Joe & Isaac's Adventure: Episode 2 - Chapter 4

With our engine operating again, we headed for Muscatine and gas. From the charts we assumed we could get fuel at a marina in downtown Muscatine. We assumed wrong. The marina there is operated by the city and they didn't sell gas. We didn't have much gas left and had to be careful about our next move. There was another marina at Fairport eight more miles up river. We could make that, but no farther.

To complicate matters we seemed to be developing another problem with the engine. Just before we reached Muscatine we were passed by what Isaac and I refer to as a pig boat. A pig boat is a large cruiser (see photos). We call them pig boats for a number of reasons, one reason being the wake they leave. The wake from a sixty thousand ton tow isn't a fifth as big. The cruiser that passed us on the way to Muscatine left a huge wake that threw our boat into the air and slammed our bow down into the water sending fifty gallons of water pouring down our deck. After that shock our engine's low oil warning started to chirp.

We decided to press on to the Fairport Landing Marina in hopes not only that they would have gas but a mechanic as well. On the way another pig boat passed us and jostled us severely in its wake. The low oil warning then stopped chirping and came on full. Our engine has two warning signals, a constant shrill whistle and a shrill beep. It was the beep we heard now. We of course had checked the oil and the reservoir was filled. We made it to the marina half crazy from listening to the constant beeping and discovered that they had only a part-time mechanic who was out at the moment. The manager called him and fortunately reached him. He said he'd try to come by around 5:00 p.m. There was a restaurant at the marina and so we were able to wait in comfort with a pizza for lunch.

It wasn't until after 6:00 p.m. that our mechanic finally showed up. He looked at our engine and then scrounged around for a stick. He used the stick to feel around inside the oil reservoir and with the stick he was able to stop the alarm. There is a float inside the reservoir that was stuck. A repair would require that we replace the reservoir assembly. Our mechanic suggested that as long as we took responsibility to always check the oil and keep it filled, he could disconnect the wiring and silence the alarm. That sounded just fine to us and we told him to proceed. He showed us where the wires were and how we should reconnect them if we decided to repair the problem. We thanked him and I asked him what we owed him. He said nothing. Sounds familiar doesn't it? I had to force this gentleman to accept some payment.

Two days in a row we received unparalleled service and attention from people with so much pride in their work and integrity in their persons that they were unwilling to charge us for what they assessed as trivial problems. I have often referred to this section of the country as America's heartland or America's backbone where the ideals and mores that made this country great remain alive and well. Forgive me for sounding preachy here, but check out the note at the bottom of this page; I'd like to contrast these two service experiences with another that I suffered upon returning home.

We were fueled up and ready to go, but it was getting late. A collection of sloughs and islands right across the river from Fairport looked like a good place to spend the night. We headed there and in the morning we proceeded toward the Quad Cities. This segment of the river contains the highest concentration of towboats and towboat facilities. Here the Mississippi is a river of industry. The empty forested banks of Missouri and Southern Illinois are gone. In their place are banks crowded with agricultural processing plants tucked in between numerous small towns. Views similar to the Muscatine feed plant below are commonplace. To be on the river between Muscatine and Clinton basically means to be on the river with towboats. If you're going to operate a small boat in the main channel of the river with this many tows around there is one cardinal rule you must observe. You dare not loose the ability to move your boat or yourselves off that boat in short order. The tows have a blind spot up front where they can't see you. It hardly matters because they can't stop any way. A tow needs more than a mile of open river to come to a stop. If your boat looses main power in front of a tow and you don't have an alternative way to move it or yourselves, you're dead.

We stopped in Fulton, Illinois for gas and lunch and made it all the way to Savanna, Illinois by evening. It was a good day. We passed through three locks and had reached our major goal. We were in the Upper Mississippi National Wildlife and Fish Refuge. We had crossed the southern boundary of the refuge at Cordova, Illinois. We stopped at Savanna for supplies, we had run out of fresh fruit. I walked the length of town to find a grocery store. On my walk I learned that Savanna is a hotbed for Harley Davidson motorcycle enthusiasts. The town was swarming with Harleys. I looked the bikers over carefully having been a motorcycle enthusiast myself some years ago; I didn't see any signs of trouble nor any signs of rubbies. Upon reflection it occurred to me that we were probably little more than a hundred miles from Milwaukee. We were about to cross our second state line.

That night we stayed in a slough between Little Soupbone Island and the west bank about a mile above Savanna. Until now the weather had been perfect, but this night it was threatening rain. Wow did it rain! We were set upon by a severe thunderstorm that not only brought us torrents of rain but hail as well. That was exciting. We put up our tarp which covers the back two thirds of the boat and pitched our tent. Given the circumstances our Eureka tent did a fine job of keeping us mostly dry. We knew we'd have to face bad weather eventually. The next week managed to make that point very clear to us indeed.

My expensive ($500.00) Epson printer developed a malfunction. I did what I could to solve the problem and I believe I knew what was wrong, but before taking action I wanted to talk with an expert and hopefully confirm my diagnosis. I called Epson long distance my dime and waited on hold after first negotiating a convoluted phone que. When I finally got through the person on the other end asked for my printer serial number. I explained that my printer was out of warranty and he then told me that there would be a $25.00 fee if I proceeded to talk with him. I told him that the problem with my printer was likely mechanical and that all I wanted was a supporting second opinion. I then asked, if he would listen to my problem and not be able to diagnosis it would he still charge me $25.00. He said yes. He then told me that they only troubleshoot software problems on the phone and that if he thought I had a mechanical problem he would refer me to a service center and still charge me $25.00. I hung up.

What a contrast! Along the river in central Iowa and northern Illinois, a boat mechanic will drive to your location, diagnose your problem, effect a minor repair, teach you how to repair the problem for future reference, shake your hand, wish you well, and refuse to take any money. However if your Epson printer breaks; you pay to talk to a machine which makes you wait before you can talk to a person. That person won't talk with you at all until you pay $25.00 and you get no assurance that he or she can or will help you. If you end up with no substantial service you still pay the $25.00. The most disturbing aspect of all this for me is the pernicious corporate lie engineered to beat us down and convince us to pay more and more for less and less. I copied this directly from Epson's website: "Always there - always nearby. EPSON is one of the leading manufacturers of the most modern IT technology. You will find this with its service and support too. The highest quality and reliability - around the clock, seven days a week." Yeah, right.