On the Road Again

Think moving cross-country by yourself is fun? Think again.

By Stephanie Moore
ConsumerAffairs.com

Stephanie Moore

When my best friend told me she and her husband were moving back East 2 years ago, I nearly fell apart. It's very hard to make friends in California, and besides a couple of great neighbors, who were seniors, she was the only friend I had. The others, including my family, were lost in their jobs, families, and struggles of their own. I told her jokingly, "I hate it here as much as you, so don't be surprised if I end up out there."

Six months later, I went to visit my friends in their new home, a barrier island off the coast of North Carolina. What they paid for their home! You couldn't get a cruddy condo in San Diego for what they paid.

North Carolina was everything I'd thought it would be: pleasant people, tall pines to the shore, empty beaches as far as you could see, no traffic, no honking, but a friendly wave of a place. I went home and put a "For Sale" sign on my house.

Eighteen months later, my home still hadn't sold. Depressed, but buoyed by the growth in my business, I took the sign down. Right then, as sure as the sun rises everyday, another sign that I needed to move whacked me upside the head. My homeowners association president told me I couldn't have a business in my home. (After 2 years, she just noticed?)

That was the last straw. The next day, before I had put the sign back up, a woman called to inquire if I'd sold my place and I told her I hadn't. She came over immediately and bought it.

Uh oh. Now what? What I thought I had wanted was happening, and I was a bit scared. I am alone, partially disabled, and had just had surgery two weeks before. I would lose my insurance, my business, my family and everything familiar, but I had wanted to get out of California for so many years that I knew I just had to dig deep and get to planning.

A Package Deal

Self-reliant and controlling, I decided that moving myself in a truck and towing my car was the only way to go. I wanted my pets with me, and the road trip would be wonderful.

I started by researching ConsumerAffairs.com's Rogues Gallery for movers. I looked up Consumer Reports Guide and found that Penske had the highest ratings: best-maintained trucks, low miles, great customer service, and roadside assistance. I had hauled my stuff once from New Mexico to Montana in another company's trailer, and it was a nightmare, so Penske it was.

I even went to the local dealer to check out their claims and all seemed in order; the trucks were immaculate, low miles, new tires, etc.

I got quotes from the dealer in town, then called Las Vegas (out-of-California rates are always significantly lower) and found a rate that was $1000 less! Of course, I had to drive to Vegas to get my truck, and that's where the trouble began.

Arriving in Vegas in July is a treat not to miss, especially taking along a new friend who is travel-phobic. The staff at the pick-up place was worn out, underpaid and rude to the core. I asked if they had hooked up the car carrier (Note: if you tow your car, your back wheels still rack up mileage, but if you use a carrier, they don't). They said they'd hooked it up, but I had to drive my SUV up on the ramp myself and lash it down.

I argued with them that I had no idea how to strap a car to a carrier and the manager handed me a pamphlet with the worst photography you ever saw. I made suck a stink that she agreed to come out and "verbally explain it to me." This, with a little manipulation, turned it into a bona fide hook-up. I thought.

So there we were: 110 degrees in the shade and hauling a car! I felt so good - I can do this! No problem.

Day One

After hiring Dumb and Dumber, Inc. to load my stuff like trash for the landfill, packing 2 of my 3 cats into the car with ice coolers, shades and fans, I piled into the truck with my other cat and off we went.

For 4.8 miles. A man, passing me, was frantically waving at me to pull over. He pulled into the parking lot behind me and said, "There's smoke coming from your trailer!" Oh great. Having just bought my first cell phone expressly for this I called the Roadside Assistance number on the key pad. They told me, after innumerable minutes on hold, that they'd send a man out with a new trailer if that was the problem - in about an hour and a half. I got a bit steamed.

Two hours later he shows up in a service truck - without a trailer. He pokes around to see why the brakes were on fire, and says it might just be a bad brake lining and we'd find another trailer. 42 miles south of where I was - in the opposite direction!

We drove to the Penske location, and there was one young man on duty, who while checking out the trailer, noticed I had no hitch pin! This is the pin that locks the handle to the cup ball over the hitch ball. Without one, one good road bump and your trailer comes undone. He tried to fit a pin into the slot, but said it was so badly damaged, he would use zip-ties. And sure enough, out came the zip-ties.

So, now we knew that it was the cable that managed the brakes that had gotten pinched by the trailer hitch and locked - hence the smoking brakes. Unfortunately, no one noticed the light harness had been pinched as well. Well, having used zip-ties and duct tape, I felt confident enough to hit the road again and off I went - pulling a trailer held by zip-ties. But not before writing the manager a rather terse note saying how poorly this vehicle had been hooked up.

