The Quest

My husband readership may be aquainted with this particular quest. The quest for the moped. My inlaws purchased a Thai moped during the family sojourn. This decision was based on the ease of another import from Thailand made in the previous year, which was a bicycle. However, the import of an unmotorised vehicle is quite different from the (attempted) import of a moped. This became evident after two failed attempts to gain custody of said moped (the second just three days before my husband went to Iraq.) After his deployment, I inherited this task.

One week after he left for Iraq, and I'd driven to San Jose we found out that the shipping company in possession of the moped was going to beging charging us rent for holding the thing (because it was taking up valuable space for other items which had recently arrived.) Being the only member of the family unemployed, as well as the only member of the family with access to a large vehicle I decide to bear this particular cross. After driving the Beetle to San Jo on March 27th, I found myself driving back to San Diego on April 5th.

Although I have never witnessed a monsoon in person, I'm fairly sure I have an excellent idea of what one may look like because, curiously enough on both March 27th and April 5th, violent rain and wind storms would ravage California. Imagine that. Still, driving a Beetle in a pounding rain (nay, monsoon!) through California's central valley is one thing. Driving an empty cargo van through California's central valley is quite another. My first taste of the vicious wind I will face is East bound on Highway 152. The posted speed limit of 65 is wishful thinking, a joke.

Of course it got worse once I hit South bound Interstate 5. Despite my best intentions, I do not get an early start on the drive. I have to make a stop at my dad's office and pick up proof of insurance as well as a letter authorising me to operate the van. I'm concerned that I will not make it to Inglewood before the company we hired to assist us in the importation closes. I'm also concerned that if I run too late, the warehouse in Torrance will be closed as well. Once again, the speed limit is a joke. Even if the sky was not unleashing a torrent of rain down upon the unfortunate few who chose April 5th to drive to LA, I have to keep the speed down for economic reasons. One other big difference between the van and the beetle is this: the van is a gas pig. It gets okay gas mileage for a behemoth, but at that particular point in April the per gallon price of 87 octane is about $3 a gallon. This translates to an approximate cost of $85 to fill the tank completely up. So I try to keep my speed between 55 and 60, which means I am stranded behind all the big rigs in the slow lane. (As the more adventurous whiz by in the fast lane at estimated speeds of 90 miles an hour, despite billboards that warn "1,015 licenses taken here last year!". A speed violation over 100mph is a felony. Do not pass go, do NOT collect $200.)

The drive worsens still as I reach the grapevine, which is the winding route of I-5 which climbs over the mountains at a peak elevation of 4,000 feet. A blinking road sign is warning that "HIGH WIND ADVISORY: Big rigs, Trailers are not advised." In fact, it is raining so hard and is so foggy that I can barely see the 5 feet of road in front of me. I begin to worry that snow will be falling and that I will either have to purchase snow chains or rent a room just short of the summit and wait out the storm. Happily, there was no snow falling that day. That was the only break I got, the only thing that went right that day. The distance from Bakersfield to LA is given as 110 miles, but it felt like twice that. Instead of heading East on the highways tp avoid the rush hour LA traffic, I have to take 405, the San Diego freeway right into the belly of the beast.

After locating the office in Inglewood, the people who eased the import of the moped into America I have to drive around the block to find a parking place big enough for the van. I walk three blocks in the rain to pick up all of the official paperwork I will need, including a shipping list, and a packing list with the address of the final destination. (The closest port to Paulden AZ is, apparently, Long Beach!) My purse brimming with papers I make my way back to the van huddled under a violet umbrella.

The first stop went so well that I was beginning to think the rest of my endeavour would be equally simple.

This assumption was completely incorrect.

I find my second stop in Torrance simple enough. I exit the freeway on a completely random street and after making three left turns I find the street that I need. I consider this to be a stroke of considerable luck.

