This is kind of embarrassing

Details shortly.  The good news is, I don't think it's too serious.

 

Update: After leaving Fort Cody (which was awesome and I will update about that at some point), getting fresh ice, gas, and a cold drink, I set up navigation to Grand Island.  Everything was going fine, except that all the settings on the stereo were lost when the battery was disconnected, and I'd forgotten how to set them, so I was going to have to live with less than ideal fader balance and equalizer settings until my next stop.  I was listening to Queen, in honor of the Tornado Raiders (who had been chasing 22 hours before my arrival, by the way). 

 

I was about 83 miles from Grand Island when there was a clunk and then the most god-awful sound came from the engine.  It sounded like there were demons in there.  Like the engine was over-revving with a terrible rough, chattering, grinding, groaning, hell-summoning roar.  I let off the gas and the sound only slightly reduced in pitch, as though some wild beast went on galloping madly under the hood even when throttled back. 

 

I pulled onto the shoulder and shut off the engine quickly.  The shoulder was not very wide, and the next 15 minutes (which felt like 15 hours) were an exercise in looking death in the rear view mirror as eighteen-wheelers came barreling up, inches away from the Goose (my tender body inside), making her rock on her springs in the wind.

 

Triple A put me on hold for a long time, leaving me with cheesy hold music for so long I thought I would go mad, but they were only trying to get the tow company on the line and get an ETA.  Eventually they came back and let me know it could be as long as an hour and a half, because I was so far from any of the wreckers.  No, they didn't want me to die, the dispatcher tried to reassure the slightly hysterical me.  It was just a matter of distance.

 

I stayed in the truck for awhile, waiting, then decided to climb out and wait in the grass by the side of the road.  The tow came much quicker than an hour and a half, and came with a driver who can fix cars as well as tow them.  It looks like the terrible racket is coming from the alternator that just got put in.  I'm sure it's just a bad part.

 

I'm safe, installed at the First Interstate Motel, the only lodging in Elm Creek.  Except it's pronounced Elm Crick.  More later.