Vidor Texas Hurricane Harvey

A journal of events 8/31/17–9/2/17

Some waters run too deep

I’d been monitoring the Cajun Navy Zello channel for a few days; I’d been helping coordinate rescues during the day as a dispatch agent, but it was so challenging to coordinate over all the cross-talk that it took me four hours to validate one rescue, which was both exhausting and frustrating (still rewarding). Meanwhile, I increasingly heard requests for a high water vehicle to help with urgent evacuations in Beaumont and Port Arthur, which were not yet evacuated but were experiencing rushing flooding from the lingering punishing swirl of Harvey, dropping as much rain on Eastern Texas as the already flooded neighborhoods of Houston. I scanned the USGS river gauges for the Sabine River, I saw that the water levels were rising and projected to continue rising for the next few days to record levels.

I went out for a dog walk, buy a pack of cigs and digest all this. Considering what little I had been able accomplish via computer dispatch, and given what was happening on the ground; I decided that it was worth driving out there with my “Deuce and a half”, AKA Vietnam era M35A2 troop transport that is specifically designed for high water. I figured at the very least I could drive to Lafayette and transport water and food to those in need for the Cajun Navy. As per my routine, I decided to flip a coin to confirm my intuition. I picked heads as validation for the “headstrong” approach, aka GO, and tails as retreat and re-evaluation. The first three flips we’re all heads. I was so nervous about going that I decided to do another round of toss. The second round said stay. I was unsatisfied with that, so I decided the third round would be tie-breaker and would accept how the chips fell with no further questioning. The third occasion fell 2–1 heads. And so after a smile, I made an essential to do list:

• Brew a thermos of coffee
• Pack battery brick for phone charging
• Bring extra diesel
• Headlamp
• Tool bag of wrenches for the truck
• Check weather and traffic

I left New Orleans at 5am, blasting off into the night racing with the adrenaline of knowing, pedal to metal and watching the highway stripes blur. I was nervous but was powering through with conviction and caffeine, staring at the empty dark road, knowing where I needed to go. It took me much longer to arrive at Lafayette than I imagined (the Deuce only goes 50mph), but I arrived before morning Rush hour, and once I got my bearings, met up with Jonathan who I knew from from the Zello channel, at the Academy sports parking lot. It is interesting how quintessentially American parking lots are, both in terms of their commonness, and their utility.

My first impression of Jonathan: a cherubim with a tricked-out Jeep, a boatload of confidence and, as I found out, gun-obsessed. He worked professionally as a private security contractor, providing protection for high-profile CEOs like the BP execs during the DeepWater Horizon disaster. He wore his heart on his sleeve and was very eager to help, so I took it all in stride. He bought me a double shot and a breakfast sandwich right off the bat, we went to RaceTrak and gassed up some barrels of gasoline for relief, and we headed to the Bead Buster’s location in Youngsville to pick up essentials donated to Cajun Navy and bring them to the frontlines.

We formed a fire-bucket brigade and loaded up palettes of bottled water, Gatorade & PB&J. It was still a long haul to the state line. As we approached Texas, there was a huge traffic jam — we followed a police escort on the breakdown lane till we got through the blockade. By that time, our mission had been clarified, and I explained to the Louisiana State Police that the mayor of Vidor had requested a high water vehicle to help evacuate citizens in need of rescue, so we cleared through. The highway was empty for miles from there on out, until the outskirts of Vidor, where we came across a detachment of National Guard Humvees and a few new Deuces that was doing a 3-point turn outside of Vidor. Apparently the waters had gotten too high and they couldn’t risk their vehicles. I decided it was time to test out my truck’s water-worthiness so I just continued down the highway by myself and got through 3.5’ of water flowing off the shoulder of the road. The air-intake snorkler I installed last year was proving its worth. I pulled into the Market Basket parking lot in Vidor in a sigh of relief and hopped on the Zello channel to see what chatter was saying. Jonathan and I set up a relief station in the parking lot, handing out cases of water and he was pumping gas to eager line of residents. FYI gasoline is more needed than water sometimes in an emergency situation. He pumped off all of the gas he brought in less than an hour, but I still had half a truck of water.

