When we last spoke we were sitting on the side of US 30, and our left front tire was extremely flat but, as Kenny pointed out, only on the one side. We were waiting for Coachnet road service to dispatch a truck to replace our tire. We pick up the story there:
Within the hour our new best friend Josh the tire guy pulls up, wanders around on the edge of highway traffic and installs a new tire. There is a hole in the tread on the damaged one about the size of my little finger. I had been passing a couple of trucks when it blew, thanks to my Steer Safe I was able to get over to the far right shoulder with absolutely zero problem.
That day we had been travelling with Bob and Marjorie but at a corner a few miles before his Garmin GPS took him north while our Garmin took us south. They will wait for us further up the road. An hour after we are back on the highway we meet up and travel together (Bob is now leading, we are all following his GPS) as we make our way through Detroit to the Canadian border.
At roughly 4 or 5pm we are crossing into Canada and while coming through a really tight chute at Canada customs I get just a little too close to the barrier on the right side of the coach.
The tire story cost us about $700, now cheap compared to this latest tale which will probably be closer to $7,000 or more. I am certainly thankful we have insurance, and I hope it does it’s “as promised” thing.
There’s traffic zipping all around at the border and it’s Good Friday so we carry on and spend the night at a Windsor Wal-mart. I report the accident to our insurance company.
Saturday morning we are up at it early and bright and at shortly after noon we are back at 50 Point, jacks down, slides out. We are home and it feels so good!
Most of the doors on the right side of our home are screwed. I can’t get them open, so if I do force them open I will never get them closed. Miraculously, the door that hides the beer fridge works just fine. Marilyn, bless her heart, goes out and buys me a two-four. For my international readers; a two-four is a slang Canadian term for either a 24 pack of beer or the holday weekend in May, as in May two-four (May 24th).
Yeah, I know we talk funny, but you should hear what you sound like, eh?