2 Bob's, a Million Bucks and the Holy Rollers

I was in a quandary over what to title this journal entry. The choices were: 'Sleeping on a Jack Stand', 'Everything you Never Wanted to Know Without Asking', 'Brake Down' and the winner "2 Bob's, a Million Bucks and the Holy Rollers'.

All of them pretty much sum up this evening's adventure. Have I piqued your curiosity? Well curiosity is one thing you won't have much need of, because everything you never thought you needed to know is everyone's business out here.

It all began back at Midas with car repairs two days ago in Portland. We had no reason to suspect any problems as we signed the VISA bill for the $30 to turn our front two rotors. Fairly standard work and a job Midas proudly announces in their yellow ad. It was on the road out of Pacific City on the coast that we spotted the first problem. The speedometer jumped to 60, fell to zero and then sat there. No movement. Nada. So my resident Opel mechanic, John, got out to inspect the situation. Ah ha, the speedometer clip was missing. But in addition to that, the lug nuts were loose on the right tire , the left hub cap was broken, and much more serious than any of those, the wheel bearings on both front wheels were shredded. All that for $30 - what a deal.

Ok - think. We're sitting on a dirt road, outside a small town who's only claim to fame is a Tres Amigo's Mexican restaurant and a shell shack (any ocean crustacean you could want for under a buck), with shot wheel bearings that we've been riding on for two days now. What were the chances of finding a VW parts shop out here?

We had no choice but to drive a bit further - what could a few more miles do? So we headed back to town. Perhaps Vern's BP station could help. No, Vern's BP station couldn't help. In fact Vern couldn't be bothered with the likes of us. The phone book wasn't much help either. All of 50 pages and the size of a pocket book, it listed only three auto service stations, and Vern's was one of them. John headed back to the BP to beg if need be, and that is when we met Bob #1. He was more than willing to give us some advice. And that advice was to see Bob#2, Beaver Creek Bob.

Beaver Creek Bob was just 15 miles north and specialized in VW's. Our prayers had been heard. We were wary of driving any further lest the wheel bearings weld to the wheel spindles, so we accepted Bob's $72 offer to tow us over. After Bob had us all chained onto the flat bed, we piled into his pickup and headed out for the twenty minute drive. Twenty minutes - the information you can learn in that amount of time is amazing. Bob was Vern's best friend. Vern had sold his BP to Texaco and had just two more weeks of work left before he retired. (This might account for his indifference in helping two stranded strangers.) Bob was tickled because this meant he and Vern could do some traveling together. Bob had retired a while ago from the Steel Company. He'd left with a million in stock options. Now the money's in a guaranteed income fund and he's set for life.

Bob just kept on talking, things we Easterners wouldn't tell our cat. He stuck his thumb out the window once as a white pickup tore by. "That's Joe, " he said, "thinks he's still a kid." And then we got the run down on Joe's life too. I kept glancing past John's shoulder into the right side mirror every time Bob turned his head toward the windshield for his two second glance before facing us again. "Your van's fine," Bob said, "I once towed a pickup 60 miles on that thing, she never bounced twice."

Fifteen miles down the road, Bob threw his hand out the window again and pulled off the road next to a pile of Bugs, Transporters, Ghia's, Jettas and unidentifiable parts.

"Hey Bob!" said Bob "Hey Bob!" replied Bob.

Beaver Creek Bob was the man who could save us. Perhaps in more ways than we knew at the time. John pulled the nose of the van about 3 feet into the garage, which was as far as you could go before hitting a pile of axles, engine blocks and transmissions, and explained the problem. Well, not to worry Bob could fix us right up. He hoisted the drivers side up and pulled off the wheel. The wheel bearings hadn't fused yet. We'd been lucky. But luck, like wells, runs dry and Beaver Creek Bob didn't have the right size replacement bearings on hand. We would have to wait until tomorrow morning for his friend to bring them up from Tillamook.

Ok - we're not on a time schedule here. We can wait. As we've learned, one has to be flexible when one is at the mercy of a mechanic. Bob didn't bother putting the wheel back on, just instructed John to back her up slowly as he rolled the floor jack out of the garage. "I put my guard dog in the garage at night," he told us. "He shouldn't be too much of problem unless he hears you talking."

But what about the Holy Rollers? Well, that came sometime between pulling the van out of the garage and watching Bob pull off on his yellow Harley. Beaver Creek Bob was a talker too. He'd been a VW mechanic for years. "But I'm clean now," he said "My drug days are over." Bob had led a hard life: married twice, three kids, a lifelong bout with marijuana, and a stint riding with the Hells Angels. But he's found God now at the little church with the Holy Rollers.

For two hours we listened to Bob tell us his story. His run in with his ex-druggy girlfriend, the law suit he lost when she sued him for getting bit by his dog, his trip through Holland on his purple 1957 Harley which he doesn't remember much of because he was so high, the courtship with wife #2, the divorce with wife #1, finally getting clean through the AA meetings, and finding God. It was a fascinating adventure he took us on, but by 6:30, over the sound of the gospel station and Bob's soliloquy, my stomach was talking to me and I was thinking of ways to graciously end this epic journey through time.

Eventually Bob locked his dog in the garage and left. John and I cooked up a meal fit for a night on jack stands and without talking retired to bed. In the morning, Bob fitted us with new wheel bearings, charged us practically nothing and bid us farewell. Before pulling away from the town we won't soon forget, I drew up a letter to Midas, included the bills and dropped them at the grocery store which also served as the town copy center, gift shop, restaurant and post office.

And so it was that we spent the night hoisted up on three jack stands outside the garage door to Beaver Creek Bob's. The truck traffic quieted down about 8 pm, and the guard dog only sounded off twice when I sneezed.

We learned a lot that day. A lot of things we didn't think we needed to know. But, after pulling away we were struck with the thought that it sure is nice there are still some people in the world that will take you in, help you out and give you a little piece of themselves to remember.