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It?s human nature to take things for granted. The better things go, the more lax we become until one day everything breaks wrong and a comedy of errors catches us with our pants down. So begins my tale of woe.
It was October, or more precisely late October, the time of year where the sudden coldness of the night gets your attention, and for the first time you realize the clock is winding down on another fishing season. Knowing I was running out of time on what had thus far been a good season, I decided to do something I would normally never do, which was to fish during a weekend day. The latter part of the week had seen a rare stretch of good weather and that Saturday was no different. The sun was shining and the winds were down, although that was all supposed to change by the following day, courtesy of an approaching cold front.
The destination was Moriches west, and the basic plan was to fish the top on out in the late afternoon and into the early evening, returning home in time to catch the Rangers playing a late game on the west coast. The real plan was to get out of the house and postpone doing chores for another month. So after finishing a late breakfast, I hastily loaded up the rods, kissed the wifey goodbye, and headed out east along Sunrise Highway. My trip was not yet three minutes old when I realized I had left my cell phone on the desk in the den. I briefly considered turning around to go back and get it, but quickly blew off the idea and continued my trek to the outer beach entrance at Smith Point.
Upon my arrival and while checking in I was informed that it was Cut1A and Burma Road all the way out to the inlet. Just what I didn?t want. For the uninitiated, Burma Road is an absolutely brutal 6.3 miles of powder soft S-turns, endless bumps, deep puddles, blind corners and stupid deer. I?ve seen more than one head-on when the road rally day-trippers are out, and it is the best way I know to knock miles and resale value off of your vehicle, as well as loosen the filings in your teeth. As I aired down I joylessly contemplated the roughly 30 minute ride ahead.
The trip out to the inlet went slowly, but uneventfully, and I arrived to find several trucks already there, with most of the occupants chasing the mini-blitzes of blues up and down the jetty. Not interested in getting involved in that melee, I pulled around to the backside of the inlet, turned off the ignition, and sat back to take in the view while waiting for the tide to turn. Well I guess the late nights were catching up with me, because it wasn?t long before I was out like a light. After awakening and checking the dashboard clock I estimated my nap had lasted about 2 hours. It was now late afternoon and the tide was moving good, so without further delay I suited up, grabbed a rod, and went fishing. This is where it gets interesting.
I fished for about 45 minutes, catching a few small bass on bucktails, before deciding that I wanted to make a move. I walked back to the truck, racked my rod and threw my plug bag in the back. I retrieved my keys from my ?secret? hiding place, opened the door, hopped in, put the key in the ignition, turned it, and nothing, nothing but the nasty click of a dead battery. I scanned the dashboard and the first thing I noticed was the clock was no longer on. The second thing I noticed was that the light switch was in the ?on? position. Uh-oh. Somehow I must have had a brain cramp and put my lights on without thinking. And the real killer is that the little bell that normally dings over such things didn?t work in my Blazer anymore, no doubt a casualty of too many trips down Burma Road. The third thing I noticed was that the red LED for the alarm, that I never bothered to use, was now blinking.
OK, time to spring into action. I went in the back of my buggy and retrieved the 12V power pack I carried around with me for just such emergencies. Seeing as I hadn?t charged it in a while I hit the ?status? button to check the charge, and sure enough only the yellow LED went on. After a volley of 4 letter words that was probably heard on the other side of the bay, I decided to hook it up anyway, hoping for enough juice to kick over the engine. No such luck. I figured the next step was to grab a jump off of somebody. The nearest vehicle was about 80 yards up and around the back of the inlet. As I approached, he looked as though he was packing it in for the day, so I counted myself fortunate for not having to interrupt somebody while they were fishing to bail out my sorry butt. It turns out he was a very nice guy, fishing with his father, and he would be happy to give me a jump.
When he pulls up next to me I have the jumper cables all hooked up, ready and waiting, and I?m starting to get the warm and fuzzies that this mishap will all be over soon. He pops the hood, I make the connections, and then we wait a few minutes for the battery to charge, passing the time with small talk about fishing. Finally we all agree that it?s time to crank her up. I turn the key and absolutely nothing happens but that nasty click. I go check the connections figuring one must have popped off, or was not making good contact, and try again. NOTHING BUT THAT FREAKIN CLICK. As a matter of fact, the only thing that appeared to be working was that stupid blinking red LED for the alarm.
