Here comes the story of Hurr-i-cane

After checking into the Zion campground, I mashed the brakes and the pedal went to the floor.  Oh well, at least I was at one of my destinations.  In less than 45 minutes of our visit to Zion (place of harmony in the Old Testament), we were suddenly without a coffee pot and brakes.  I can live without brakes; all of my vehicles have questionable braking abilities.  Life without coffee is unfathomable.

On our journey back from our hike of the Narrows, I struck up a conversation with the shuttle bus driver.  He had lived in the nearby town of Hurricane for 25+ years.  I told him I needed my brakes fixed, and he enthusiastically recommended Hurricane Auto operated by Richard Leavitt.

While at Wal*mart getting a new coffee maker, the woman at the checkout corroborated the recommendation of Hurricane Auto.  I had done my due diligence!

I still had some braking ability.  I thought it was simply the booster.  I could stop, but I likely couldn't bring 15,000 lbs to a quick stop to avoid an errant prairie dog.

I rolled up to Leavitt's garage at 8:00 sharp.  He said I likely needed a new master brake cylinder. He could work on it 10am.  We had some time to kill.


John:  Richard, is there a book store nearby?
Richard:  No, no bookstore in this town.  Folks aren't much on readin' around here.

Directly across the street was the museum for the Virgin River valley.  During the ranger talk at Zion, we learned that Mormon settlers had pushed  handcarts from the midwest and endured the trials and tribulations of the 19th century frontier.  Massive floods had forced them to rebuild several times. There, across the street, were actual hand carts and covered wagons from this period.  I rushed the kids over to get a closer look and read the the plaques.

pffff.... my Montero has twice the miles and half the age.

Dad, did they have wi-fi on this rig?

While Karen and the kids were visiting nearby shoppes,  I returned to chat with the mechanics.  An animal control truck was sitting out front.  The officer opened the back to reveal two very young billy goats.  Evidently they belonged to Casey, a mechanic at Hurricane Auto, and apparently this wasn't their first escape. Casey retrieved them from their cell, put them in his truck and chauffeured them back to his yard.


Casey and his kids

Later, while I was loitering around waiting for Richard to lay his hands on the Paddy Wagon, I heard Casey singing an old Buck Owens tune.  Being a card-carrying aficionado of the Bakersfield sound, I interrogated him.  Turns out, when Casey's not tending goats or turning wrenches, he fronts a local country music cover band.  He even gave me the link to his YouTube page:

http://www.youtube.com/user/kcl1?feature=results_main


Meanwhile, Richard was poking and prodding the master cylinder. 


Richard:  Where you from, John?
John:  North Carolina.  You ever been to the east coast?
Richard:  Went to Palmyra, NY about 4 years ago.


Right then I knew he was a Mormon.  For Mormons, Palmyra is Mecca.  Not really surprising; prolly 70% of Southern Utah is LDS or FLDS.


John:  I've read about Palmyra, and the nightly production there.
Richard:  You should go!  What religion are you?


My response was completely drowned out by the full blast of a air socket-wrench, as if on cue.  Richard neither asked me to repeat my response or acknowledged it.  He knew I wasn't a Mormon.  Either I hadn't given the secret handshake or I didn't have the missionary twinkle in my eyes. Or maybe no Mormon with a molecule of sense would subject himself to 4 weeks with his family in an RV.  To him I was a prospect, a candidate, fresh meat.


For some mysterious reason, the brake pedal returned to its normal resilient function.  It stopped halfway when engaged, just like the factory-setting.   He said they can come and go, or they can start working again.  The good news:  it wasn't leaking brake fluid.


Since we had time, I asked him to rearranged the back dually tires, because the outside tire looked soft.  Just so happens the inside tire was flat.   He couldn't find a leak. (likely the braided valve extension that I promptly replaced on the spot).  His charge for all time and expertise:  $30.

 Honest guy, just like I'd heard. 

I got back into the RV and prepared to back out into 4-lane traffic when Richard walked over.  I thought he was simply going to stop traffic and ground-guide me out of the lot.  Instead, he motioned to roll down the window.


Richard:  John, you already know a lot about the Mormon faith. I think you'll like this.  Read this, John, and then read it again.


And with that, he handed me a pristine copy of the Book of Mormon. 


After looking at the condition of my RV, maybe he suspected at some point the duct tape and bailing wire would fall apart and I would need spiritual help after exhausting food, water, and patience.  Maybe Mormons hand these out like napkins at a barbeque.


And that's how I got a new book in a town without a bookstore.