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Sunday, January 07, 2007

How I came to be all alone in a layby on the A12...

Some time ago, I decided the Odeon Shag Sedan would look really nice perched on some '40 Ford solid steels. Hubcaps, trim rings, blackwalls on black steels. Bit like this if you squint a bit and imagine this is a square-rigged Fordor sedan and not a nicely chopped Coupe...


Found a set in Scotland, paid for them, but being in no real hurry, kinda left the transport to fate.

Sure enough, a friend bought a rolling chassis, no more than 40 miles or so away. And needed to borrow a truck to go and pick it up. Plans forming. No problem, take my old Mazda, sitting idle in the drive says I. It'll manage it fine, never let me down. Arrives on a Friday night, week before Christmas, and off he goes.

First phone call came within 3 miles. Power cut in town, all the petrol stations out of action, so I direct him on his way to the next nearest.

Second phone call. Truck isn't pulling well, won't go over 50mph. Hmmm. Well - I suppose it has been gutless since the pump was backed off for the MOT.

Third call. Turning round and coming back. 50 miles away. Hang on a sec - has all this happened since the fill up? I suggest dropping the fuel filter and checking for water.

Fourth call. Yup, running better, threw the contents of the filter, water sure enough, running much better.

Don't hear a thing till Sunday morning. Stuck in Barnsley. Truck's dead. So. Left it at that. Figure as long as I get the wheels, they're worth more than the truck anyway!

Eventually it finds it's way back to Colchester, unloaded and disgraced on the roadside, delivered by the AA.
Until today. Kids with friends, and Mark gives me a lift with a bag of fuel filters to bring it on home.

Change the filter, bit reluctant to prime, jump start and we soon have it running. Seems OK, so we set off. Manage a whole mile. Battery still low, so a rope start, onto the A12 and the old shed seems to be running fine, so foot to the floor out of sight of Mark in the Transit and....

Slowing. Slower. Misses. Drags up like a seizure. Into a layby. Dead. Just in time to see Mark fly past, desperately looking out for me.

Hmm. So - there I am. Standing in a layby. Watching the traffic cutting past on the A12. Lifeless truck. No battery. No phone.

Kinda surreal. Stood there a while - pondering what to do. Silly thoughts drifting through my head. Nothing sticking. Then, quite calm, strangely calm, walked to the nearest house and phoned to let the kids know I'd be a little late...

By the time I walk back, there's Mark. He's done the countless mile turnaround to bring me home. I don't have enough lifetime left to pay him back for all the times he's helped me out. With a too short tow rope, a quick trust to luck; we set off for a heart beating hard, can't see nothing but the back of the van, lights fading fast, rope disappearing in the gloom, drop the clutch to feed the battery and brake servo, fairly uneventful 50 mile drag back to the sanctuary of home.

Which is about all that there is. From a solitary nobody in the darkness watching the world rush by, to back home safe with the kids. It's not that far. But it takes true friends to get you there sometimes.

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