After distributing aid supplies, we got a solid communication on Zello that there were some guys from Oklahoma near the Chinese restaurant off main street with boats; we saw them holler across the parking lot on the other side of the police tape. We merged forces and introduced ourselves, they had been working relief for 3 days, but were unable to put their boats in in Vidor cause of the lumpy topography that created ridges and hollows of flooding, so there was a real need for a high water vehicle that could forge across the divides and drive across dry land to communities stranded inland. The Neches river was rising, and it was showing no signs of abating. There was a levee breach and rumor had it that the Army Corps was going to release water from a dam upriver, potentially a mandatory evacuation. So we had work to do. National Guard was doing medical evacs with choppers and we watched as they hovered static over the parking lot, lowering rescuees down via cable to the EOC command center. All of us volunteers stared in amazement — realizing that that the situation was far more serious that we imagined. I-10 to Beaumont was impassable, and apparently there was an emergency evacuation order in place there. Time for another energy drink or bar or whatever. As I watched the the chopper hovering like an mirage, there was a weird glitter in the sky shining through the blinding sunlight. I dismissed it as some figment of imagination, but it looked like confetti. I never really seen a chopper in full sunlight so I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but such a striking scene.

Meanwhile, we had decided to decamp across the street to a shady spot to get out of the heat while we were waiting for confirmation on some of the evacuation requests from Cajun Navy dispatch. While we were talking about a plan, I saw a dollar bill float inside of Jonathan’s Jeep. I literally wouldn’t have believed that I saw that, unless I saw it, which I did. I cut him off mid-conversation and said — “Jonathan, open your door and you will find a dollar bill”. It was a weird sentence to articulate, and it was clear there was a tenuous thread about it, but sure enough he opened his door in disbelief, looked under his seat, and then found a dollar bill. Astonishment is an understatement. So this dollar just magically manifested out of nowhere? Jonathan quickly decided to take a sharpie to it and we both signed it, he said he would frame it. Then a guy wearing an FBI shirt marched across the parking lot, cussing out the Coast Guard idiocy because apparently the turbulence from the blades caused the contents of the donation box to go flying up into the air, whirring money up into the air, and asked us to keep it on the “down low”. Jonathan took a different bill out of his pocket to replace the one we had graced with our John Hancocks.

But there were more important matters at hand…

We knew there were active rescues going on, but we hadn’t yet been able to confirm many addresses over Zello. By that time though several people had approached us in the parking lot asking us if we could go fetch relatives of theirs who had stayed behind, stranded in the rural neighborhoods back in the swamp so, following their guidance, we set out to retrieve some of them including a teenage boy who was so high he was almost blind, he decided to leave his dogs behind, but we managed to get him in the truck after a packed a rucksack. I walked into the yard to pee, there was a flock of ibis cranes excitedly plucking at some abundance of grub in the flooded grass.

Along the way, a mom & dad flagged me down and they asked me to help them pick up their two teenage sons — apparently he had stayed behind. I drove them deep into an area of flooded backstreets off I-10 to Evangeline Dr, passed a convoy of National Guard vehicles by the railroad tracks.

Then a dude flagged me down cause they needed help towing their stalled pickup, so turned off the truck while looping the chain around their front end hooks, cause my ebrake don’t work so good, and I wanted to threw it into gear to keep it from rolling. I hopped back in my cab, pressed the combat switch starter, but the truck wouldn’t turn over. Zero, not even a shrug. FUCK. My battery was totally dead. Now, the Deuce runs on a 24volt system, so it is a little more complicated than just a simple jump. Even so, there were plenty of other big trucks and national guard vehicles on the scene so I tried flagging down a fancy looking truck that Jonathan recognized as the Diesel Brothers. Apparently they had a TV show on the Discovery channel and were quite famous for building custom engines and trucks. The were doing rescues however, so they said they would stop by on the way back through. We sat waiting there in the moonlight getting eaten by mosquitoes, so Jonathan figured it was a good time to show me a few pointers on how to shoot an AR-15. I had no idea he was packing a semi-automatic on the truck, but he was a security contractor after all, so it figures. Seemed like pretty much everyone had a gun except for me. No one knew what to expect, and there were several reports of shots being fired at rescuers as they tried to help. Maybe I’m naive, and I wager words will always suit me better than guns, but I settled into the unfamiliar notion that encountering someone of a different mindset was more of a probability than not, so I figured it was OK for my companions to think along those lines as well.

