If you follow REGGIE SMART on social, you have probably already seen this shot of him jumping off Black Rock on Maui. He texted it to me before headng back to the cold reality of the Pacific Northwest. I asked him what it takes to make this leap. “Ya drink rum first… then jump off four more times.” Oh, yeah, rum.

KARMA is… not something to be messed with.

Yes, I am aware that, between revolutions, the KARMIC WHEEL makes a few stops. So, MAYBE I shouldn’t have given the two-handed salute in this photo op; MAYBE I shouldn’t have told TRISH how much I love my ‘super fun car.’

MAYBE found me out on the Coyle Peninsula, cruising home and kind of checking the beautiful almost winter sunset over the Olympics, creamsicle orange streaks over the snow covered crags. AND THEN I couldn’t help but notice the sudden burst of steam, first out the rearview, then out of the engine compartment.

Yeah. Fuck! One of the few old rigs I’ve owned (and killed) that didn’t leak oil, didn’t use water, and the temperature gage is pegged. Fuck! Lacking any nearby driveways on this one way in, one way out winding road to the end of another Peninsula, I pull over in a clearcut rather than in the woods, swearing and praying at pretty much the same time. Or alternating, more like it.

I do know the consequences and the odds. Blown head gasket, blown engine, something not worth the price of repairing, another dead rig on a long, sad list of dead rigs.

And, of course, still twelve miles from home, I have no reserve gallon of water. Now, MAYBE VOLVO engineers are a bit ahead of me. Although I turned the ignition off, a fan, somewhere, kept running for a while. I had a 33.8 bottle of Kirkland alkaline water, two bottles of a sport drink, and the remains of my thermos of coffee. Liquids are only put into the engine’s overflow tank rather than the radiator on this vehicle, so, after a bit of cool down time, darkness dropping like an additional treat (or punishment, or just, like, night does).

I check. The water isn’t going to the ground from some obvious leak. The car starts, seems to be running okay. I shut it off and call Trish. She doesn’t answer.

THEN, surprisingly, like a GOOD SAMARITAN, kind of, an SUV pulls over, and, after some discussion, a woman hands me a bottle of water. THEN, more surprisingly, one of those oversized trucks I complain about when they pass me, pulls over on the other side of the road. It’s, guessing, a man and his son. They give me one gallon of water that fills the tank, and another as ‘just in case’ back up.

I AM in the middle of thanking them when Trish, finding one of few places with cell reception, calls and starts reminding me of my bragging and my record with cars and… “I have to go. I think, maybe it’ll be all right.” “Maybe?”

NO, I didn’t make it home; at least not without three more stops. One on the Dabob Road, halfway in the ditch; use up the just in cast water, keep going, Trish calling in areas where the call goes through but neither of can hear the other. Multiple calls. I get to the Center Road. Trish is sending our daughter with three gallons of water. “It’ll be a while.”

I decide to find out if it’s a hose. There are, seemingly, miles of hoses coming from the radiator. I find one that is, indeed, unattached. I’m on top of the engine, in the darkness, trying to find the place where the hose connects when DRU drives up. YES! It might be this thing that might be some sort of thermostat, hose in, hose out. NO! The place where is would and did attach to the plastic dealie is broken off.

TRISH calls to tell me that, between praying (possibly some cursing), she checked the internet and, if all the steam came out in a burst, it’s probably a blown hose. “Thanks.”

One more fill up on SURF ROUTE 101, about a hundred yards from my driveway and… HOME! THIS, incidentally, is at least the fifth time my daughter has had to go out in the dark to save me from some breakdown or dead battery or whatever. She’s keeping track and said, “This is why I moved back from Chicago.”

THE PLAN is for me, after an unsuccessful internet search for a part for a thirty year old car, to get the part out of the car, take it to a parts place, and have them figure it out.

NO, IT’S NOT A surf story, per se, but I was kind of hoping that today, with the readings, as usual, iffy, that maybe. MAYBE.

KARMA. Yes, I’m considering it. Bring water.

Thanks for reading.. See you, hopefully not on the side of the road. Surf and “Swamis” stuff coming on Wednesday.