– September 2021 –
I stared dejectedly down at my feet, running again, through our limited options. Mako’s little transmission leak had grown into an oily waterfall, every 15 miles we were pulling over to pour in more fluid. To my left, almost white knuckling the steering wheel, Austin was taking this with a much angrier disposition, staring through the windshield with such intense irritation I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he burnt a hole through it. I couldn’t blame him, we were basically driving part store to part store and throwing down cash on oil that we may as well just dump directly on the concrete for the amount of milage we were getting out of it.
I glanced toward the window and forced a smile onto my face when I realized the two cheerful dudes smiling and waving appreciatively in the Ford to our Right. I waved back before returning to the depressing staring competition I had going with my shoelaces. For the third time that day, in an effort to erase Austin’s stress wrinkles, I point out “At least we have AC” he stops frowning momentarily to appreciate that we are at least free of sticky sweat stains for the first time in weeks, but even this happy thought can’t pull us from our shared gloom.
We make it to our camping spot at Utah Lake by 1:00 PM with plans to stay here and not move until we have some semblance of a plan. To pass the time, I start scrolling through Instagram and see that we have a new follower with an official looking logo, intrigued, I check to see what Wasatch Overland is in the business of creating. I can’t believe it, it’s the guys we’d seen waving on the interstate earlier that day. As it turns out, they build custom overland vans and, having seen our post lamenting the pitiable state of our transmission, were willing to let us use their extra shop space, free of charge. It was like seeing the sun after a torrential storm, we were saved at last, and if the fix was as straightforward as expected (a big IF) we’d make it to Overland Expo West in just the knick of time.
The next day, we collect all the necessary supplies in as few stops as possible and strategically park at a Cracker Barrel only one mile down the road from the Wasatch Overland shop. At the break of dawn we’d climb out of bed, into the front seats, and meet them at the shop. We aimed to crank out the whole fix in 6-8 hours, then make some headway towards Flagstaff. Of course, reality goes a little differently. After quickly rinsing down the underside of Mako at a self carwash, we arrive at the shop at exactly 7 am as agreed, but the shop complex is deserted. We run up the street to grab some coffee, figuring on a day like this we could really use a kickstart and, by the time we got back, they were bound to be there. Fast-forward 15 minutes, we’re back at the long line of rented shops and still, not a soul in sight. Austin takes out the texted instructions to triple check and we realize that he had been off on the suite number, we find the correct one in no time at all, and sweep the embarrassing mistake under the rug. No one needs to know. After about an hour of chit chat with our new heroes, Chad and Aidan, it was time to get to work.
Austin had the transmission down in record time, hitting the floor approximately two hours from the moment he unrolled the tool bag. This was lucky, because it seemed we were in for more than we bargained for, in addition to a wrecked seal, it appeared the torque converter had gone out. Austin admits he’d been worried this might be the case, and unbeknownst to me, had originally planned on buying one just as a precaution. That is, until he realized that not a single part store within 500 miles of us had them in stock.
As we called around to different part stores, I could hear the desperate edge in my voice growing stronger with each negative response. We’d called every shop and junkyard in Salt Lake City (Take it from me, there are a lot) and the closest we’d come is one guy offering to sell us his whole used transmission for $800. Let’s call that a last resort. We’d moved on to calling repair shops, hoping against all reason that, since the transmission was all torn apart, one of them might be able to do a same-day torque converter rebuild (this is not physically possible for anyone except maybe Tony Stark). If we were going to get Mako to the Overland Expo in time, we really did need to leave by tomorrow and the chances of that were beginning to dwindle.
With these cheerful thoughts swirling around, Austin and I began helping Chad carry cardboard boxes and broken pallets over to the trash, talking all the while about their projects and how renovations on the new shop was going. Caught up as we were in walking back and forth in the path between their two shops, no one noticed that Chad’s dog and Ivy had disappeared. All four of us started walking the wide perimeter of the shop complex, calling the names of our respective pups and asking other tenants whether they’d seen two dogs run past, none had. Panic began to set in, all of the worst case scenarios were flashing through my mind. Aidan and I get in one of the company cars and followed vaguely in the direction Chad and Austin had been walking. Chad had pulled out his bike and found his dog running around the Chevron half a mile down the extremely busy highway. One problem: Ivy wasn’t with her.