After an hour or so, the Diesel brothers rolled back through, we tried to jump the truck at first, but their newer model of military truck had four batteries instead of two, and we debated for a bit about how to jump four batteries to two. That was complicated, so when the Diesel brothers found out my truck was a manual, they suggested doing a pull-start. I had heard of this before, but didn’t really know what was involved. We hooked up the chains, and they started pulling me along, rolling about 10mph, I flipped the accessory switch and hit the starter, but nothing. “Man it must really be dead” I thought. I thought it would just fire up, but apparently not. We chatted for a sec, and they pulled me and I tried it again, nothing. I then tried throwing it into third gear and popped the clutch out and just like that VROOM! It fired up!! HOLEY MOLEY I was so shocked, I had never known that that could work. Hallelujah! We stopped and chatted for a second, and I saw one of the Diesel dudes whisper in the ear of his brother —I am sure they were chatting about my noobness but I didn’t care — I was so happy the truck was alive again and we could continue with rescues.

By that time, a little queue of addresses had stacked up, and so despite the batteries being dead, the truck was running fine and they were providing free fuel at the command parking lot, so we decided to keep rolling. Only problem was that the headlights were dead on account of the batteries. But the Oklahomans had high-powered search lights and headlamps, and from the back of the truck they were able to help me navigate the darkened streets of Vidor as the Neches River and Bayou Cow continued to rise. By their guiding lights, and with Jonathan running comms, we were able to run into the night.

First we got the address of a lady that had just had back surgery and lived on a dead-end street tucked way into a small subdivision off N Main street. We went down the wrong dead-end street at first, but people came out to greet us, and they all asked for a case of fresh water, we obliged. Then we past a set of gas stations that had a particularly acrid solvent smell. Eerily, I saw a cluster of miniature lights glowing through the scrub pines, which didn’t make sense at all — they were all slightly different colors and clumped on the ground next to… black rectangles. Tombstones. The only places illuminated in this midst of this desolation was a graveyard.

When we got to the right turn-off, we followed a white pickup with a pleasure boat on a trailer right all the way up down the dead-end street — could they be going to the same house? Well this was not an encouraging sign. Apparently we were shadowing some other rescue crew following the same call. We waited for a second, and then they turned around, we chatted for a bit. Apparently the lady Mary didn’t want to leave. Over the airwaves that the chatter was saying they could be opening the reservoir, making evacuation mandatory for the remaining areas of the town. I hopped out of the cab, hoping to succeed in persuasion where the other rescuer had failed. Once she found out we were a part of the Cajun Navy, that seemed to clarify things, apparently there were other citizen-volunteer groups jumping on the Zello channels and trying to do rescues as well, it was just piling chaos on top of chaos. I don’t blame her for being confused — who are you going to trust in these type of circumstances? She had just had back surgery, so we helped her up into the shotgun seat for the ride, she all the while clutching her phone and giant purse. At first I imagined her sitting there continually debating her decision to evac, but as we started to drive and water came up to the doors, she tentatively asked “is it this bad the whole way”, to which I responded “it’s worse”. Somehow through the blinders of focus, I didn’t see the snake in the grass. The Oklahomans colored in that detail for me later…there was a copperhead right by the her front door.

Then we got the address of another family with a disabled child on someplace called W Tram road. It was a trick to find it cause the addresses on the street were not sequentially organized and GPS was out. But we drove slow and sure enough found the mailbox — 2345 W Tram Rd. There was an old blue Chevy pickup in the driveway half underwater, and a trailer back a ways from the road. This time we were on the lookout for snakes, water moccasins to be specific. Jon from Oklahoma had waders on, so he made his way through 2 feet of water towards the house, Sure enough there they were — three older women with their daughter who had a glowing blank stare, she was grown, but couldn’t walk or make words, and it required two men to carry her across the waters. I helped illuminate the path with a headlamp, and was getting bitten up by something awful, must’ve been fire ants floating on the surface of the floodwaters. Her mother and grandmother also wanted out, so we gathered up a few duffles and helped them up the ladder onto the back of the Deuce where a few of the guys had reorganized the cases of bottled water so we could drop the bench.

