Stranded on Cape Fear

We didn’t know it yet, but we were lucky. We’d broken down five minutes from Shannon’s Auto Repair.

North Carolina turned out to be much more than a one night stand, but not because we caught feelings (or blue crabs, even better) but because of a little thing called a vacuum brake booster.

The symptoms started first thing in the morning, at Carolina Beach State Park, where we planned to drop a few crab nets before getting back on 95. The brake pedal kept sticking, sending the engine into a rough idle, but Ben restarted it and it seemed fine. We knew we’d have to have it looked at, but meanwhile we found ourselves at a deserted fishing pier perched on a strip of fine, ecru sand, overlooking the wide, wind ruffled expanse of the Cape Fear River. We were determined to enjoy our morning. We struck out on crabs, but we pried some promising looking oysters off the pilings and threw them in the cooler for later.

The truck behaved on the way to the grocery store, where we stopped to stock up on the way out of town. Maybe what happened earlier was just a fluke. We still couldn’t face the thought that our brand new-to-us truck was giving out on its maiden voyage. We’d made what we thought was a sensible, adult decision, against both of our penny-pinching natures, to spring for a newer, lower mileage truck to avoid just such a catastrophe. Almost as soon as we pulled back onto the main drag, the sticking and stalling happened again. I googled mechanics near me while Ben skillfully maneuvered us safely into the nearest fast food parking lot.

We didn’t know it yet, but we were lucky. We’d broken down five minutes from Shannon’s Auto Service, and Mike could take a look at the truck right away.

Shannon's was located in a mostly residential neighborhood of small ranch houses with big yards surrounded by chainlink fence.  There wasn't any room to pull in  

Mike turned out to be another mechanic from central casting: grizzled, grease-stained.  He was from central PA, near where we bought our camper, so he didn't have a strong drawl.

“I see you’re big fans of the Second Amendment,” he said, as soon as we pulled into the bay.

I’d almost forgotten about Ben’s security system. He’d decided that the DANGER: VENOMOUS SNAKES sticker was too much, but he had liberally applied stickers that said, “WARNING, THE OWNER OF THIS PROPERTY IS ARMED"to all the windows. This is a man raised by anti-Vietnam war activists who’s never touched a gun in his life.

He admitted that the stickers were just for show, but Mike didn’t seem to hold it against him.

“I see you’re from Massachusetts, I thought everything was illegal there.”

“Except weed!” I said, but neither of them heard me. Ben had already jumped out of the truck and joined Mike at the hood, while I stayed with Allie in the cab.

The two men peered down into the truck’s tangled mechanical innards.

“Can’t tell you how many electronics are in these things these days," Mike said. "Used to be able to use common sense now it's all computers.”

Ben nodded. “That’s why I’ve never really gotten into mechanics. I’m pretty handy but this stuff drives me nuts.”

“There’s twelve different modules on this thing,” Mike said. “Bet you didn't know that?”

I wonder what he would have made of our Prius.

We spent the rest of the day, and a good portion of the next hanging out in the office/waiting room of MIke's shop with his wife Sarah, their 5-month-year-old daughter and Wrennie the elderly chocolate lab, who mostly slumbered behind the counter . Family snapshots fluttered like lottery tickets form the shelves. The remaining wall space was covered with old military license plates.  A Trump Vance bumper bumper sticker confronted me directly across from where I was sitting.  

Nobody minded, or even seemed to find it strange, that I had a cat on a leash.  Mostly she stayed in her  bubble, as we refer to her backpack carrier, which has a transparent, egg-shaped carapace. Even with the clear top off, it's her safe place.  We could probably take her to a  rock concert and she would be perfectly content as long as she could stay in her bubble.  She graciously received all admirers , except poor Wrennie, who got a hiss when she approached with a gentle sniff.  Allie even permitted one of the mechanics to pick her up (though not for long), as he told us the story of his own cat, Dip Stick, who he found bedraggled in the gutter on a rainy night in Carolina Beach.  She and baby stared at each other with  big, round innocent eyes but neither seemed inclined to take the relationship any further.  The baby  (I'm embarrassed to say I forgot her name) was a big, beautiful, juicy-dimpled girl who was happy to be passed around between staff and customers when her mother was busy.  It wasn't unlike how Ben's kids grew up in the bakery in Amherst.

Every so often, Mike would come in with an update, and we'd anxiously snap to attention, like family in a hospital waiting room when the doctor comes in.

By the end of the work day, Mike had a tentative diagnosis, but we still had to abandon our home on wheels for the night. We packed a duffel bag of essentials, including cat litter and a bottle of 5-dollar-chuck from Whole Foods, and ubered it to  downtown Wilmington.  It was still off-season so I found a decent rate at a hotel three blocks from the water. It was a boutique hotel, trying VERY hard to be both chic and casual: the instagram version of an eclectic southern inn.

The text message I received upon checkout pretty much sums it up.

It was still far preferable to the Holiday Inn by the highway, trendily but tastefully decorated with gray wainscoting, dark-stained wood floors and pre-faded oriental rugs. It had a garden with a gazebo bar and gas fireplaces which would have been lovely if it weren’t for the forty degree windchill.

We took a sunset stroll along the river and tried not to think about the truck. We ate dinner at the Rooster & Crow, casual atmosphere with serious food. I felt immediately at ease when I saw the pierced, androgynous looking hostess, the same way I imagined way Mike felt when he saw Ben's gun stickers!  I tried shrimp and grits for the first time, and it surpassed my expectations, smooth grits absorbing all the rich, creamy goodness of cheese, andouille sausage and cajun spices. When we got back to our room, we hid the basket of five-10 dollar bespoke candy bars and other elevated junk food  in the  bathroom, and cracked open our five dollar Pino Grigio from Whole Foods.

Cheers to unexpected adventures.