Aidan hands over the keys to the push-to-start explorer, and I try to look like I know what I’m doing as I fumble around pushing buttons. Im painfully aware that this is my first time behind the wheel of any car, let alone a new and confusing one, since we left Alaska 3 months previously. I call Austin and tell him to stop moving, I’m coming to pick him up and we will drive in circles until we locate our missing mascot. Even through my cell phone, I can hear his complete lack of faith in my driving another persons car. Determined to prove him wrong, I pull up to the highway and immediately prove him right.
Austin is standing across the four congested lanes of traffic and I can feel his eyes burning into my face as I get completely overwhelmed in my attempts to turn left, and wind up taking a right turn out of desperation. Austin will just have to cross at the light because driving someone else’s car in traffic that I am not accustomed to has me under more pressure than David Bowie on a Queen single. Reunited at last, I can tell Austin is just as stressed out about Ivy as I am when he doesn’t even mention my driving, just slides into the front seat and starts in the direction that Chads dog had been recovered. After an hour of searching, it takes us about two minutes in the Wasatch-mobile to spot her cheerfully sniffing around garbage on the sidewalk adjacent to the same chaotic Highway that had been my undoing. I feel my heart swoop in relief at the same time that it drops to the floor in fear that I was about to witness her death. We pull the car over, yank the door open and call her into the backseat, relieved that our little family is still in-tact.
With the four-legged drama behind us, and safely locked away in their homes, we enjoy a slice of the Caesar’s pizza Chad had brought back with him and returned to mulling over our other issues. As we polish off the last of our crusts, Aidan walks over, phone in hand. His friend ,Steve, at GS transmission is on the line and he might have some insights for us. Austin takes the phone gratefully and I can hear him regaling the story as I pace back and forth behind him. Austin explains that there’s a lot of movement in the torque converter, and while transmissions aren’t his expertise, he believes that this is likely what caused the failed seal to be torn up in the first place. The complete 180 in Austin’s tone alerts me to a new development. Steve, who will hence forth be know as the transmission magician, is certain that the play in the torque converter is normal and that from what Austin has described, the real culprit is a worn pump bushing. One of the more common issues in the A340 series transmissions, the bushing is cheap and easy to find, right around the corner at
O’Reilleys.
5 fruitless hours of calling, dog searching, and part sourcing later, we are back on track. With the old bushing out, it sits in stark comparison to the new bushing. The magician was right, and if not for him we would likely have destroyed a parade of transmission seals without ever suspecting the real problem. Thank you Steve.
Aidan comes over to say his goodbyes, they’re headed out for the day but he assures us that we don’t need to rush. Aidan shows us how to lock up the shop and lets us know that if for whatever reason, the transmission is still failing, we are more than welcome to just stay the night in the shop until we get it up and running again. Feeling unworthy of his generosity, and devoid of anything meaningful to offer, we thank him again and take comfort in his brilliant pay-it-forward story. Im touched by the profound way people can effect eachother just by offering a hand when it’s needed. The help given doesn’t have to be big, or earth-shattering, but because of the kindness we’ve been shown throughout our travels, we now jump feverishly at any chance to help others when we can. It feels as though we have racked up a debt of favors and goodness from strangers and every time we return those gestures we are balancing our cosmic tab, preparing to begin the cycle all over again. Thank you Aidan and Chad.
It takes another couple hours of wrenching and one incident of Austin nearly being crushed to death by the transmission, but at last Austin turns the key and the engine roars to life. While the transmission is no longer vomiting at us, the oil pan is now leaking from when the transmission had dropped. In no interest to replace an entire oil pan today, we throw on some Pig Putty and call it a day.
With the sinking sun shining brightly in the rearview, we set the GPS for Flagstaff, and begin our 520 mile journey to Overland Expo West.