Then we drove to another address on W Tram Rd - boy was the neighborhood back there was poor, people living in half-finished (or half-demolished?) houses that looked more like lean-to’s assembled from rejects from the lumber yard dumpster. As we got to our address, a young man emerged, he said he was fine, but there was an older lady who lived in back of the shanty-house. She clearly had her wits about her however, and was prepared, but she sure appreciated what we were doing. So then we drove straight back to the EOC base, and passed an ambulance team on the way and asked if they would be able to provide for an evac for the disabled girl, because she had apparently had seizures earlier that day, but they were only doing absolute medical emergencies, so they were gonna continue waiting on a pregnant mom they got a call on. Anyhow, we dropped the family off at the EOC parking lot and were able to get her quick medical evaluation before they were boarded up on a bus headed to Lake Charles Civic Center in Louisiana, the closest shelter was an hour away…

It was time to sleep , so I drove the Deuce to a bank parking lot across the street from the glaring lights and rumbling engines of EOC, which was still actively doing evacuation — time to get some shut-eye. Only problem was I had to shut of the engine, could I start the engine in the morning? I needed rest though, so that decision was easy.

I puffed a smoke while gazing up, thankful for everything, and uncertain what tomorrow might bring. It was spooky to see the stars in full splendor in refinery country. I tucked in for the night under the Army blanket I got from a yard sale at the Dufresne estate in LaPlace, and slipped into the abyss, sleeping salvaged army green on army green, falling into the darkness.

Next morning, grateful to be alive and strong, but hungry as fuck. The Market Basket had opened again (amazingly), and there was a line forming, so Jon from Oklahoma got in there and we supplied him with a list. We unloaded cases of water while we waited, but he came out with the payload, a grill, charcoal briquettes and sausages to boot. We set up a nice camp in the shade trees of the bank parking lot and took “whore-showers” with Old-spice shampoo and bottled water while we waited for the meaty treats to grill.

I was anxious to know how I might start the truck again for rescue that day, but then I saw the Diesel Brothers enter the EOC parking lot again with a bed-full of evacuees. I walked across Main Street and talked with Diesel Dave, he said there was a twin gas stations up Main Street where hundreds of people needed evac, I asked if he could help me out again with another pull-start, and he agreed, so we were off and running again. They had found a new route on W Tram that avoided the deepest waters on Main St, so I pulled out hastily to follow them. All of our Oklahoma crew was still chilling in the aftermath glow of BBQ, so I left them stranded, but was sure that we would reconnect soon enough. I followed the Diesel brothers along the circuitous route, which sure enough was not as treacherous, we passed a dude holding up a dead armadillo by the tail (did you know their asses are hairy? I guess they must be mammals to grow hair there). We arrived at the twin gas station relay point, but there weren’t many people at all.

While we were trying to figure out what to do, a sedan pulled up, and divested a boy with one solitary diseased tooth and two packs of Newports. He seemed grumpy and I talked with his brother (?) for minute who basically told me he was being dropped off cause he called his sister a bitch, was causing problems with his family and they wanted to get rid of him. I agreed to give him a ride out of there. We also picked up a weathered dude who wanted to get to the closest convenience store, he seemed amicable.

We also picked up one of the fellas from the Diesel Brothers who was looking to go back to EOC, he seemed cool, covered with tattoos. We got a call to go pick-up an elderly in a trailer park tucked off Main St, and there was a bunch of folks back there, but they were dry, so we dropped off cases of water. There was one older black gentleman with frizzy hair and I noticed that one of the guys on the back of the truck gave him the smallest case of water we were trucking. [moment of pause]. He was super appreciative however and gave me a fist bump, which didn’t dilute the weird sensation that somehow my compadres along for the ride had slighted him.

We were scouting for the elderly still, but there was so many houses to check and none of the residents seemed to know the medical condition of their neighbors. We passed by one trailer with a yard full of people who were glad to see us and offered us plate dinners that they couldn’t eat. We were full, and honestly, my stomach wanted nothing other than caffeine, but we all appreciated their gracious offer.