After parking my van in the warehouse parking lot, I make my way through a tangle of big rigs which are backing up and pulling forward, nearly hitting one another in an attempt to get into the slips. I stand in a drafty office while a secretary processed all of my paperwork behind what I assume was bullet proof glass. She types away and informs me that I have to pay $100 before the moped will be released to me. Cash. I have exactly $50 on me, and the company does not take plastic. It was 6pm and the warehouse was closing, so I trudged back to the van empty handed.

The AAA California map indicates that Long Beach is 113 miles, or one hour and forty minutes to San Diego. My empty hands and empty van are insult to injury, as it takes five hours at the neck-break speed of 15 mph to get to San Diego.

The next morning a Wednesday I wake up late (again) and call my mother-in-law about the $100 fee. She had tole me I wouldn't have to pay any money, but she authorises this fee and deposits the money into my account. The van and I suffer through another commute up 405 back to Torrance, which took two hours. I am confident because I am armed with $200 cash. I am getting that moped or will die trying.

And once again I find myself standing in a drafty office, only this time I have about a dozen burly truckers to keep me company.

You can imagine my horror when I present all of my paperwork including a power-of-attorney (all official and stamped) only to be told that the moped will be released to me after I pay the $399 in cash which is owed to the shipping company. The man in the office laughs in my face when I state that I only owe $99. He seems incredulous that I do not have $400 in cash on my person. Again I call my mother in law and inform her of the situation. We are in so deep now that there is no turning back, and she deposits the amount I need into the bank account. When I get to the ATM I learn that I have exceeded my withdrawal limit for the day, and can only take $150.

I now have on my person $400 exactly. After my paperwork is okayed and I fork over the $400, I am told to back into a slip between two big rigs.

I now have on my person exactly $1.

Since my fan is considerably smaller than a big rig I am told to pull around back by a grove of palm trees. The last piece of paperwork is signed by yours truly as the forklift approaches and the doors of the van are open.

My first sight of the moped occurrs at this moped. It is surrounded by a giant crate made of pallets. The crate is too damn wide to fit in the back of the van. Because the young guy in charge of the work crew recognises me from the day before he rides back to the main office to ask permission to remove the moped from the crate. Permission is granted.

But it will cost me $100 in cash (natch) to do so.

I am sunk.

Faced with the probability of having to try again on Thursday, I explain the situation to the young work crew. "I drove down from San Jose to pick this up.... My husband is in Iraq... I have only $1." The manager of the work crew translates my dillema into Espanol.

After I promise not to hold any of them responsibl;e should anything go wrong, four guys flip the crate on it's side while it is still on the forklift. I crawl into the van to detach the spare tire from the left side of the vehicle. Every millimeter counts. Two guys crawl into the van but cannot stand up because of their height. Two guys and a forklift stand on the outside pushing with all their strength while the other two guys are pulling with all they've got. They have to pull in and up to make it over the wheel wells that jut up in the cargo area. This takes about 45 minutes. But finally the crate is IN! I thank them profusely and feel bad that I don't have any thing to reward them with.

It took roughly three hours to get home. But I was just happy to finally have that supid moped in my possession.

Let this be a lesson to you. Unless you like cutting through tons of red tape and spending lots of money, unless you want to deal with a business run by Tony Soprano or one of his close personal friends, never NEVER import a motor vehicle!!

Good night and Good luck, Tragic

Holy Sh^t!

The quest for the moped

My wonderfully amazing husband!

Here's a photo of my husband and I when he re-enlisted back in October. I was so sick that day! (But my hair looks great!) And doesn't my husband look too handsome??

I love you Sean! Thanks for calling when you can!

Congratulations!!!!!!!

YayY! On April 6th Tom and Mieke Dumont welcomed their first child, a son. According to People magazine, the whole family is having a blast with their son whom they named Ace. Ace will join Mason (Adrian and Nina's son) as the second child to be welcomed into the No Doubt family. But there's still one to go: Gwen Stefani and husband Gavin Rossdale are still waiting to welcome their own child, who is expected in May or June (depending on the source.)

Once again, CONGRATULATIONS Tom and Mieke!!!!

xoxox Tragic