Thursday, October 13, 2005

Asphalt Sensations

The Petaluma peacocks unplugged my lights.

Before they pecked the trailer-connector wires loose, I had the normal stuff: turning signals, tail lights, brake lights.

I wish I'd seen the peacocks perform their dastardly deed. If I had, I could have memorized the pattern of the wire array. As it is now, I can only guess that the green-coded wire is supposed to slip into the first aperture of the connector.

It's not the infinite possibilities that three wires and four holes offer that buffaloes me.

It's my inability to sit in the rig, stomp on the brake pedal, and stand behind the tow vehicle . . . simultaneously . . . that throws me for a loop.

The turn signals are no help. Every time I switch them on up front, then race to the back of the rig, they've transformed themselves into hazard lights.

How would I know that the brake lights haven't performed a similar Houdini feat? Or no feat at all?

I dislike bothering folks with little nuisances like this. Nor do I like to play the 'femme fatale' role and ask for help.

Already yet, folks give me "that look" when they see a woman drive a 35-foot "Big Rig" down the highway with a tow vehicle following sedately behind. It would be a shame to ruin their image of me as a confident RV'er by asking for help on a minor detail, such as, lights.

Still . . . . It would be nice to know if all the other lights blinked, warning my many followers of hazardous conditions ahead. (Folks tell me that sudden, unannounced stops can be hazardous to tailgaters.)

I have driven around several truck stops recently. You know the type. They have large bays built especially for semi repairs. It was my hope to find large mirrors installed along, at least, one wall; for . . . well . . . don't truck drivers need to check their trailer lights, too?

So far, not even one truck stop has offered such a service: free light check at our mirrored wall.

I could pay mechanic's wages to check out the light situation. But it would frost my frugal, not to say, parsimonious pursestrings to pay a hundred bucks an hour.

Let's face it. If the mechanics sneared at my ignorance about tag-wheel brakes and fan belts, just think how much they'd snicker at my present dilemma.

Nope! It's best just to travel on. Perhaps, driving slowly and staying away from traffic lights will cure the situation. After all, hazard lights mean: slow down. Right?

Remembering to hit the turn signals every time I stomp on the brake may be a wee bit of a challenge, tough.

Wish I had those Petaluma peacocks, along. I'd give 'em the ride of their lives.
Asphalt Sensations © 2005 Chaeli Lee Sullivan