We drove back through those rural flooded roads, scanning for signs of desperation and need of help, but everything signaled empty. So we trekked back to EOC. Along the way, a guy flagged us down, but he just wanted help moving his generator out of high-water; this wasn’t the time to be saving equipment. It seemed pretty crass to ask.

Once we got back to EOC, the Diesel Brothers dude who was along for the ride unleashed a tirade. He had helped this couple the day previously out of jam, providing them with fuel and jumping their car. But the couple he helped drove straight back to their property, submarining their sedan, and retreating to their flooded property to his surprise. Nothing like helping some folks to see them squander it right before your eyes. Apparently, later that night, while the Neches River was still rising, the same couple called for a medical evac from the Coast Guard, even though they were both perfectly healthy. The government complied, and they got the evac, but there was a price. When they were being lowered from the helicopter at EOC, the sack of cash they went back to fetch got torn apart by the wind shear of the helicopter propellers and tossed their thousands of dollars around like jacks in the sunlight — that was the glitter I saw in the sky the night before — a couple who were hoarding cash had literally just had their life saving thrown into the sky in a torrent and one of those dollars just happened to float into my friend Jonathan’s window.

Savings sequestered through paranoia and fear of uncertainty made lucky through chaos and chance. Logical if you ask me.

All of the Oklahomans at that point were sequestered in the parking lot for a while and were eager for more search and rescue work, so by the time I pulled into the lot, they loaded up a bunch of rafts and coolers, ready for another expedition. Apparently EOC had a new mission for us, to go check if a bridge was washed out, that connected to another rural pocket community. I dipped into the emergency communications trailer for a sec to get the low-down, and was washed over by the weird comfort of AC, and the discomfort of being surrounded by so much hierarchy. I clearly did not have any credentials to merit me being in the presence of whatever majors and captains were relaying commands, so I waited outside. My friend Jonathan had steelier nerves, and got the command — we were to go check on a bridge which had potentially washed out past the dual gas stations on Main St. I knew exactly where it was, and all the Oklahoman gang was ready to go, so I gassed it up and let’s go I said.

But I was nervous. I didn’t know why we were going on this mission. Did we really need to drive my truck into the abyss to figure out if a bridge was washed out? It was hard to argue logic when there are eight eager dudes riding on the back of your truck, and “supposedly” your truck can withstand anything. So we left.

We drove up Main Street till the dual Gas Station split at 1131, I knew the spot. And headed into the waters. We was driving down a road that no trucks were venturing into, but it seemed reasonable enough to try. We drove in till the water was murky; I stopped and had two of my volunteers post up left and right to watch the roadway lines, they were able to guide me into the depths to a fair extent. But the roadway was narrow and difficult to navigate. The water started coming up to the mailboxes and I got nervous. It wasn’t going to be easy going forward and I got nervous about how deep it was going to get. I threw the truck into neutral, saying it was a no-go — it was too deep to go forward and chance it. So I threw it into reverse, and got about 1 sec of rev before she stalled. Dead in the water. We was fucked. I was furious, but calm — I mean it was obvious that we were stuck, so there was nothing to do, and we were in need of help. EOC had sent us on this mission, they would help us right? All the same, I was afraid of the worst — that I had pushed my truck past its limit and that there was no recovery for the machine — we would be fine, but the truck would be fucked. At least that was the calculus going on in my head.

We relayed an SOS to EOC, but at that point EOC was not only evacuating but dismantling their infrastructure, so it was difficult to get ahold of someone who could help us in an official capacity. Instead, the EOC told us that several of the crazy monster mudding trucks from Oklahoma had volunteered to tow us out of the dead end road.

