The Escapade over, we headed for San Francisco. On the Pacific Coast Highway, coming out of a hairpin curve headed downhill, I applied the brakes, something snapped and we were smoking again. Thank heaven there was a turnout big enough for us only 100 yards ahead.
This time, there was no way to limp, and no help was available until Monday, so we were stuck on the side of a coastal mountain road, out where the cell phones wouldn’t work and the nearest town (Cambria, only 6000 people) was 30 miles away. We stopped at a Chevron station there, where a nice young man spent almost an hour on the phone trying to find a mobile mechanic or road service that would go up on the mountain to help us. No dice. And because of height restrictions on that highway, a low-boy wasn’t an option even if we could find one! So we took a motel room in San Simeon. The thought of trying to sleep in our trailer on the side of a dark, deserted, twisty-turny mountain road made Cory too nervous, so she stayed there and manned the phone so someone could reach us. The thought of leaving our HOME 30 miles away and obviously deserted made me too nervous, so I went out there and stayed the nights with the dogs. We had purchased a small generator at the Escapade in Lancaster, so I had lights and could watch movies on the VCR and work on the computer.
Monday came and we still hadn’t found anyone to help—then on my way down the mountain, I passed the nice man from the Chevron station, going the other way. Seems he’d spent the whole weekend worrying about us, so he was going out to see if he could do anything to help. He wound up spending both Monday and Tuesday (his days off) chasing down parts to help us get rolling and get down the mountain to a repair shop 50 miles away. There, we learned that during the last repair, the last U-bolt hangers installed apparently weren't tightened down properly.
