When I left Andrews on Christmas Eve morning a cold fog wrapped the RV and a tasteful bow atop kept it all together for the felines and me until I reached Big Spring. That’s where the brakes on the RV failed. Roughly 100 yards before the entryway into the parking lot for a chain store for auto parts.
Great, helpful folks there while I was diagnosing the cause of the problem, feeding brake fluid to the pre-Christmas Universe. Determining the next best guess to be a failed master cylinder. And me with almost no tools along.
Ordered the master cylinder inside the store, arranged with them to park in their lot until it arrived the day following Xmas. They showed me an electrical outlet where I could plug in to keep the heater and lights modern.
Hydrox, Tabby and I watched a store employee carrying boxes past us to the dumpster straining to get them over the side. One plastic box appeared to be a great possibility for a litter box, so I went over to retrieve it. I was astonished to observe the dumpster was home to several boxes with taped label, “Manager Disposal”, the contents scattered among the lowbrow cartons and candy wrappers.
The contents: open end wrenches all sizes, box end wrenches, socket sets, miscellaneous other tools, a couple of which I’d surely need for the master cylinder replacement. So early Christmas morning I climbed down the chimney of the dumpster and began digging out every tool I could bring myself to save from the landfill.
Finished in time to have myself a nice Christmas dinner of something-or-other, cuddle a cat, watch a vintage movie.
Next morning the master cylinder arrived, I installed it with the dumpster-tools, ran the RV around the parking lot a bit to test the brakes, and headed off to points south.
Easily the weirdest Christmas I’ve ever been blessed with.