Kentucky Breakdown: Smoke Signals (1/3)

This is a tragi-comic story that begins in King City, California in 2019 and ends with me alone and desperately stranded on the shoulder of a busy-yet-remote Kentucky highway, less than an hour from Cincy, with smoke pouring from a sizzling, popping trailer wheel hub.

But let’s back up.

After 35 years I’m leaving my little coastal California town for a new professorship at the University of Cincinnati in the art dept. I expected change to be challenging, but New Orleans caught me off guard as a hinge point. I left NOLA under heavy skies with a lot on my mind and not a few tears, listening to moody music I thought fit the vibe.

It’s about 12 or 13 hours at my speed from New Orleans to Cincinnati. Day one I made great time, got most of the way to Nashville, slept in the parking lot of BargainHut, and had breakfast with an old friend.

Day two felt slower, like swimming through molasses. We did the usual “walk-around”—truck, trailer, tiedowns, connections, chains, boat—and I palmed the hubs. One of them—the odd one out—felt a little warm. I told myself I’d take it easy and keep an eye on it. Back on the highway, within minutes people were honking and pointing because smoke was pouring from the wheel.

To be continued →