At this point I?m starting to freak. Amongst the three of us, nobody could offer an explanation as to why the battery wouldn?t charge, or at the very least the engine turn over and start. It was now very late afternoon, the sun was going down and a chill wind was starting up out of the west, the harbinger of snotty weather to come. The gentleman and his father who were kind enough to lend a hand had to leave, so I resigned myself to the last option I had. Somehow, I was going to have to be towed all the way back to Smith Point and beyond. As they pulled out I went to get my cell phone from the glove compartment only to quickly realize that I had left it home. I was fortunate that my newfound friends heard me yelling as I chased after them. As if I wasn?t already humiliated enough, I now had to ask them if I could borrow a cell phone to call the park police. After calling 411, getting the number, and then explaining my situation to the officer that answered, I thanked them both profusely and let them get on their way. I then settled in to await my rescue as the sun disappeared behind a western horizon rapidly filling with clouds.
I guess about an hour had passed when a park police suburban comes around the backside, preceded by a bouncing spotlight searching for an idiot in the darkness. I wave them down, make my pathetic introduction, and throw myself and some of my stuff in the back of their vehicle. During the return trip to the park office I asked the officers what is usually done under these situations. They indicated that they had the phone numbers for a couple of companies that do beach recovery, and that would be my best bet. Back at the park office I dialed the first of the two phone numbers they gave me. The person who answered said his recovery rig was down, but that it might be fixed the following day. I took this to mean he was into his second beer and the third inning of the playoff game, so I thanked him just the same and hung up. I was now down to my last hope.
I dialed the second number. A woman answered and after I explained my situation she told me to hold on while she spoke to the recovery guy over the radio, who was out on another tow job at the time. I must say I was very relieved to hear the crackly radio voice say he could be there in about 40 minutes. My elation was short lived when I subsequently discovered that it would cost me $675.00 for the tow job. Well at least I still had a chance to get home in time to catch the Ranger game.
About 40 minutes later and right on time a 6-wheel tow vehicle rolls up to the front of the park office. A few minutes later he?s airing down and running my credit card over the radio, and then it was off to rescue my Blazer. About 25 minutes later we arrive, with the plan being that he will flat-tow me by chain as opposed to putting me on the hook. First order of business was to drag me backwards so as to have enough room to turn around. It was then that it became apparent that this was not going to go smoothly. As it turns out, being that I had no power and was still in 4W hi, the trans-axel could not be disengaged, so even though I was in neutral, all 4 wheels were still connected, which made it very difficult to tow. To make matters worse the wind was literally howling out of the west, driving the loose sand along in its wake.
I won?t offer up a blow by blow description of the long agonizing trip off the beach that night other than to say it took about three and a half hours of pushing, getting stuck, digging out, in and out of the driver?s seat, and having your skin flayed by the wind driven sand. By the time we finally reached the check out station I had sand in my hair, eyes, pockets, and every orifice in my body. The tow guy unhooked me and informed me that he had called in a flatbed, which would be by in a few minutes to take me the rest of the way. Sure enough, as he was leaving the flatbed pulled up and after a few minutes we were loaded up and on our way to the service shop of my choice, which happened to be Sunwave Auto on Waverly Ave. After dropping off the Blazer, the driver was nice enough to drop me off at my house, which was fairly nearby. I walked through my door at 1:40am. I had not eaten all day and night, I was cold to the bone, my eyelids felt like sandpaper, and the icing on the cake was that the Rangers had lost 4-1 to San Jose.
Jump to the next morning and the point of this story. I get a call from Ralph at Sunwave, and I can tell by the sound of his voice as he tells me to come down and pick up my Blazer, that something was screwy. I get there and he tells me to start the vehicle. I put the key in, turn the key, and get the click. He then tells me to turn the key off, and then turn it to the first position, the accessory position I think it?s referred to as, which I do. He then disconnects the ground cable from the battery, reconnects its, and then tells me once again to start the vehicle. I turn the key and as you probably already guessed, it started right up.
Turns out that it was some sort of anti-theft protection feature on the Mr. Goodwrench alarm that I never bothered to use, that needs to be reset any time you change a battery, or after any kind of lose of power. All of that TIME, MONEY and AGGRAVATION over a stupid feature of some stupid car alarm that I didn?t even use! How could something so trivial, so stupid and inane, cause so much trouble!!!!! I told Ralph to take the **** alarm out of the Blazer, which I then beat to pulp with a tire iron. But the truth is that I had no one to blame but myself for not reading the manual. It was all right there on page 6.
PM me if you want the names and phone numbers of tow companies that do beach recovery.
