Day 10: The Muffler Man

Finally, the day had arrived to take the rig to the shop.

I can’t remember if I’d described the logistics earlier, but the way it worked out was that I found a place called DPF Alternatives that specialized in cleaning DPFs (thank god for population centers and specialists!) but they wouldn’t be able to remove the part. That would have to be done by a different specialist. Hmmm, perhaps my excitement was premature. So I call up German Star, the local authorities on Bavarian vehicles and they can’t take it for two weeks. Shit. Who can you recommend? Boise Muffler, great, I’ll call them. They can do it. Just saved a week right there.

I jump in the van and notice that there’s something on the windshield. Damn, I got ticketed for parking my big ass truck overnight. I bet one of the neighbors called to compl… oh, wow, actually the opposite. One of the neighbors is giving me a shout-out and offering assistance. People are great. This really made my morning.

I drop the van off at Boise Muffler and I meet the Muffler Man. The Muffler Man plays an ongoing role in this journey, but only in my head. And perhaps one day in the film starring Paul Dano. To be entirely clear, he was a very nice, and reasonable man. But he looked a lot like David Morse, the genocidal environmental scientist from 12 monkeys who unleashes a lethal pandemic on the world (it was pre-9/11, you know, when you could still bring biohazards on planes). And he sounded like batman. A customer service associate version of Christian Bale’s Batman, but still Batman.

I would love to see 12 Monkeys get remade or spun-off. You could even bring back Brad Pitt and Bruce Willis (somehow). My friend’s dad had a cameo in it, I think at the book signing for the Psychologist studying time travel. Bob Gleason. He looked very much like someone who would be at a fringe-theory book signing, lol.

So I leave my vehicle with character actor David Morse and head off to some water. It will probably take them a few hours to remove the filter, after which DPF generously offered to come and pick it up for servicing. Likely to be ready to be re-installed the next day. Cool Beans, as my dad would say. Or Kewl Beans, as I would say. (Yes, misspelling things ironically is young and hip, I speak as someone sometimes called “sir” and often mistaken as a 45-year-old)

Lindsey had suggested that I check out Push & Pour, it’s her favorite coffee shop. It’s also close to the Greenbelt (what they call the bike path) and the Boise River, which has some good swimming spots. They tried describing one feature to me, which didn’t make sense at all until I saw it. They surf but without going anywhere. Uh, what?

I was on my bike as it wasn’t far to the coffee shop and water. This was the true up-and-coming neighborhood (technically its own city) called Garden City, formerly known as Garbage City. And sure enough, it was awash in new construction and renovation. Definitely some artsy stuff still around the edges. [I wonder why that is, the process of “succession,” beginning with artists, followed by speculators, then the gentry. Of course, the artists all have to leave by the time the gentry arrive. It would be great to crack the code (maybe the tax code) and figure out how the people who put in the sweat equity can build a permanent community for themselves and not be overtaken by the hawkish investor class. Hmm.]

On the bike ride over I see this massive object in my periphery and veer off course to witness its girth.

The surrounding building and property are all part and parcel. Very curious. Very Todd. And closer inspection shows that it is, in fact, a Burner community. Todd, I found your people! I’m sure they would agree that Moon Unit is the winning entry for my, still unnamed, vehicle.

You can’t really see it, but in tiny writing it says Idaho Burners Alliance. Which, for some of you, will beg the question, what are Burners? They are people who attend and, frankly, live for THE BURN. Aka, Burning Man.

Burning Man is… just google it, you’ll see. It’s very Todd.

Before I meandered to the coffee shop I get to see the expansion first hand. Construction sites hold a particular fascination for me, simultaneously feeling archaeological and otherworldly. I generally enjoy seeing how others make, especially at scale.

This new construction butted right up against the Greenbelt and Boise River. Not coincidentally, it’s also where this was happening:

Ah, surfing the river standing still. Now I get it.

I have to say, from a city planning standpoint, this is brilliant. How do you lure high-earning hotshots away from Silicon Valley? You build them a perfectly engineered wave for surfing. And you put it close to a beautiful park, a newly renovated bike path, nice restaurants and swanky apartments and condos. Eugene, are you taking notes?

The coffee shop was pretty standard for contemporary independent coffee shops. Nicely decorated, smugly staffed.

The art on the walls reminded me of one of my former office mates, artist Elizabeth Blue Currier. She’s pretty great, you should look her up :)

As I’m trading dollars for wifi, I get a call. Gentle auto-mechanic Batman informs me that they have it “up in the air” and don’t know what they’re looking at. What do you mean you don’t know what you’re looking at? It’s not clear how to get this thing out, it goes through the firewall, there’s no dog door. I don’t understand what I’m hearing. We can cut it out. That I understand. And no, no you’re not going to cut it out. How would you put it back in? We’d weld it. OH HELL NO. You are not taking an angle grinder or an oxy-acetylene torch to my highly flammable wooden house on wheels. They agree to call DPF to see if they can troubleshoot it. Twenty minutes later they call back, they’re not going to do it, it’s beyond them.

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD WHY CAN NO ONE FIX MY FUCKING TRUCK?

