The last few days have been unproductive for us. We are not worried.
The day after we arrived, it was about a gazillion degrees (actually 102F) so we did nothing except replenish our onboard propane supply at the campground store. Propane there is more expensive but it is sold by surly employees that enhance your camping experience.
The next day we gave exploration a try. Again, daytime temperatures hovered around 95. We took a very nice spin up the Santa Ynez River to a place incorrectly named Red Rocks. It is very nice country but we did not spot any rocks that were red. The sometimes one-lane road passes through stunning countryside but the river is as dry as could be. Once we got to the end of the road, we turned back downriver and headed toward Santa Ynez which is Spanish for terrible traffic. We soldiered on but soon we entered the outskirts of Solvang, a municipality where lots of buildings follow an architectural style intended to make tourists think they are in a Danish village despite being in rolling hills with grass range land and oak forest. No snow. No conifers. No Danes. Many expensive shops. We had not even made it to the touristy part before we chickened out, realizing we had scant interest in getting out of our air conditioned vehicle and we headed back toward home. We hope the temps go down soon. It is hot.
Yesterday we knuckled down and drove over the mountain and into Santa Barbara. We went to both Costco and Trader Joe’s stocking up our trailer’s cabinets and fridge such that we appear to be affluent. It was very warm again yesterday and we were fortunate that Peggy forced me to shop in the morning. After a few hours of spending, we pointed Charlotte toward our campground in the Santa Ynez Valley and turned on the A/C.
Today we were on our way out of the campground when we noted some strange sounds emanating from beneath our truck. We cancelled today’s chock-full agenda of fooling around and took the truck back to our campsite. It was still quite toasty today but there was no way to get the truck into the shade. After climbing around like bats beneath the truck, we found where the mechanic in Coos Bay at Tower Ford had made some profound omissions from procedure when installing the expensive DPF (diesel particulate filter or decidedly pricey fucker) some three weeks ago. His exhaust system configuration, as reinstalled, left us with two parts; the front expensive part and the back, slightly less expensive but completely unused part. The front part has merely made the outside of the back part black.
We made quick, hit-and-run guerilla attacks on the system, starting with panic (Let’s call the Ford dealership on Saturday, when they are closed), transitioning into more realistic assessments (Squeeze your rotund, flabby body further under the truck so you can see that of which you know nothing but from where escape is impossible for spherical beings) and finally approaching it when suitably primed with marijuana and alcohol. The final conclusion was that we actually fixed the problem although it took considerable loud, pikey tool hammering by Peggy to drive the errant exhaust system back into the proper place. We won but were quite filthy by the end of it because we are camping and the shop floor is dirt. Fire off the water heater, dearie!