The Transmission Failed. The Journey Didn’t.
From a foggy parking lot in Arvin to a long midnight drive home, this is the story of how everything went wrong — and why we kept going anyway.
We made it to Thanksgiving — but did not make it home.
In our last blog, I shared that Ruby and I were finally back on the road after our dilemma in San Diego. We had hoped those issues were behind us. Sadly, new problems had other plans.
When we left you last, we were parked in the lot of an O’Reilly Auto Parts near Bakersfield, in the small community of Arvin, California. That’s where we woke up on Thanksgiving morning.
It was a chilly, foggy dawn in Arvin — the kind of valley fog that sits low and quiet over everything. This was the closest auto parts store to where I had discovered the new, unsettling whining sound coming from the engine.
A quick recap: after crossing the Grapevine, the engine started making a noise like an old Ford power-steering pump. I checked the fluids and found Georgia’s power-steering reservoir was low. I didn’t have any of the special mineral-oil fluid it requires, and gas stations never carry that. So we ended up at O’Reilly’s after an unsettling dash across the valley.
An Arvin Thanksgiving
According to the website, the store opened at 7:30 a.m. It was barely 6:00, and I couldn’t sleep anymore. I’d only managed a couple hours of rest. I took Ruby for a walk around the block. We were parked beside a DIY car wash and across from a quiet neighborhood park. At that hour, the world felt still and peaceful.
While we waited, I researched the transmission. It had begun acting up the night before — slipping, shuddering, banging, hopping out of gear — all classic signs of bad fluid. I figured maybe a simple fluid change would buy us some time. If the parts store had what I needed, I could do the service right there in the parking lot.
One thing I’ve learned about this van: the previous owners rarely, if ever, kept up with maintenance. Research showed the transmission oil should be changed every 40,000 miles. Georgia now has over 101,000. It should have been done at least twice. My suspicion, like everything else we’ve uncovered, was that it had never been done. Having worked in a lube shop years ago, I know the look of a plug that’s been turned. These plugs were pristine — untouched. I could only imagine what the oil must look like.
By then, the store was open. I bought the power-steering fluid, synthetic GL-4 transmission oil, and the tools I’d need to try the job myself. I popped the hood, removed the airbox, and went at the fill plug.
It was untouched and seized.
Penetrating oil, cheater bar, wobbly socket — nothing. That plug wasn’t moving with anything I had. I finally admitted defeat, cleaned up, reassembled the airbox, and stowed the tools.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, started the van, and tried to turn around in the lot.
That’s when it made a huge bang.
My stomach dropped. The oil wasn’t the only problem. My gut knew: the transmission was done.
These finicky EcoDiesel transmissions aren’t like the standard automatics most vehicles have. They’re automated manuals — basically manual transmissions with automatic clutches. Both the engine and transmission are European, which makes parts and service in the States much harder to come by.
Feeling defeated, I tapped out. I called AAA — again — and requested a tow to a dealer this time, not a private mechanic.
Busy from the holiday, we waited for several hours before the truck would arrive. During that time I was introduced to the truck low rider culture as hundreds of rigs descended on the carwash and park for a Thanksgiving morning meetup. It was interesting to say the least. I did not mind, I was intrigued.
A few hours later the truck arrived. They took us to the nearest Ram dealer, Haddad Dodge Ram in Bakersfield. But being a holiday, the place was locked up tight and we couldn’t drop off the van. So I had the tow driver bring us to the motel I booked for the night instead. He agreed without hesitation.
Before long, the van was parked, Ruby and I were checked in, showered, warm, and watching TV — settling in for Thanksgiving night.
Good Luck
The next morning I called Haddad. I was met immediately with a rude service advisor who made it clear — “good luck” — they wanted nothing to do with my van. At first I was upset. But I settled down when I reminded myself: everything happens for a reason. There was a reason the dealer had been locked up the day before. A reason they refused to take it. I checked their reviews — they weren’t great. Honestly, it was a blessing in disguise.
I found another Ram dealer about an hour north, in a small town between Bakersfield and Fresno. When I called, a kind service advisor named Edward answered. I told him everything — what we’d been through, where we were, and where we needed to go. He placed me on hold to speak with the service manager. I braced for another rejection.
Instead, Edward returned with warmth: they would work us into the schedule, and we were welcome to stay in the van near their property until they could get to it. I was relieved — genuinely relieved — that someone was willing to help.
I called for another tow, this time heading north.
A couple hours later, the truck arrived ahead of schedule. A new company, young driver, tons of experience — and Ruby adored him instantly. She rested her head on his knee the entire ride, and he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the company. We talked about travel, about the freedom and challenges of the road. He wants to explore the West someday with dreams of driving to Seattle and back. I encouraged him — like I did the driver the week before — to just go. Don’t wait for the perfect moment. It doesn’t exist. I shared a few of my favorite places to visit between there and the Sound. He was stoked and ready for adventure.
We arrived at the dealership and checked in. We parked outside the gate on a quiet street. It was mid-afternoon on Friday. The earliest they could look at the van would be Monday. I was completely okay with that. The service manager was incredible — offering their facilities, shuttle service, even permission to wander the property. They truly went out of their way to make us feel welcome.
