Toy Story

Greetings, Vacation Fans!     I suppose this has been true since the Age of the Dinosaurs (and I ought to know) that some vacations are great, some vacations are good, and some vacations are just plain bad. And then there are those vacations that are so perverse and incomprehensible, that the only explanation is that the Camping Gods are toying with us, and there is just no salvaging them, no matter what you do. On the other hand, I said to Bill, it's these vacations that help you to appreciate the good ones, and give you an abysmally low standard to compare all future vacations against, which will then seem a lot better in retrospect, I dare say. I believe the Vacation of 2018 will stand the test of time in terms of new low standards, and with that perspective, I look forward to all upcoming vacations without fear or trepidation. The new motto may not be, "The best is yet to come," but at least we can be assured that it won't be, "The worst is yet to come," since it is safely in the rear-view mirror at this point. Or as they say in the Valhalla of the Camping Gods, "Gadzooks!"     Anyone who knows me can tell you that I live by the axiom that when things are doomed, they're doomed from the start, and there are all too many reasons why I say that so often, heaven knows. Even still, when the Camping Gods are toying with us, you would think they would have the decency to start after we've already gotten out to Vacation Land, and enjoying our fun in the sun with the surf and the turf, for heaven's sake. Gadzooks! (What the frickety-frack???) In fact, we were still on the highway, many miles from our destination, when the Camping Gods tossed their first thunderbolts in our direction, thanks not. On the Long Island Expressway cruising along at 60 MPH without a care in the world, when the Screamin' Red Demon started making a terrible smell (like burning insulation) so that I had to roll down the windows or choke - and once again, thanks so very much not. The next unwelcome turn of events was that suddenly waves of thick smoke came pouring out of all the vents, and you can believe me when I say that it didn't take long before the whole car was one smoky mess, even with the windows open. This was an alarming situation, especially since even I quickly figured out that if smoke was pouring out of the front of the car, it might probably be followed by actual fire, and pretty darned soon, I shouldn't wonder. Discretion being the better part of valor, I pulled off onto the shoulder, stopped the car, and had the presence of mind to shut if off before anything else went wrong. Bill, who had been driving right in front of me, joined me on the shoulder to assess the damage and figure out what to do next.     A cursory look at the engine revealed nothing in the way of smoke, and even though the car still smelled terrible, the temperature gauge indicated nothing out of the ordinary. We called 9-1-1 to find out about getting some roadside assistance, like a tow truck to pull us off the LIE in one piece, and hopefully get the car back up and running - only this time, without all the smoke, thank you. The Lake Ronkonkoma police and fire department responded with laudable promptness, and once they determined that the car was not in any danger of catching on fire, they said they would escort us to a nearby parking lot, where we could make arrangements for a tow to a service station, which sounded like the best we could hope for, under the circumstances. Gadzooks! (Here we go again!) It turned out the Camping Gods had other ideas. Despite the fact that the car was still running when I pulled off the highway, now it utterly refused to start - turning the key made the dashboard lights come on, but not a sound from the engine, not a click, not a rattle, absolutely nothing at all. With that avenue of escape denied to us, the police called us a tow truck, and they left, while we sat and waited for what we hoped would be a speedy rescue.     The tow truck did not respond with promptness, laudable or otherwise, and in the end, it took over 2 hours for us to get moving again. This was certainly not shaping up to be the vacation of our dreams, that's for sure. Even worse (Gadzooks!) (Now, this is getting monotonous.) at the service station, they said they wouldn't be able to look at the car until at least Monday or later (!!!) which meant that the car with half of my camping equipment (such as the tent, for instance) would be tied up in Rocky Point for almost half of my vacation, but also that after Bill went home on Monday, I would have no car at all - and once again, thanks oh so very much not. Trying to make the best of a very bad situation, we had lunch at a nearby diner, and then made the first of a couple of trips back to the poor disabled Aveo, to off-load supplies from one car to the other, so at least we could set up the tents on the 2 campsites and get on with our lives. At that late hour, it didn't make sense to go to the beach, so we turned around and checked in at the Fairfield Inn on Route 112 in Medford, where we had never stayed before, and dared to hope for the best there. It turned out to be a lovely place (with a pool and a hot tub!) which really helped on that first very challenging Saturday, believe me. The complementary breakfast buffet was diverse and delicious, so we had no reason for complaints, and a good thing, too.     We were lucky to have a beautiful day at the beach on Sunday, and glad of it, especially after the Camping Gods ruined our first day out there. On Monday, we started in early at hounding the service station about fixing my car, so I wouldn't get stranded out in the wilderness after Bill left. They responded to our guilt-trip admirably (and the promise of donuts) and by 5:00 PM, I was driving the Aveo back to Wildwood with a brand new blower motor - which had apparently seized up on the LIE and blew a bunch of fuses in the dashboard, but in the end, turned out to be less serious than it seemed originally, through the billows of smoke. Bill was able to go home as planned, and after an inauspicious start, the rest of the week at the park was blissfully uneventful. Gadzooks! (Seriously???) I forgot to mention that the Camping Gods really had it in for my week in the woods many months ago, when the New Rochelle High School Class of 1968 50th Reunion Committee scheduled their signature event for my last Saturday at the campground, with several events over the weekend, including Friday night - which meant that we needed to cut my vacation short by a whole day and leave on Friday instead, if we wanted to attend all of the festivities. So Bill dutifully drove back down to the park on Friday morning, and we packed up both sites a day early (without even one last time down on the beach, as we normally do on the last Saturday, alas) and set off for home.     Gadzooks! (Oh, come on, already!!!) Driving out of the campsite, the Aveo started making a horrible loud clanking and squealing noise, like dragging a loose cluster of aluminum tent poles, but which Bill identified as coming from the brakes. (And need I say, thanks not?) Back we went to the service station, where they gave a hearty thumbs down to the brakes, control arms, tie rods, and bushings - although by then, thankfully the noise had stopped. We called our mechanic at home for a second opinion, and he assured us that the car was safe to drive home, and he would look at it once we got back. This was a better solution than leaving the car with half of my camping supplies, and then having to go all the way back to Rocky Point to pick it up again the following weekend. And so, with cautious optimism, and a wary eye towards the Camping Gods, we brought both cars safely home, and closed the book on the doomed Vacation of 2018 once and for all - and I don't mind saying, not a moment too soon. Or as they say in the Valhalla of the Camping Gods, "Gadzooks!" Toys R Not Us