again with Connie, her sister, and two of her kids, and having an even better time. It was about the kids kicking my ass, but beating the both of them at a drag race. It was about learning that I can keep up with the eleven year old, but not the thirteen year old.

 

 

  

It was about watching guys jump over a ridge, and seeing one flip his bike and get seriously hurt and medevac’d out.

 

 

  

It was about drinking tequila and dancing in the sand and discovering a hole in the trailer roof right over my bed in the middle of the night.

 

 

  

But then I got home and farted around with pictures for a while.

But then I got home and farted around with pictures for a while.And got a phone call.

Can we borrow your truck? Marv’s died, and we’re still at the beach.

So around 8 o’clock last night, after I’d been home and showered for a couple of hours, the entire Marvin family dragged in in the daughter’s new car, minus a truck and trailer. Marv borrowed his neighbor’s great big fancy King Ranch dually Ford (lottery gods, by the way, this is what I want) and hooked it up to his flatbed trailer.

With a four-hour minimum one-way trip, I figured they’d need relief drivers as much as the actual truck, and I’d had more rest time, so I grabbed my camera and a sweatshirt. I drove my truck down while Connie kept me awake and Marv’s son-in-law kept him awake in the dually.

Between road construction, wandering detours, and finding a damn adaptor for the trailer lights, we rolled back into Pismo at 3 AM. A bored deputy followed us for a while, probably wondering what we were going to steal with that empty car trailer (we probably had 100K of equipment right there with us—why would we be stealing anything?)

We got down onto the beach. The contrast from the off-road highway of earlier afternoon to the drizzly emptiness of early morning was startling. There was hardly anyone left on the beach, and those that were, were sound asleep. Perfectly sensible of them; it was five hours past my bedtime too.

We parked the expensive borrowed rig down on the hard sand where it wouldn’t get stuck and aired down my tires for traction. I yanked out Marv’s truck with no problems at all, but was a little confounded by how they expected to get it onto the flatbed with no winch. We couldn’t unhitch the dually, because I’d just drag the trailer.

So, somehow, Marv had me pull from the side and paralleling the dually while he steered his truck up onto the flatbed ramps. This was complicated by the fact that the sideways pull in the sand kept trying to aim my back end at the dually’s fenders and the tow strap kept catching on the flatbed’s fenders. Not to mention that Marv’s truck was aired down as well, so when it hit the ramps, the tires just kind of smooshed into them instead of rolling nicely up.

Here, I drew you a fancy diagram.

I didn’t know that it was nearly impossible to load a truck that way, so I went right ahead and did it.

 

 

  

 

 

  

Then it was on to get the trailer, which seemed to have sunk slightly into a pit of quicksand over the weekend.

Then it was on to get the trailer, which seemed to have sunk slightly into a pit of quicksand over the weekend.I hooked up to it. And I pulled. And I spun the tires. And I poured sand into my open windows. And I did not budge the trailer.

So I backed up, and that was more successful, but there was another truck in the way, so backing it all the way down the beach (in the dark!) was not going to be an option. Fortunately, one of the kids of the party had stayed the night, so Marv woke his ass up at 3:30 to pull me and the trailer out. He hitched up his big yellow Ford, and after a couple of false starts and yanks to the side, out we both went to the beach, full throttle and rooster-tails of sand the whole way. I bet the people trying to sleep were pleased!

Look! Another bad drawing!

Finally, we were out on the hard sand, and proceeded uneventfully to the pavement, where we aired my tires back up, got some snacks, and had a potty break before we hit the road.

And then I learned that a 27-foot trailer that’s nosed down over your hitch is a whole different ball game to tow than my lightweight little 22-foot trailer. There’s an awful lot of tail to wag that dog, and we had to keep it pretty slow and easy. I hadn’t realized that Connie doesn’t know how to pull a trailer, so I was doing all of the driving home too, and Marv didn’t want to let someone else drive a borrowed truck, so he did too. Our company kept us both awake, but we still saw the sun come up less than halfway into the drive home.

We rolled in around 8:30 this morning. I was still so wired from my dinner of Pepsi, ice cream, and a pocket full of those little peanut-butter-filled pretzel thingys that I couldn’t have gone to sleep if I’d wanted to (which I did, really.) But both Marv and I had to work, so I ran home, brushed my fuzzy teeth, and stumbled on in to the office. About an hour later, it hit me, and I came home and crashed after having been awake for 27 hours, and driving for 13 of them. Three hours later, I was back in the office, merely tired but no longer falling to pieces. But you can bet that I’m going to bed early tonight!

So, in summary; trips to Pismo:good.

Breaking down in Pismo: not good.

Helping your buddy out when he needs it: good.

Getting to rib him about the Dodge rescuing the Ford: priceless!