Doing what I do for a living, and taking my own advice, I started a daily journal - miles traveled, hours, etc. Even logged where I dined - McDonald's or Arby's. After wasting 4 hours the first day, I was behind my self-imposed schedule. I made it only 420.9 miles my first day, to Kingman, Arizona, where I checked into a hotel for some much needed rest with the cats in travel bags, looking no worse for the wear.

Day Two

Left Kingman at 8 a.m. after gassing up the truck, checking the zip-ties, and making sure the cats had plenty of ice in their cooler. At 11 a.m., I took a fortuitous wrong turn into downtown Flagstaff, where the truck died in the middle of the intersection - in the rain. There was enough of a grade that I coasted in front of the Hilton. I called my friend "Mike" at Penske again.

Luckily, the guy they said would be there in an hour was two blocks away at the shop and came over to look at the truck - which by this time, had started up again. But I wasn't taking any chances, I followed him to the shop, and waited - and waited and waited. Another poor family was there ahead of me, with their entire house in a truck the "mechanic" couldn't fix. They had to stay overnight in a hotel to wait for a large enough truck to be brought in, then offloaded, reloaded, etc. Nice people, and my heart went out to them.

I finally asked the "mechanic" who was basically expounding on GM's inability to match size and power, when he thought he might get to my truck? I had opened the hood myself as a subtle clue I didn't plan to spend my day with mechanics again. He never even walked over. The guy who came to get me, however, did notice a problem with the hitch pin. His eyes got big when he saw the zip-ties. I said, "Oh the San Diego shop did that, since the Vegas shop forgot it altogether."

He proceeded to replace not only the seriously frayed brake cable, which I tucked into my purse, but the light harness. He said I had no lights when he was following me. Great. He couldn't manage to fit a cotter pin in the hitch lock because he said the trailer looked like it had been in an accident, so he found a small bolt and bolted it on. Wow, I really felt safe now! A bolt!

I finally walked over to the other mechanic, I'll call him "The Philosopher," and asked what he thought the problem might be. He had not yet even peeked into the engine compartment but had opined that I had just vapor-locked. Happens all the time to these GM trucks, he said.

In my sweet way, I "persuaded" him to either get under the truck to look at the fuel lines or I'd shove him under it - while I was moving. He scuttled under that truck like a skunk into a log. Emerging, he informed me there was a 'kink' in the fuel lines which he, The Philosopher, had managed to unkink. I nearly died from being impressed. Amazing what your eyes can see when you bother to use them.

Two hours wasted. Gassed up before leaving my new friends in Flagstaff, and made it to Albuquerque that night - only 476 miles that day. Man, I'd never make my four-day trip happen. Grabbed a Double with cheese and hit the sack. Still raining like a monsoon in India.

Day Three

Left Albuquerque in the rain at 8:05 am, gassed the truck and made it all the way to Amarillo, Texas, without a single hitch - pun intended. 525.5 miles! I might make this in 4 days after all.

After treating myself and cats to a La Quinta hotel, I woke up being bitten by a tick. I let the manager know I would not be paying for having been an insect's midnight snack. They comped me half the room - cool. Motel 6 rates with valet parking! I packed the cats, gassed up and hit the road. I was feeling pretty darn good about my ability to drive in all this rain.

Day Four

Left Amarillo with the goal of Knoxville in mind - an easy 540 miles. By the time I had crossed into Arkansas, it was still raining. I had to stop and roll up the SUV windows because the cats were soaked, along with the stuff they had to sleep on.

Driving along, just outside of Carlisle, Arkansas, about 2:07 pm (according to my journal) I heard a loud bang, and saw in my left rear view mirror, tire tread flying 40 feet in the air. Oh great, I get to call my new best friend, Mike at Penske again. But Arkansas is a big state without a lot of major cities close to each other, so 2 hours would pass until the tire guy would arrive. He finaly did, assessed the situation (I was running on the steel rim) and replaced the tire.

"Now that could be part of your problem," he said, and handed me a deteriorated stem valve - you know, the thing that keeps the air inside the tire? Popped it into my purse, next to the frayed brake cable, thanked him for his time, and headed off down the road. Only lost 1 1/2 hours this time.

Actually made it to Nashville, Tennessee and checked into a hotel at 9:30 pm. Not a La Quinta this time (the tick bite was now festering). This hostelry featured moldy food left over from the previous tenant in the refrigerator, so I complained and got comped for that.