German Star can, call them. German Star, if you remember, were the ones who were 2 weeks out and suggested Muffler Man. Bummer. Another week-ish of waiting. I could hear the doomsday clock tick closer to midnight. I cringed at the thought of having to call my employer to deliver this… update.

I now have an extra week. A stressful blessing from the universe. I can hang tight in Boise, go see family in Idaho Falls, maybe even make it out to Jackson Wyoming, or SLC Utah. Of course, who knows how long my vehicle will allow me to drive 55, at any point it could kneecap me at 25.

I converse with the Idaho faction of my lineage and they, more or less, decide for me that what I should do is go out to ID Falls, visit with my aunt and uncle, look for mechanics in SLC and then borrow one of their fleet to take out to Jackson in the interim.

The heat of the day, the heat of the ongoing frustration, it’s time to get in the water. I ask one of the river surf bros what they think about jumping in. Temperature and current, I mean. Well, you could jump in the Boise river, but you probably want the pond. He points to Quince Pond, just across the footbridge. Paddleboarders, pink floaties, yeah, that’s more my speed.

I wasn’t in the water very long before I had to get back out. Muffler Man closes at 6, I would just barely make it there. Luckily it wasn’t far.

When I arrived I was half-expecting them to try to charge me for doing nothing. I mean, they did put in time and effort, despite not accomplishing anything. I’ve been car-free more or less since age 18, so this is all new to me. I was prepared to have to argue with them; I think I still had a bad taste in my mouth from La Grande. I’m so glad that it didn’t go that way. David Morse’s long-lost batman-impersonating brother was very nice, apologized that they couldn’t get it done, and wished me luck.

Back to Mike and Lindsey’s. They’re working on dinner, so I wander to Food Land to buy a bunch of random desert items. In the lot is 3D EURO FOOD EXPRESS, which I cannot begin to wrap my head around. If they had been open I would have grilled them for answers to life’s most pressing questions, starting with what exactly is three-dimensional European food? Is that just normal European food? Or is two-dimensional an option I’ve been missing this whole time? What is the story, please explain.

Sadly, it will remain a mystery.

Mike and Lindsey’s friend Colleen came over for dinner. Oh man, she’s going in the movie. What a character. I don’t even remember what she said, but she was so animated and funny, it was great. Mostly commenting on being a mom and deflecting compliments of her art (her stuff is all over their house).

Mike and I had a long goodbye, I had packed all my stuff since it wasn’t clear I’d be coming back. Sure, I had an appointment with German Star in 8 days, but maybe someone in SLC could see me sooner. Time would tell. And time was running out.

Left later than expected, just before 9:30. Idaho Falls is only a couple hours away, right? Wrong. Twin Falls is a couple of hours away, doing 80. Idaho Falls is a few hours more beyond that. Somehow forgot this fact when leaving, so I thought I’d make it all the way to my aunt and uncle that night.

As I’m driving in the dark, I’ve got my GPS set to Idaho Falls, and I see my error. Maybe I can still get there. It’ll be 1 or 2 in the morning, but I’ll sleep in the van. This is the gift of the turtle’s shell. But I forgot that the time estimate on the phone was for everyone doing 80+ while I’m clocking 55 at best. I decide to shoot for Twin Falls instead. I had really wanted to go swimming in the Snake river where we’d eaten the day before. I could do it in the morning, that would be nice.

I’m driving along, seeing signs for Twin Falls, and then I’m not. GPS, remind you, is still set to Idaho Falls, so I’m not getting any directions auditory, or otherwise, to the place I actually am trying to get to. Driving, driving, driving. Keep thinking that I’ll see the glow of the city. But any light pollution I encounter is just cars coming over hills. I don’t know where the fuck I am. It’s getting close to 1:00 am. I decide to pull off at the next country bumpkin exit, I’m sure I’ll find somewhere to sleep in the desert.

Next exit. Country road. And then… a gravel pit? What is this? It’s all lit up, earth moving equipment, big mounds off in the distance. Something is not right. This isn’t a mining operation. It’s not gated either. I can’t help it, I have to go look.

There are three trucks. A shed. And a strange, small, steep hill hiding in the shadows. Something’s on it. It’s lit up. A staircase. What the fuck is going on? What is this place? Am I going to get murdered? I’m half-convinced that an evil clown is going to jump out at any point and drag me onto a carnival ride from hell.

Which wasn’t actually that far off.

Abandoned water slides, full of trash and tumble weeds.

I climb to the top, it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Partly constructed, nothing to prevent anyone from death or injury, large tools strewn about, inexplicable cables stretched out into the dark. And yet, the floodlights are on and the lawn is immaculate. Like, golf-course level manicured. My confusion, and suspicion of evil clowns, only grows. I’m pretty sure I read a Goosebumps book about this place when I was 8.

Should I go down the slides? There’s no one to hear you scream, says the imaginary evil clown. OKAY I’M DONE.

I run back to my vehicle and park across the street on a dirt road where I’m sure to not be disturbed. I would have slept in the lot, but it was too bright. Plus murderous clowns.

Shimbo is still on the truck. 700 miles later. Shimmy you are the eight wonder of the world. Physicists will study your magical properties. Bards will write songs about you. Maybe you’ll get your own tv show. On Hulu.

1:41 - time for bed.