-Rich
This post edited by RichTrox 01:54 AM 03/28/2008
It was October, or more precisely late October, the time of year where the sudden coldness of the night gets your attention, and for the first time you realize the clock is winding down on another fishing season. Knowing I was running out of time on what had thus far been a good season, I decided to do something I would normally never do, which was to fish during a weekend day. The latter part of the week had seen a rare stretch of good weather and that Saturday was no different. The sun was shining and the winds were down, although that was all supposed to change by the following day, courtesy of an approaching cold front.
The destination was Moriches west, and the basic plan was to fish the top on out in the late afternoon and into the early evening, returning home in time to catch the Rangers playing a late game on the west coast. The real plan was to get out of the house and postpone doing chores for another month. So after finishing a late breakfast, I hastily loaded up the rods, kissed the wifey goodbye, and headed out east along Sunrise Highway. My trip was not yet three minutes old when I realized I had left my cell phone on the desk in the den. I briefly considered turning around to go back and get it, but quickly blew off the idea and continued my trek to the outer beach entrance at Smith Point.
Upon my arrival and while checking in I was informed that it was Cut1A and Burma Road all the way out to the inlet. Just what I didn?t want. For the uninitiated, Burma Road is an absolutely brutal 6.3 miles of powder soft S-turns, endless bumps, deep puddles, blind corners and stupid deer. I?ve seen more than one head-on when the road rally day-trippers are out, and it is the best way I know to knock miles and resale value off of your vehicle, as well as loosen the filings in your teeth. As I aired down I joylessly contemplated the roughly 30 minute ride ahead.
The trip out to the inlet went slowly, but uneventfully, and I arrived to find several trucks already there, with most of the occupants chasing the mini-blitzes of blues up and down the jetty. Not interested in getting involved in that melee, I pulled around to the backside of the inlet, turned off the ignition, and sat back to take in the view while waiting for the tide to turn. Well I guess the late nights were catching up with me, because it wasn?t long before I was out like a light. After awakening and checking the dashboard clock I estimated my nap had lasted about 2 hours. It was now late afternoon and the tide was moving good, so without further delay I suited up, grabbed a rod, and went fishing. This is where it gets interesting.
I fished for about 45 minutes, catching a few small bass on bucktails, before deciding that I wanted to make a move. I walked back to the truck, racked my rod and threw my plug bag in the back. I retrieved my keys from my ?secret? hiding place, opened the door, hopped in, put the key in the ignition, turned it, and nothing, nothing but the nasty click of a dead battery. I scanned the dashboard and the first thing I noticed was the clock was no longer on. The second thing I noticed was that the light switch was in the ?on? position. Uh-oh. Somehow I must have had a brain cramp and put my lights on without thinking. And the real killer is that the little bell that normally dings over such things didn?t work in my Blazer anymore, no doubt a casualty of too many trips down Burma Road. The third thing I noticed was that the red LED for the alarm, that I never bothered to use, was now blinking.
OK, time to spring into action. I went in the back of my buggy and retrieved the 12V power pack I carried around with me for just such emergencies. Seeing as I hadn?t charged it in a while I hit the ?status? button to check the charge, and sure enough only the yellow LED went on. After a volley of 4 letter words that was probably heard on the other side of the bay, I decided to hook it up anyway, hoping for enough juice to kick over the engine. No such luck. I figured the next step was to grab a jump off of somebody. The nearest vehicle was about 80 yards up and around the back of the inlet. As I approached, he looked as though he was packing it in for the day, so I counted myself fortunate for not having to interrupt somebody while they were fishing to bail out my sorry butt. It turns out he was a very nice guy, fishing with his father, and he would be happy to give me a jump.
When he pulls up next to me I have the jumper cables all hooked up, ready and waiting, and I?m starting to get the warm and fuzzies that this mishap will all be over soon. He pops the hood, I make the connections, and then we wait a few minutes for the battery to charge, passing the time with small talk about fishing. Finally we all agree that it?s time to crank her up. I turn the key and absolutely nothing happens but that nasty click. I go check the connections figuring one must have popped off, or was not making good contact, and try again. NOTHING BUT THAT FREAKIN CLICK. As a matter of fact, the only thing that appeared to be working was that stupid blinking red LED for the alarm.
