From Roper Lake we were headed up over some mountains toward Phoenix. During our stop in Roper I had made an adjustment to the transmission that I was excited about because the bus hadn’t been shifting into gear at the right spot. Maybe the cable had stretched over time, I’m not sure, but between that adjustment and the one I made to this thing called the TV cable I was pretty excited about having possibly solved a lingering issue.

Unfortunately, as we drove out of town the bus wasn’t shifting right, wasn’t running with much power, and was just an overall mess. I pulled over and reset the tv cable to where it had been. I pulled over a half dozen more times and made tweaks to the carb (after confirming first that the choke wasn’t stuck), but nothing seemed to make any difference. When we hit the hills about 40 miles from Safford we realized there was no way we were going to attempt the mountain. Actually, Ali gave me no choice in the matter, and she was definitely right.

We turned back and the engine just got steadily worse. We were limping along on the shoulder with the hazards flashing, just thankful that there was hardly any traffic.

Boom! tatatatatatatatatatatatatat… Whatever was wrong, it didn’t matter now. That boom was the end. We coasted off onto a dirt road along the highway, certain this little adventure was over.

It was about this time where I started thinking seriously about insurance fraud. Instead we just called for a tow truck and a taxi to take the family the rest of the way into Safford.

“All right, family, gather round for the last picture of the bus.”

The “taxi” was just a local lady who mostly hauled ladies from the old folks home to the Denny’s in town, but she was able to swing out between Denny’s runs to pick up Ali and the kids, and take them to a hotel, while I got the bus towed and sorted away. We’d figure out the plan once that was done.

We had broken down early in the day, but as usual, I was still sitting around many hours later, in the dark, waiting for a tow truck. Actually, just waiting for confirmation that a truck was on the way (note: don’t bother with GoodSams, they are terrible). While I sat there I started googling things like, What causes an engine to go BOOM?

I wasn’t getting any definitive answers, so I started poking around, and was going to start by pulling off the valve cover. That’s when I discovered that there was a plug wire with a spark plug stuck in it, just dangling along the side of the engine. Well, that would explain a lot. It wouldn’t necessarily explain what the hell caused it to be dangling there in the first place, but it would explain the boom (the plug blowing out) and the loud tatatatatatatat (the piston pounding away with no spark plug in). The spark plug’s ground electrode was pretty much gone. I grabbed a new plug (my only one, I remembered, because the store had been out of them the one time I had remembered to try and buy a spare set), wrenched it in, and fired up the engine.

I texted Ali: What would you say if I told you I fixed it?

It was late, dark, and I had 17 miles to go to Safford. I also, supposedly, had a tow truck on its way with an ETA of between 1 and 3 hours. The safe bet was to stay where I was, off the highway on a dirt road where I wouldn’t get hit and the tow truck could easily scoop me up to bring me to town. Instead, I fired up the engine, flipped on all the running lights and hazards, and set off down the dark highway. I didn’t get far. There was still no power and it wouldn’t go over about 15 m.p.h. I pulled over 1/2 a mile down the road.

Okay, so what was the problem? Think it through. An engine only needs a couple of things to run. Spark being a main component. Since one plug blew itself completely out of the engine, I suppose it would make sense the others might not be in great shape. I got to work pulling them out. They were pitch black. As rich as any plugs I’d ever seen in my life, and they were only a couple weeks old. Okay, I didn’t have any spares, so I grabbed some 220 grit sandpaper and got to work. One by one I cleaned them up so that they at least resembled spark plugs again. Along the way I found that one had a center electrode that was completely gone. I didn’t have any choice other than to just stick it back in. The bus would still run on 7 cylinders. I fired the bus back up and it sounded considerably better.

I pulled onto the road and zipped right up to 30 m.p.h. Half an hour later I pulled into the hotel parking lot. About ten hours had passed. That’s when my phone finally rang. “The tow truck just called and said he couldn’t find you.”

I don’t need no stinkin’ tow truck.

The next morning I rode a bike to the auto parts store for new plugs, and then rode around for a while stopping in at mechanics to see if anyone could help me out. I might have had the bus running again, but there was obviously something wrong that I was missing. I had zero idea what it was at this point. Compression? Timing? Jets? The plug that blew out could have been the cause on its own if I simply hadn’t tightened it all the way. That cylinder wouldn’t have been firing, or not consistently at least. The running down the highway with the choke on wouldn’t have helped any, either. The list goes on.

I found a shop with an astonishing 4.9 rating who told me they would help me out. Bring it on in. I put in the plugs and headed out. Eight new plugs and the engine sounded like new again. Now, off to the shop to see if they can figure out why it’s running so rich.

My hands have looked like this for weeks.

I dropped the bus off at nine, explained the problem, and asked them to just check it over and see if anything jumped out at them. I rode off on the bike, stopped off at Enterprise, got a car, and picked up the family from the hotel. We could at least head off for a day of adventure around Safford while we waited on word of the engine’s fate.

There is a great road up into Mount Graham, and after all the cold weather it looked like there’d be some fun to be had. Around 7,000 feet we hit snow. The kids were happy running around and freezing to death. Kids who don’t grow up in snow think it’s exciting. They can’t be expected to know any better, I suppose. Every time I get near snow I marvel over the fact that most of our family has no interest in leaving Minnesota, even on holiday.

The road eventually got too steep and too icy for us to feel comfortable in our rear-wheel drive rental, so we didn’t reach the end, but it was cool to be up there in the snow looking down at the Sonoran Desert valley below.

We didn’t hear from the mechanic that day, and the bus didn’t move an inch in the shop parking lot. Ugh.