Today’s post begins with a prologue: Monday, I was sitting down at my desk getting ready to start my day when my boss strolled by. He pointed out that I had an excessive number of vacation hours, and only 80 hours would be carried over to 2006. I’d need to use three or four days or they would be lost at the end of December. He advised me to use the vacation days as soon as possible. That was great, because I wanted to go snowboarding the next day. I did the paperwork to take the day off and it was promptly promised to be approved.

The story: There were snafus with getting the transportation arrangements, but at the last seconds my friends Amy and Michael did some accounting and discovered that they had a financial windfall of about $500. They had been hesitant to go snowboarding, but this changed their minds and it was decided that we’d leave in the morning. We piled into the van and departed on Tuesday with high hopes, watching the rain become colder and icier as we ascended the mountain. Only a few short miles after we passed the last major town, fat snowflakes were falling lazily as far as the eye could see. We started to get excited.

Approximately three miles from Government Camp, the trouble started with a hint of burning plastic. The smell grew more and more powerful, and it was obvious that something was wrong. This suspicion was punctuated with the warning light for oil, and the warning bell. We stopped. Michael and Amy hesitantly popped the hood and got out of the car. This was followed by Michael excitedly throwing snow on the engine. More burning plastic smell, and steam, emanate from the open hood. It was a moment frozen in time as I sat in the back, powerless to do anything but watch the snowflakes falling around us. The oil was checked and found not to exist in sufficient quantity to actually lubricate anything.

They jumped back in the car to warm up and plot our course of action. We collectively breathed a sign of relief, thankful to have cell phones. We decided that the problem was probably, hopefully caused by overheating related to the lack of oil. A quick call to a tow truck should allow us to get enough oil delivered to refill the oil pan and send us on our way. Hopefully. As an added bonus, it should be covered under the insurance’s towing plan, and not even cost any cash out of pocket.

We made calls to friends to find a phone number for a towing company. I told Amy about Google’s SMS: send a search phrase to GOOGL (46645) and Google will reply with a short, “I’m feeling lucky” response. We searched with “Government Camp towing” and within ten seconds, Google responded with the phone number for Mount Hood Towing. We love you, Google. Thirty minutes later a friendly tow truck driver was handing us four quarts of 10W-30. All seemed well. We started the car. The tow truck driver congratulated us for catching it in time, as it appeared we had a fully working vehicle on our hands. Shortly thereafter, the tow truck was driving away and we were sitting in the car getting excited about snowboarding again.

The tow truck had been gone for about two minutes when the oil light and accompanying bell were again informing us that all was not well. After turning off the engine, Michael ventured out and looked under the van. Oil was covering the ground under the van. A check of the dip stick showed that once again we were out of oil. Sixty minutes later, we were piled into the cab of the tow truck, headed for a garage thirty miles away in Sandy. At $4 per mile, as Michael put it, it was an expensive cab ride. The ride never seemed to end, like a church sermon when I was ten years old but with more running of red lights.

At the shop, the friendly mechanic invited us in and the receptionist offered coffee while we waited. Another hour passed, and the mechanic returned to inform us that the after-market oil pressure gauge in the van had an oil hose which had burst. The hose had been run close to the exhaust manifold, heated up, and showered oil onto the manifold. The oil covering the manifold ignited, and started a fire in the engine. We cringed, afraid to hear the estimate for repairing the damage. Not as bad as we feared (we’d been silently assuming the worst), the damages came out to be about $180. When it was all done, and the bills had been paid, Michael and Amy’s $500 surplus (not so much a surplus as a ‘less broke’) had been eaten up by the combined towing and mechanic’s fees.

It would’ve been depressing enough without the postscript: On the way home, the oil warning light and accompanying bell went off whenever the van was stopped or going around a corner with sufficient g forces. Checking the oil revealed that it was at normal levels, so we rode home and tried to ignore the hypnotic ringing at each traffic stop. We arrive back in Portland with a kind of giddy resignation that was beyond description. To have fate turn on us so fiercely that we couldn’t even by upset was shocking. I feel really bad for Michael and Amy, since they’re paying for the catastrophe so much more dearly than I am. However, I arrived at work today and found that my time off request, promised to be approved by my boss, has been denied for some reason. The plot thickens, but with the new and incredibly punitive attendance policy, I might be fired for what would conceivably be a n0-call, no-show absence. It would be right in line with yesterday’s line of bad luck, but the real misfortune would be working all winter, not getting on the dole and snowboarding for the next six months. We’ll see.

Update:Everything worked out well with my time off request. I’m not in trouble at work. I’m certainly not fired, and I won’t be on unemployment and snowboarding every day . I’m still going to ride on friday.