At that point, any help was welcome, from whatever source. I couldn’t quite believe that those devilish trucks were there for anything but pleasure, but sure, fine, I’m down if they are willing to help. A group of men chilled on the back of my truck for a good hour while the sun started setting. Were these guys from Oklahoma going to come or not? A couple of boats passed by asking if we wanted to be evacuated. I felt like some of those on board might have wanted to get out, but they were in solidarity with me since their whole posse in some sense was responsible for getting us into this collective jam, so they said no. We inflated one of the emergency rafts to pass the time, and maybe check one of the houses in the neighborhood for booze. It was a laughable affair, but no liquor was to be found. From the horizon, we heard the low-grind of diesel, and were hopeful that our mudder-rescuers were en route — I got binoculars off a vet and scanned the horizon, but it was just a drab substation that looked like Desert Storm. No truck yet. I lit a cig and contemplated the potential vectors of possibility. My truck was not essential, and we could evacuate and leave the truck. Or we might get towed by a monster rig, but my truck’s engine would be flooded and it would still be stuck in Vidor. Or maybe I would have to get a tow all the way back to New Orleans. None of these options were good. I took another drag on the cig. Meanwhile everyone else was cutting the muggy mood with some crass humor, I mean what else you gonna do when you’re surrounded by six feet of water?

I tried getting into the flow of it, but it was hard, too much internal friction.

Then we heard some real diesel on the horizon. Maybe it was the Oklahoma mudders? One can hope. Another look through the binoculars — sure enough, there was a jacked up Cummings 2500 coming our way!!!

I was still doubtful that they would be able to pull out my Deuce backwards over a mile of flooded road, but now is not the time to be doubting. They came as a convoy of two trucks, with the doors open, flying wide if you will, watching the water level as they approached. I couldn’t believe that they were willing to come all this way to fetch us fools. I mean, maybe I was the same person; why would I come all this way to fetch some fools from their houses? There must be others who thought the same way. As the monster truck approached, their decals came into full-view, the tailgate read clear as day in neon green — “TOW DADDY” was here. Why would I have doubted this?

It was a trick to hitch the trucks in six feet of water since the pintle was so submerged. Jon volunteered, and I will never forget his face being almost subsumed in diesel-laced tidewaters as he hitched us up. He basically had to scuba-dive to get it affixed right. He got us latched, and we was ready for a pull-out — AMEN! The TOW DADDY fired up and pulled us out in reverse for a full mile. I never felt my neck be in such a stitch. I never appreciated high ground quite like that, after a mile of backwards navigation we surfaced on Main St and could step on pavement that was plainly visible.

The next trick was getting the truck started. The batteries was dead, so we tried a pull-start again, but that wasn’t working at all. The Deuce got flooded bad, soit was no use. We popped the hood and dropped the air intake, and sure enough there was enough water in the intake drum to hydrate a soccer team. Water in the air intake, water in the gas tank, water everywhere. I didn’t realize that water in the fuel could be flushed out, but apparently diesel floats on water. So two of us tried cocking the fuel drain with a breaker bar, but couldn’t loosen the nut, it must’ve got seized. Then Tow Daddy guy himself rolled under the truck, he was a good deal larger than us, with the right friction & torque, and the half-inch breaker-bar, he cracked the nut. That’s why he’s called “Country” it was explained to me. I couldn’t believe it — we drained off water till it started turning foamy, a sure sign of diesel. Water sinks while diesel floats — I will never forget. We tried the pull start again — this time we did it in reverse and I turned it over to one of the guys from Oklahoma on their Tow Daddy crew. We hooked up the rope and they got us going 15mph in reverse and he popped the clutch into reverse and the truck FROZE — everybody shouted HEY HEY STOP! Apparently the front axle tweaked, my truck stopped rolling like the ton of bricks it is, and their Tow Daddy monster rig hopped a few inches, by all accounts it was a bad deal. At that point, all bets were off — it wasn’t worth doing more damage while the sun was setting. There was really no time to pull the engine apart right then, but the boys from Oklahoma gave me some very useful tips. They were sure that the engine wasn’t dead,. The crankcase was clean — the oil wasn’t milky, which was a good sign, so it was just a matter of clearing out the fuel line — all I needed to do was pull the injectors out and cycle out the water on top of the pistons.

I was like “okay”, in the humblest of tones.

The Oklahomans were headed North, so they couldn’t tow us back to the Market Basket EOC, but there were a few other platform monster trucks that were headed that way that were willing to help out. When I say platform truck — what do I mean? I mean a literal platform jacked up twelve feet in the air on a monster truck frame. I guess they are a party truck in Southern mudding parties? It’s hard to describe why else these trucks would exist.

