As Luck Would Have It

In my last blog I shared our driving goal for our final trip out of California: 300 miles a day. We were making good time, and it looked like we were on track. We’d already done the 300-mile run from Browns Valley to Bakersfield—a solid start. The next leg would take us from Bakersfield to Needles, California—slightly fewer miles than the day before.

The truck was running smoothly, and the road stretched out ahead of us. After passing Barstow, we talked about driving farther than Needles—maybe all the way to Kingman, Arizona. After all, it was only an hour more. Maybe even to Williams, just outside Flagstaff. But we were running low on gas, so we decided to stop in Needles—and that’s when everything went sideways.

As I mentioned earlier, we’re driving a 2006 Toyota Tundra across the southwestern United States. It has 262,000 miles on it, and while it’s a dependable old truck with plenty of life left, it does have its limits—like the coolant in the radiator.

Mary went into the mini-mart to grab bread for sandwiches while I checked under the hood. That’s when I saw it—the bubble on the upper radiator hose. I’d noticed the faint smell of coolant for about a week, but every time I looked for a leak, I came up empty. This time, it was obvious—we were about to get stranded in Needles.

A small pinhole in the hose was venting steam, and with the heat and pressure, the leak was getting worse. The coolant hissed into the dry desert air, and I knew the bubble would keep growing until it finally burst.

I like Needles, but it’s rarely the kind of town you plan to end up in. It seemed my truck and the desert had made that decision for us. The air felt like an oven door left open, and even the wind seemed to sigh from exhaustion. There’s a sign on the edge of town that looks like it’s been sunburned for fifty years, and the paint on the gas pumps curls like old parchment.

Needles sits on the lip of the Colorado River, just across from Arizona. It’s the last true outpost before the long desert stretch that eats engines and tires for breakfast. The town began as a railroad stop in the 1880s, when the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe line needed a place to cool its boilers. Later, it became a Route 66 landmark—an oasis for travelers chasing California dreams or fleeing the Dust Bowl.

You can still see that legacy in the skeletons of neon signs and the sleepy motels with names like Desert Mirage or River Sands. Freight trains still rumble through like thunder, mostly behind the row of hotels I would soon be scouting for the night. Most people pass through in a hurry—but every so often, something mechanical breaks down just long enough to make you notice how the desert keeps its own slow rhythm.

For us, Needles was less of a destination and more of a verdict. The truck hissed, steam curling into the late afternoon heat, and I realized we weren’t going anywhere that day. Behind the gas station, the main train line ran by—pretty in its industrial way. A horn echoed against the cliffs, the same sound that has filled the night air for more than a century—and would again tonight.

The day was getting late, and I knew we’d be spending the night in Needles. We’d been here before, at the Best Western Colorado River Inn—a clean, comfortable place with a solid free breakfast. It’s affordable, around $100 a night, and it happened to sit right behind the Chevron station where we’d broken down. But first, we needed tools and a new radiator hose. Off to the local AutoZone.

For my truck, there were three possible radiator hose types, each completely different. Luckily, the one I needed was the only one they had in stock. I’d like to thank the three gentlemen working there that day. I didn’t catch their names, but they were patient and helpful. After I explained the situation, they gathered the parts and even offered to lend me tools. I decided to buy what I needed instead and retreat to the hotel room. It was too hot to work outside, and the truck needed to cool down anyway.

By five in the afternoon, the sun was going behind the nearby Sacramento Mountains, and I decided the radiator had cooled off enough to work on. The hose was held on by a spring clamp on one end and a worm gear clamp on the other. The worm gear came off easily, but the spring clamp was doing its own thing and fought me for fifteen minutes. I finally won and got the hose off.

I put the new hose on and tightened the worm gear clamp—no problem. Now came the time for the spring clamp. It won this round. After twisting, pinching, and chasing the spring as it shot across the parking lot—and once into the empty field behind the hotel—I decided I needed another worm gear clamp. It was getting dark, and the streets of Needles were starting to get interesting.

I went to the nearby Chevron station hoping they had a second worm gear clamp. Again, the people there were wonderful and helpful. I didn’t catch their names, but the young lady working the counter said they didn’t sell car repair parts. She told me if I went to the Mobil station down the road and asked for Cody, he’d surely fix me up. She said to tell him she sent me, and he’d find one. I thanked her and headed out to the Mobil—realizing I still didn’t know the nice lady’s name

At the Mobil Station I did find Cody and he did find me a new clamp. He was very kind as I tried to describe what I needed, he found me one and I was back on the street. Thank you Cody. Ten minutes later the hose was firmly fixed to the radiator and we were ready for the morning.

Mary praised me for the work I had done on fixing the truck and getting it ready for the next morning. But, I would like to thank the half a dozen stranger who I will never see again and pulled together to help us get on the road again. Thank you. Maybe we’ll get to Kingman soon, but I feel a lot better knowing there are people who want to help a complete stranger reach their goal.