Sometimes, you do something stupid. It just happens. You do something stupid, you learn a lesson and you go on with life – and hopefully never do the stupid thing again.
We were hauling the flatbed load for the circus. It had been a really long time since George hauled flatbed, so he was super-careful to make sure everything was hooked up right and all the straps and chains were secure. He finished up and threw the chucks for the landing gear in the side box and jumped in the truck.
It was slow going out of the park; as I mentioned before, Rhode Island wasn’t made for big trucks. It’s a teeny state with teeny roads. It’s really pretty, though, and I was enjoying the views of little inlets and boat slips here and there. About 30 miles into the trip, I started smelling something weird, but attributed it to the fact that we were coming into some pretty industrial areas, and ignored it.
It was a quick trip, just up to the Fingerlakes, and the equipment we had was necessary for the other equipment already on the way to be unloaded, so George was hammering down a little. When we got out on the highway and started pulling uphill, I noticed the smell getting worse.
“What’s that smell? It’s not going away.”
“I thought I smelled unburnt fuel a ways back, but it went away. Can you smell it again?”
“Yes, it’s really bad. It’s not exhaust is it? It’s coming out of the air conditioner vents.”
