Keep on truckin’…

Posted 8/21/12

I want to, I really do, but it’s a ‘97 pickup, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep on truckin’ along. Up until very recently, the vehicle has been very good to me, but as of late, …

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Keep on truckin’…

Posted

I want to, I really do, but it’s a ‘97 pickup, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep on truckin’ along. Up until very recently, the vehicle has been very good to me, but as of late, there has been a steady increase in breakdowns and repairs. Ach. Compounding the issue is what to do next, since running out to buy a new car is not exactly on my to-do list, hard times being what they are. As difficult as it might be to say goodbye, I see the handwriting on the wall while I duct-tape my headlight in place, put another bungee on the crumbling tailgate and jump in, uttering a silent prayer that I will arrive at my destination without mishap.

The engine was sputtering last Friday night and the deluge that ensued was of epic proportions, so rather than attending a concert outdoors and taking a chance of getting stuck in the rain, I stayed home, knowing that I had plenty to keep me busy over the next few days. Often, scheduling is a nightmare for me, since it’s not unusual to have back-to-back events on opposite sides of the county. So I penciled in a few hours for the Callicoon Country Fair on Saturday, which would then lead to a gallery opening in Lake Huntington, before making my way to a barbeque in Bethel later that same day.

The second annual Country Fair was in full swing when Dharma and I pulled into Callicoon. Music filled the air, kids raced to and fro down by the banks of the Delaware, and the dozens of vendors booths were humming with activity as the clouds rolled in. “It’s not going to rain, right?” I asked passersby, none of whom were willing to commit one way or another. “The moisture is not very good for the camera,” I muttered to the dog, silently wishing the impending storm away. “And it doesn’t exactly make you smell good either.” Unimpressed, Dharma tugged at her leash to get closer to the alpacas as I hustled through the streets, attempting to snap a few pics before the skies let loose, which was clearly on the horizon.

Sure enough, the drizzle turned to rain, which in turn became a monsoon, and as folk tarped their wares, I ducked into the Historic Western Hotel, now under new ownership, and checked out the renovations. “We’ve got big plans,” proprietor Irene Nikolai told me, showing off the beautiful new ceiling in the Tap Room, while bartender Josiah stirred cocktails behind us. “Weekend brunches and new décor are only the beginning,” she promised as I ducked back outside, cursing myself for leaving the umbrella in the back of the pickup. “No problems here,” I sputtered, as the engine roared to life, and we made our way in the downpour to the Nutshell Arts Center where local artist Julius Valiunas’s newest exhibit, “Artifacts from the Future” was being unveiled. The collection, titled “A Retrospective,” remains on display through September 4 and contains some of Valiunas’ “earliest innovations as a New York City art worker in the ‘80s and ‘90s to the present moment, creating what he refers to as ‘Country Canvas’ paintings on salvaged metal roofing.” Julius toured a few of us around, explaining that there are “even larger pieces that I couldn’t get through the door,” and I made my exit as drenched fans made their way in. Some interesting pieces (IMHO) and worth checking out. Word on the street is that the artist might walk you around the corner to see some of the huge pieces he referred to, so feel free to ask.

The barbeque was rained out, but my host insisted that we move it indoors. I made my way there, fighting traffic headed for Bethel Woods, where rabid fans were determined to catch a show, rain or shine. Hours later, I was once again behind the wheel. As I inched my way through the same traffic leaving, the truck lurched forward and the headlamps dimmed, while the dashboard blinked on and off.

“Oh dear lord,” I rasped at the dog, “not now, not in this traffic, not in this storm,” and I furiously attempted to get the truck in gear, which bucked and lunged, heaved and hiccupped, as I prayed aloud to “just make it home.” I’m not sure how, as the truck seemed possessed, but we did arrive safe and sound just as my beloved pickup shuddered one last time and died in the driveway, while the thunderstorm raged on. “Sounds like the alternator,” my mechanic suggested. “Bring her in and we’ll take a look, but I’m not sure how much more money you’re willing to throw at it. This repair might just be the last hurrah.” Staving off a full meltdown, I agreed to give it a jump and bring it in, with someone following, just for good measure.

“Keep on truckin’” I moaned to the dog. Tomorrow is another day.

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