Limbo in North Carolina

Mike spent the next morning replacing the brake lines in the Tundra. We paid our bill, which was less than a hundred dollars, and hit the road again.

We got about three blocks before the brake started sticking again.

Mike, the Dr House of car mechanics, went back to the white board. He came back sure of his diagnosis: a failed vacuum brake booster. It was an easy job if you could get your hands on the part; the bad news was the part cost $1500 from Toyota and it was backordered for months. He already had his staff on the phone trying to track down an aftermarket one. We’d been so consumed with our own predicament that we hadn’t even noticed it was after five o’clock on a Friday night and Mike and his team were still hard at work on our behalf. Mike said he’d check out the junkyards tomorrow and see if they had any Tundras lying around. He’d been in our situation, stranded far from home, and was happy to pay it forward.

He thought it was safe to drive the truck as far as the campground so we didn’t have to pay for a hotel again. 

It dawned on us that we were stuck here all weekend, and probably longer. And we’d drunk all the wine!

The campground at Carolina Beach State Park was full, but we claimed the best parking spot at the marina, backing in so our tailgate opened directly onto the beach. Ben cooked his first meal (spaghetti carbonara) on the small propane stove top in the camper. We ate on the tailgate, watching the sun merge with its reflection on the Cape Fear River.  We stayed until the park closed at 9pm, then we went cruising for a boondocking spot.

The camper battery didn’t have enough juice left to lower the pop top (it hadn’t charged since the drive from Annapolis to Snow’s Cut) so we drove extra slowly, the canvas top swaying like a covered wagon, perilously close to the live oaks arching over the narrow streets. Even the telephone wires seemed unusually low slung. We eventually settled on a spot in front of a wooded corner lot in a moderately upscale looking neighborhood only a few blocks from the hotel where we’d paid $100 plus tax to stay the night before. Again, no knock in the night, and we were gone by eight, in time to reclaim our parking spot at the marina.

We spent the next few days at the state park, fishing unsuccessfully and fielding endless questions and comments about the rig. Allie got up the courage to come sit on the tailgate with us, which only boosted our celebrity status.

When we got tired of our fans, we retreated back inside the camper, but we could still hear them: "Check it out. That’s so cool. “The owner of this vehicle is armed” – way to go bro!” (Ben's security system was garnering a lot of southern boy love).

The beauty of the truck camper is that you can have near total privacy, in public. We can use the toilet or take our clothes off inches from the public eye without violating any public indecency statutes.

We spent the next couple nights parked at the Presbyterian Church of Carolina Beach, where no one bothered us, even on Sunday morning. If we’d parked at the Jehovah’s Witness temple we would certainly have gotten a knock.

Monday morning, still no vacuum brake booster. We decided to take matters into our own hands. We got the part number from Shannon’s and got on google. Within half an hour we had located a certified pre owned part from a store in Texas for $350 that offered expedited shipping. It would be here by Wednesday. It might be there tomorrow.

It wasn’t.