One of the platform trucks hauled our sorry ass back to the EOC parking lot, and I was much appreciative, but they did not seem to understand the common sense protocol of not creating wakes when driving through the deep gullies of bayous crossing the road. They drove at full speed (30mph) through a few of the deep spots, sending waves cresting the hoods of trucks trying to forge the waters coming from the opposite direction.

Despite those affronts, it was such a relief to be delivered to safety — high and dry at a place where I could recoup my thoughts and potentially fix my truck while dry— I had offers of help from many quarters talking to me about how to fix my engine. One of the guys on the back of the truck served in the Army as a Deuce mechanic, and he was unclear if the problem was simply electrical, so I flagged down a National Guard truck to see if they could jump us. After hooking up the cables directly to the starter, the cables smoked and the National Guard freaked— apparently the engine was providing too much resistance. It was time to drink a beer and figure out a plan for tomorrow morning. The Deuce mechanic from Clyde, TX knew an expert engine mechanic from Abeline, and he promised to be there the next morning, so that was some consolation. Meanwhile, I sipped on a cold one and researched how to cycle water out of an hydro-locked engine, which was entirely new terminology to me. Water cannot compress. That was fundamental.

I realized that any work to cycle the water out of the engine was going to require having good batteries, but the batteries were shot, so I decided to take a stroll around the EOC parking lot and see if anyone had a generator to deep-cycle charge my batteries. It turns out that luck was with me that evening, as the first gentleman I talked with didn’t have a generator, but had two brand new marine batteries that would be perfect — and was willing to accept the exact sum of $200 I got from Cajun Navy to pay for gas. Deal made in heaven. Really nice guy from Cut-and-Shoot Texas.

Despite the new batteries, the truck still wouldn’t turn over. I tried to bed-down but it was a soggy night. Everything that I owned was soaked from the foray into six-feet deep waters. I tried to squeeze the water out of my army blanket, but the residual sogginess lingered. It was a restless night to say the least — but it caused me to wake up early and, despite my spirits, get out of the cab at daybreak and start figuring out what the fuck it was going to take to get my truck running again. After all, my girlfriend’s birthday was right around the corner and I promised to get back — all the more motivation. There was a relief crew working at 7am that morning and they had cooked up some grub and Waffle House was doling out free coffee, they gave me a double dose, so that was all gravy. I started pulling off nuts to loosen the fuel line, and people left and right in the parking lot offered me tools. Right after I got done loosening the fuel line, Danny from Abeline showed up and walked me through how to remove the injectors, which are massive ¾” cylinders housed in the engine block, buffered by substantial o-rings the size of donuts. We removed them one-by-one, trying to turn over the engine at each turn, but it was still locked — no luck > I asked Danny, “shouldn’t we just remove all of the injectors to see if that works?”, he relinquished saying he was used to working in the pit of Formula 1 while under pressure, and there was no need for such haste here, so I removed the remaining injectors. Once done, all the injectors removed, we cycled the engine, and it barely turned over, I tried again, and WHOSH-A-WHOSHA-WHOSH the cam started to cycle the pistons! A fountain of water spouted out through the injectors!! — it was barely visible from the cab but I heard the reactions from the parking lot — it was great! It seemed that the water was flushing out of the system! I couldn’t believe that it was possible to subsume this truck and still flush all the water out — what a miracle!

We reassembled the injectors and fuel-line, hoping for the best — While I screwed things back together, I just thought about how I’ve never had such help from uncertain quarter — I really truly appreciate everyone who helped me up to that point, the monster trucks, the platform trucks, the Army vet, and his friend Formula-1 mechanic from Abeline. Once it was all back together, it gave a mischievous stalled crank. “That’s not good” said the mechanic. I was really petrified that I got a bent-rod on that reverse pull-start from yesterday. “Try it again”, he said.

I cycled it, pushed past the hesitancy, it FUCKING STARTED UP. OMG AMAZING. CLOUD NINE. TIME TO DRIVE HOME TO MY GIRL.