If there were ever a place to have your RV start sputtering, shuddering, and slowing to a crawl, that place is Van Horn, Texas. As soon as we pulled in off of the highway, it was clear to see that we would be well taken care of here. From the abandoned buildings to the packs of stray dogs we felt warm, welcome, and most of all, safe. After pulling in to the second seemingly open, but ultimately deserted auto shop, Stefan decided to venture down the street to what appeared to be a Post Office. Mel and I wished him well and assured him that, if he were to meet his gruesome and/or supernatural demise there, he would surely be missed.
After five tense minutes during which we recounted each episode of the Twilight Zone that had begun similarly to this, Stefan emerged unharmed with news of a local mechanic who might be able to help us.
As soon as we pulled up to the locked gate, another car pulled in along side us. It was Bill, and he was there to open the gates. While Bill would ultimately not be able to fix our problem, or even diagnose it, he sure did try. He had us rev the gas while he poked around the engine. He even took it for a gripping test drive up the access road and back where, I shit you not, he checked his text messages while flooring it. Now luckily, due to our unknown problem, “flooring it” only brought us up to 45 mph. Nonetheless it was comforting that he was so open with his driving habits in front of us. I felt like we were old friends. Once it became clear that neither he nor his “associate” could explain the cause of our loss of power, he sent us to another mechanic a few blocks down Main St.
After waiting for 45 minutes in heat and uncertainty, Juan arrived and we went over the description of our troubles again. After just over 400 miles of driving, our RV started slowing up hills, dropping our top speed from 65, to 55, then 45 mph. After a certain point the gas pedal just became unresponsive. Juan also decided to take Harvey for a spin around the town. Somehow though, after sitting still for a while, Harvey was running smoothly again. There are few things more frustrating than taking a car to a mechanic, and having the problem disappear as soon as he touches it. Nevertheless he made some suggestions given what we could tell him about the trouble. And after more tinkering, said we would probably be fine to drive the remaining 120 miles to El Paso. So we thanked him, gave him a slice of delicious crumb cake our dear friend Saleh had baked for us, and went on our way.
Little did we know, we would be halted agaiun less than a mile outside of the city, this time of a totally different nature. But Sierra Blanco is another story, to be typed in another coffee shop. Now is the time for tacos and sleep.
It is my solemn hope, that of the few citizens of the glorious township of Van Horn that use the internet, that even fewer of them understand sarcasm. And if by some cruel twist of fate I am wrong, I apologize to both of you.