Day Five

Mapping out my route, I figured I could make my destination in 660 miles - God and Penske willing. I packed the cats back into the car (they were plotting to escape at the next stop - you could see it in their eyes) gassed the truck and headed toward Knoxville, then into North Carolina. It is raining so hard, people are pulling over and I'm getting moldy. Plus, I-40 is getting completely rehabbed or something and I drove this entire trip boxed in between 18 wheelers and a concrete wall in the pouring rain. I persevered and never pulled over - even when the rain became a white-out. There was no stopping me now.

As I crossed the mountain pass through Tennessee into North Carolina, I prayed that the truck wouldn't vapor lock again - there were few pull off spots in the mountains, and hey, I saw "Deliverance."

The truck made it over the mountains, and just as I found my hotel, it began to lose power, so I let it roll into a wide space in the parking lot where it died - for the last time. I didn't even bother calling Mike at Penske. I was beat. As I unloaded my now brain-damaged cats and emptied my coolers, I kicked the truck - and enjoyed it.

I had made my trip - alone, with pets, 4 breakdowns in 5 days, at age 50, with my hand in a surgical splint. I was too tired and angry to feel good about myself - that could wait until morning.

In the morning, still somewhat blurry-eyed and confused, I had an appointment to off-load my stuff into the storage room. We managed that in 4 hours and took the truck to the drop-off point, where I immediately made a scene. I was connected to the main office a few miles away and spoke to the "manager" to whom I vowed not to pay a dime for this equipment. I felt bad for the girl working the desk, but she understood. The other customers were looking away, embarrassed.

The manager said because it was a Friday, he would have to pull up my SOS calls, and assess the situation in order to come to a conclusion. I mentioned I had kept every part of what fell or broke off the truck and he promised that by Monday he'd have an answer for me regarding a discount.

I said, "NO DISCOUNT - I am not paying a dime, and have already disputed this charge on my credit card." Which made him none too happy.

I went back to the hotel room and called my credit card company to dispute the charge immediately - which they said was a great idea. So even if Penske tried to put the payment through, it would be held as in dispute.

Then I wrote a letter to the Manager, the District Manager and Corporate, documenting every breakdown, even making a copy of the leaky valve and frayed cable, - to let them know I had evidence of a badly maintained truck carrier, etc. I am infamous for my letters, and this one didn't mince words. I documented every breakdown - time, place, and problem. I made copies of my hand-written journal, repair shop comments, and stressed that the normal fears of a single, partially disabled woman traveling alone were compounded by the constant fear of remote breakdowns, the fear my car, carrying my beloved cats, my only family, could've been lost - you name it, I described it detail to them.

I told them I was not asking for lost travel time, excessive cell phone use, wasted gas traveling to the repair shops, etc. I also said I had already disputed the charge on my credit card, would not pay and expected a full credit card refund within 3 days. That letter was faxed on July 3rd, 2004. I got my refund credit faxed to me the 6th of July, 2004.

Lessons Learned

The moral of this story is:

1. Think twice about moving yourself. It costs a lot more for a moving company, and despite the recent spate of complaints against them, there are good moving companies out there - do your research!
2. Don't rush your trip. Being the road trip freak I am, I knew I could do it in 4 days - that was pushing the envelope. Give yourself time so you don't get tired and careless.
3. Check out the company. Customer service is paramount. I will say on Penske's behalf, each time I called I talked to a real person. You pay nothing for the breakdowns or repairs, either - at least with Penske.
4. Don't do a cross country move alone. My cats were of no help whatsoever, and it would've been nice to have someone to laugh with. If you simply must go it alone, check out every company's policies on hooking you up, the mileage, the condition of the vehicle, - before you go to the dealer and ask to see the exact truck you'll be renting.
5. Be proactive. Don't leave it to the "professionals" to be sure your equipment is in the proper working order.
6. Make sure everything works before you leave the lot - lights, brakes, AC, etc. Once you're on the road, you're on your own - nothing like crossing the Mojave with no AC.
7. Take pictures of the truck, and if using a car carrier, take pictures of the hook-ups, cables, fenders and tires. Pictures really are worth a thousand words.
8. Keep copies of every piece of correspondence; contracts, repair shop orders, broken parts, etc.
9. Keep a daily journal. Start with the date, where you are leaving from and plan to get to that day, and everything pertinent that happens in between. At the end of the day, log your mileage.

It's a little extra trouble to do all of this but it's worth it. I was charged $1719.37 for this nightmare - but I got every dime back by speaking up and documenting my complaints. You can do it too.

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