December 4, 2018 was an adventure.

It began when Kathryn Leigh found Tink the Truck failing to start, failing to be a reliable 1995 Ford F150, soon after her nuptials. Paying $15 each way to catch a Lyft to work on a yeoman’s salary for a week, or bumming rides from coworkers, was a problem. Paying $400 to a mechanic to fix Tink, only to find Tink not fixed, was even worse. Being a newlywed, and facing the unknown of ongoing Tink maintenance, and the extraordinarily high gasoline cost at only 10 mpg, Kathryn and Ian decided to stop driving the 23-year-old treasure and to purchase a new Nissan Kicks, a tiny SUV with 31/36 mpg. Tink the Truck needed to find her way back to Richmond. Dad?

So, Dad decided to make it all happen, as only Dads could do. I called a friend with a trailer, and begged for a window of time to drag Tink back to Ashland. Friends being friends, a plan came together. Start early, finish before the friend’s wife and kids knew what time it was, and continue on with the day of hockey games and other holiday family events. I grabbed the best breakfasts McDonald’s could make for the two of us and headed over at oh-dark-thirty Sunday morning.

Filling up the Suburban, hooking up the trailer, and getting to Newport News was easy. We shared stories of work, life, and some dreams of RV life. As expected, we made it to the newlywed’s apartment by 8:40 am. There was Tink. Thankfully the apartment had a ring road, making it possible to align the Suburban and trailer with Tink and not block anyone, and make it out of the complex without backing up.

Ramps from the Bri-Mar trailer were pulled out, and magically on a very warm morning, Tink started. This was great, since winching a vehicle up onto a trailer is so much more challenging, especially with an inch to spare on either side. With some guidance, Tink was driven up on the flatbed. It was not too difficult to get her up there and lashed down. I saw the new Nissan up close, and gave Kathryn a hug for making a great decision. The ramps were moved from the roadway back into the trailer, into their rectangular storage compartments under the flat bed. Spring-loaded ramp locks were engaged. The ramps were pulled and prodded to see that they were truly locked into position. I checked. My friend checked. Kathryn saw us check.

On the trailer, Tink’s weight showed us that one of the four trailer tires was low. Mighty low. We made our way to a 7-11 with a new computerized air dispenser. The notebook paper taped to the gizmo announced, sadly, that it was broken. Of course, this was only visible after making it to the gizmo, not from the road. Circling the parking lot, we made our way to a Raceway and found another air dispenser. Only $1.75! It used to be 25 cents. The tire, down to 35 psi, was slowly pumped up to 65 psi. The other three were bumped up a bit. And, Tink the Truck was on the road again, so to speak.

Construction on I-64 continues to vex all travelers, particularly those in Suburbans towing Bri-Mar flatbed trailers with 1995 Ford F150 trucks atop. Tractor-trailers meander into the travel lanes, jersey walls approach with impunity, and orange-white barrels announce repeatedly that traffic will be slow for many years to come. In amongst the paved and unpaved sections of the interstate, a few big bumps were felt. The trailer marker lights on the driver’s side went out, but the brake and turn signals were still working. On we went.

Once we made it to Ashland, some 72 miles away, we began the process of moving Tink to a parking spot. There, we saw it. Rather, we didn’t see it. We didn’t see one of the two ramps needed to unload Tink. The right trailer ramp escaped the trailer while pulling Tink the Truck from Newport News to Richmond. No idea how. No idea where. We did the only thing we could do, leaving Tink on the trailer. My friend returned me to my 2006 Buick LaCrosse, also known as the Red Sled, so I could head back to look for the ramp.

From the Short Pump area, I grabbed a simply awful McRib sandwich at McDonalds. My head hurt. My heart hurt. What was a great mission, was now compromised. Where was the ramp? How would we find it? How would I find it? Without a ramp, how would Tink ever get off the trailer?

I called my bride. She began searching the Waze app online for signs of debris in the roadway, or accidents. Nothing. I put the Red Sled into D for “drag” and rushed back to exit 250A and the apartment complex. I retraced our route carefully. I went to the apartment. I went into the 7-11 lot. I went into the Raceway lot. I followed the interstate westbound scanning for anything long and straight and black.

I thought I saw it, there on the right. It was long and straight, and looked a bit bent. The next exit, exit 220, was only a few miles to the west. I stopped there, gassed up, and thought about the situation. If that was the ramp, I needed my trunk empty. Better to do this here, than on the side of the interstate. I took the protective towel I use on the seat after workouts and put it on the passenger seat. I stacked the two milk crates full of water bottles and other travel junk on the seat, and the protein drink box in the footwell. I put my volunteer police bag on the front edge of the seat, balancing it against the dashboard. The umbrellas went between the transmission tunnel and the back seat. I folded the back seats forward, making the trunk as long as it could be.

I then turned around. I went back to exit 227, and turned back around to head west. I made my way back to the 224 milepost, and looked at the object again. Gatorback. Just a long tire cap, laid out lengthwise, looking like a ramp. But, I knew, I felt, I was certain, the ramp was near. I don’t know how I knew. I just knew. Just after exit 220, I found the ramp in the grass about ten feet off the interstate. Whizzing by at 65 mph, I was certain. I brought the Red Sled to a stop, and pulled well off the interstate. Hoping it was truly there, I popped the trunk open, just unlocked, but not flipped up. Hazards on, I was ready.

In my volunteer police bag, I have a garish neon green-yellow-orange safety vest. And, a pair of garish yellow kevlar-reinforced safety gloves. I reasoned that if the ramp were damaged, it might be sharp-edged. So, I pulled the items out of the bag and donned them. About 100 yards to the rear, maybe a bit further, I found the ramp. No signs of impact. No damage. No shiny scrapes. No idea how it made it ten feet off the interstate, into the grass. No idea. With my best imitation of a soldier pulling a wounded comrade to safety, I dragged the ramp to the Buick. In less than thirty seconds I had it back to the Buick, and in the trunk. Yes, the Red Sled trunk with seats folded forward can hold a 63 inch long ramp with ease. Not many cars can do this.

How the ramp left the trailer, we don’t know. The rough road and jarring impacts through the I-64 construction zones didn’t help, I’m sure. No doubt something sprung loose at the rear of the trailer just for a minute. Maybe the ramp slid out and down, and spiraled slowly away from the travel lane.

Looking on eBay for Bri-Mar ramps, I saw that a single ramp was $269 plus $48 shipping.
I’m sure it is worth every penny, but I am also glad that I can put $269 into repairing Tink. It should be just enough for two fuel pumps and a fuel pump driver module, whatever that is.

I’m thankful for a friend who took time this morning to help. Thankful for 20/15 corrected vision to see items like this at 70 mph 10 feet off the road. Thankful for 16 years of police volunteer experience looking for issues like this, and training on how to stop and start on the interstate. Thankful for safety equipment on hand. Thankful for the Red Sled. Thankful for Godly prompts to be ready for action.

Life is an adventure.