Bent a Rod in Texas...

That would be a great song title: I Bent a Rod in Texas. Unfortunately, the phrase defines our last four days. Yeah, my shit luck has struck again.

It was a great night camping. We found a small campsite in Sonora, Texas called the Caverns at Sonora. We only had four hours remaining on the road before reaching Austin. We woke up in the morning, took Artie for a walk and threw the ball for him, packed up and hit the road, or, I mean the road hit us.

Leaving the campsite, we climbed a steep hill and a I started to hear a knocking sound from the back engine compartment. I tried my best to think nothing of it. We descended the hill. I stepped on the gas pedal, nothing.

We pulled over, and long story short, the engine was shot.

A tow truck came and rolled the van onto the flatbed truck. Rigo, the tow truck operator, drove up 35 miles to Ozona, Texas.

We pulled into a small repair shop. It had a small office and a large dirt lot where dozens of dead trucks and autos sat, parts missing, hoods open. The mechanic, Mark, wore a black cowboy hat, tight jeans and had a wad of dip lodged behind his bottom lip.

"I've seen one of these before," he said.

Hours later, Mark tells us we need a new engine; the rod was bent.

That night we stayed in small motel with little to say but a whole lot of stress. We awoke, rent a uhaul--Ozona has no rental car companies-- and drove to Austin.

Now, we wait for a new engine to arrive from California. We expect it to get to Ozona on Monday or Tuesday. It is then when the real stress will hit.

I am now convinced that my string of bad luck is not a coincidence but is my fate. I hate thinking all that I've put Aimee through. At least she's still here. I love her.