Short on solar
Once parked, I took Ruby for a walk to get a sense of the area. Nearby were a couple fuel stations with convenience markets, a few fast-food spots, a hotel, and of course the dealership itself. What worried me was the fog. Thick valley fog — too thick for the solar to keep up.
I calculated our electrical usage and realized we wouldn’t make it through the weekend. Unable to move and no plugs in sight, we needed a generator.
I searched for rentals — all too big. Walmart had one on sale for Black Friday. Before I could figure out how to stretch the cost, one of our Open Road Nomad fans offered to buy it for us. I was stunned and grateful. The dealership shuttled Ruby and me to the store, where I picked up the generator, a fuel can, and a few groceries.
To avoid wearing out our welcome, we Ubered back instead of using the shuttle again.
Back at the van, we walked to the fuel station for fresh gasoline, then returned to assemble and test the generator. It worked perfectly — charging the batteries and giving us breathing room. That generator is now part of our permanent kit. A huge thank-you to Jenny the Super Fan (who prefers anonymity). She truly saved us that weekend.
The verdict
We spent the weekend as peacefully as possible — short walks, college football, and catching up on emails.
Monday morning, the service advisor called: they would get the van in that day. I prepared the van and stepped out for the day.
Within hours, they confirmed the worst: the transmission was shot. The oil was black, full of metal. They contacted the warranty company and began sourcing a replacement — and that’s when the bad-news / worse-news cycle hit.
Worse news: the transmission was on backorder. More than 20 repairs ahead of us. No units in the pipeline. No new units being manufactured. No rebuilds available through any major remanufacturers.
Bad news: the warranty company required an inspector, who would be 24–48 hours out. Since the dealer had already begun the process, the van had to remain on the property — and we could not stay in it.
I’d anticipated this. I spent the afternoon searching for a place to stay, eventually finding a room we could afford half an hour away. Unfazed, the dealership offered to shuttle Ruby, me, and all the belongings we’d need for the coming days. Their kindness never wavered.
We checked into a recently remodeled Motel 6. Nothing fancy, but safe and quiet — which was all we needed. After three nights, we finally got word.
Bad news: the transmission was catastrophically blown. Not just metal shavings — large chunks of gears. They said the fluid so bad, could no longer even be called oil. They also agreed with my suspicion: the transmission had never been serviced. Coming down the Grapevine cooked it.
(On a side note: I repeatedly asked the San Diego mechanic to replace the transmission oil during our tenure there. It never got done or even acknowledged.)
Parts availability through normal channels was still grim. Good news: the warranty company had a transmission in their own warehouse and had already shipped it. Arrival: five days.
Based on workload, parts arrival, and planning for the unexpected, the service advisor estimated three weeks in the shop. I asked if it could be ready by Christmas. He said, “It’s a possibility.”
With a diagnosis, approval, and a timeline, Ruby and I could finalize make a new plan.
Stay in the motel?
Rent a campervan or RV for a month?
Find a friend or family member in Southern California and ask to stay there?
Rent a car and return home to Oregon and stay with family?
I decided to sleep on it.
Returning Home
The next morning, clarity hit: go home.
We had already lost another week. It was now Friday, December 5. I talked with friends and family, and we all agreed — getting back north was what we had been trying to do in the first place. I wanted to see my youngest son, whom I hadn’t seen in months. That alone sealed the decision.
I found a place to stay with family, rented a car for 24 hours, loaded the belongings from the motel room, removed all valuables from the van, prepped Georgia for an extended stay, and headed north.
The drive went smoothly — heavy Sacramento traffic, as expected — but smooth. Google said nine hours. With traffic and a pup, it took twelve. We left at 12:30 p.m. and arrived in Grants Pass at 12:30 a.m.
Since then, Ruby and I have settled into a temporary home while the van is repaired. I’ve begun reconnecting with old clients and exploring marketing opportunities. But most importantly — I got to see my son. It was glorious. I can’t wait to see him again. I love you son.
(For those who dont know, I have three children, two are grown and the youngest lives with his mom.)
To everyone who has helped us over these past few months — through encouragement, memberships, affiliate purchases, donations, financial help, or simply reading our story — thank you. You mean the world to me.
This adventure isn’t over. We still need to get life back on track. We’ll have to return to pick up the van in a few weeks. We still want to travel and explore. But right now, we need to reset and rebuild. These past months have taken a toll — emotionally and financially. Summer disappeared in the chaos. And now, somehow, it’s Christmas.
Rogue Branding is looking for new clients.
HiveWire Daily is seeking advertisers.
Open Road Nomad has memberships available.
If you or anyone you know could benefit from those opportunities, I’d be grateful for the connection.
What a journey this has been.
Ruby and I are grateful for all our friends — and we’re looking forward to the next chapter.
Ruby and I are grateful for you — truly. Every person who reads, follows, and supports this journey helps keep us moving, even on the days when the road feels heavy. Thank you for being here, for believing in us, and for giving this adventure meaning.
If you’d like to support our travels directly, consider becoming a member. Memberships help keep us on the road, fed, groomed, and steady through the unexpected. If membership isn’t your thing, you can also support us through Venmo or by shopping through our affiliate links — everyday purchases that give us a small commission at no extra cost to you.
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