At this point I?m starting to freak. Amongst the three of us, nobody could offer an explanation as to why the battery wouldn?t charge, or at the very least the engine turn over and start. It was now very late afternoon, the sun was going down and a chill wind was starting up out of the west, the harbinger of snotty weather to come. The gentleman and his father who were kind enough to lend a hand had to leave, so I resigned myself to the last option I had. Somehow, I was going to have to be towed all the way back to Smith Point and beyond. As they pulled out I went to get my cell phone from the glove compartment only to quickly realize that I had left it home. I was fortunate that my newfound friends heard me yelling as I chased after them. As if I wasn?t already humiliated enough, I now had to ask them if I could borrow a cell phone to call the park police. After calling 411, getting the number, and then explaining my situation to the officer that answered, I thanked them both profusely and let them get on their way. I then settled in to await my rescue as the sun disappeared behind a western horizon rapidly filling with clouds.
I guess about an hour had passed when a park police suburban comes around the backside, preceded by a bouncing spotlight searching for an idiot in the darkness. I wave them down, make my pathetic introduction, and throw myself and some of my stuff in the back of their vehicle. During the return trip to the park office I asked the officers what is usually done under these situations. They indicated that they had the phone numbers for a couple of companies that do beach recovery, and that would be my best bet. Back at the park office I dialed the first of the two phone numbers they gave me. The person who answered said his recovery rig was down, but that it might be fixed the following day. I took this to mean he was into his second beer and the third inning of the playoff game, so I thanked him just the same and hung up. I was now down to my last hope.
I dialed the second number. A woman answered and after I explained my situation she told me to hold on while she spoke to the recovery guy over the radio, who was out on another tow job at the time. I must say I was very relieved to hear the crackly radio voice say he could be there in about 40 minutes. My elation was short lived when I subsequently discovered that it would cost me $675.00 for the tow job. Well at least I still had a chance to get home in time to catch the Ranger game.
About 40 minutes later and right on time a 6-wheel tow vehicle rolls up to the front of the park office. A few minutes later he?s airing down and running my credit card over the radio, and then it was off to rescue my Blazer. About 25 minutes later we arrive, with the plan being that he will flat-tow me by chain as opposed to putting me on the hook. First order of business was to drag me backwards so as to have enough room to turn around. It was then that it became apparent that this was not going to go smoothly. As it turns out, being that I had no power and was still in 4W hi, the trans-axel could not be disengaged, so even though I was in neutral, all 4 wheels were still connected, which made it very difficult to tow. To make matters worse the wind was literally howling out of the west, driving the loose sand along in its wake.
I won?t offer up a blow by blow description of the long agonizing trip off the beach that night other than to say it took about three and a half hours of pushing, getting stuck, digging out, in and out of the driver?s seat, and having your skin flayed by the wind driven sand. By the time we finally reached the check out station I had sand in my hair, eyes, pockets, and every orifice in my body. The tow guy unhooked me and informed me that he had called in a flatbed, which would be by in a few minutes to take me the rest of the way. Sure enough, as he was leaving the flatbed pulled up and after a few minutes we were loaded up and on our way to the service shop of my choice, which happened to be Sunwave Auto on Waverly Ave. After dropping off the Blazer, the driver was nice enough to drop me off at my house, which was fairly nearby. I walked through my door at 1:40am. I had not eaten all day and night, I was cold to the bone, my eyelids felt like sandpaper, and the icing on the cake was that the Rangers had lost 4-1 to San Jose.
Jump to the next morning and the point of this story. I get a call from Ralph at Sunwave, and I can tell by the sound of his voice as he tells me to come down and pick up my Blazer, that something was screwy. I get there and he tells me to start the vehicle. I put the key in, turn the key, and get the click. He then tells me to turn the key off, and then turn it to the first position, the accessory position I think it?s referred to as, which I do. He then disconnects the ground cable from the battery, reconnects its, and then tells me once again to start the vehicle. I turn the key and as you probably already guessed, it started right up.
Turns out that it was some sort of anti-theft protection feature on the Mr. Goodwrench alarm that I never bothered to use, that needs to be reset any time you change a battery, or after any kind of lose of power. All of that TIME, MONEY and AGGRAVATION over a stupid feature of some stupid car alarm that I didn?t even use! How could something so trivial, so stupid and inane, cause so much trouble!!!!! I told Ralph to take the **** alarm out of the Blazer, which I then beat to pulp with a tire iron. But the truth is that I had no one to blame but myself for not reading the manual. It was all right there on page 6.
PM me if you want the names and phone numbers of tow companies that do beach recovery.
-Rich
This post edited by RichTrox 01:54 AM 03/28/2008
