Friday, June 13
I push the cart of groceries across the parking lot to the Perfect Tow Vehicle where the crew waits.
What a pleasant grocery. Has a good selection. Meat department is kind of small, but I got what I wanted for the crew. They’re gonna’ love the beef short ribs. Two in a package . . .
I didn’t expect a grocery that big in this size town . . . .
You know how thoughts are running through your mind and you don’t realize what you’re looking at?
I unlock the back door of the PTV to load the groceries.
Wait a minute . . . . What’s going on over there? Hmm . . . A six-bay garage . . . doing a good business. . . . cars, trucks, farm equipment. That looks like a place that does wheel bearings. Right here in the heart of Good Family Values City. I’m gonna’ go over there and check them out!
“Hello. May I help you?”
I’m greeted by a slender man about fifty (give or take) sitting on a stool behind the counter. A woman sits on a stool on the customer side, although she seems like a friend or wife, not a customer.
“I don’t know. I hope so, ” I respond, as I walk up to the counter. “I have a 2011 17-foot travel trailer and the wheels need to be serviced. It has about 20,000 miles on it.”
“Yeah, it’s time,” he remarks with a nod. “We can take care of that.”
“What kind of grease do you use? It’s a Dexter axle and I read online that it’s important to use the right kind of grease.”
“We always use high quality grease,” the man replies.
(He tells me the name of the grease but I forget it by the time I leave the place.)
Not wanting to offend the guy, I add, “The reason I ask is I LIVE in this travel trailer. It means an awful lot to me and I . . . .”
“The grease we use,” he says during my pause, “is . . . ” He rattles off a list of specs on the grease regarding temperature, viscosity, blah, blah. I’m half-listening as I’m also running my intuition on his appearance, his manner, his voice.
Honest face, direct way of speaking, answers with authority, no male bluster covering up a lack of knowledge or experience. . . I like this guy.
I refocus on what the man is saying.
“I know Dexter axles. I’ve worked on them for 33 years right here in this same location. I’m the only one who does bearings here. I don’t let anyone else in the shop do it.”
“Oh,” I say, my eyebrows raising. I do like this guy. Has a vested interest in the place. Nice to know I won’t have a twenty-year old dreaming of Saturday night while working on the BLT.
“So that’s YOU out front in big letters,” I add, smiling.
“Yes, I’m Trent Harmon.”
I give him my name and ask when he could do the work.
“Well, not until next week. I don’t know if you’ll be around that long or maybe you could stop in on your way back through here.”
“What day next week?” I ask.
He swivels on the stool to the whiteboard on the wall behind him.
“I can do it Tuesday.”
“Tuesday? That’d be great!”
“You can stay that long?”
“Yes, I can. It’s a bit of an inconvenience, ” I say, just for the fun of it, “but I’ll wait . . . for YOU.”
His face softens with friendliness at my remark.
“Okay, what time?” he asks, marker poised to write in Tuesday’s square.
“Whatever is convenient for you.” Oh, this is so good. He knows Dexter axles. Thirty-three years! And he runs the place . . . . Has a reputation to keep.
“Is eight in the morning too early for you? Can you get it here at that hour?”
“Well,” I pause. “How about this? Would it be okay if I bring the trailer down to your lot on Monday after you’re closed? Park here and then we’ll be ready for Tuesday morning.”
“Sure,” Trent replies without hesitation. “You can plug into the electric if you want.”
“Oh, no, thank you. That won’t be necessary. I have solar power.”
Business taken care of, we chat a bit.
Trent asks me where I’m from and I explain the selling of my house in Georgia three years ago and how I’ve lived since then.
“Travelin’ around, seeing the country, right? Isn’t Utah a great state? We have everything here,” he remarks proudly.
“You certainly do. I had no idea! I’m camped on the Nebo Loop Road right now. It’s beautiful up there.”
The woman sits quietly, listening.
I smile at them both as I pick up my purse to leave.
“Okay then. I’ll see ya’ Tuesday morning at eight!”
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I LOVE RVSUE SHOPPERS!
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The fishing hole we pass on our way back to camp, Route 132, Nephi, Utah
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!
