130 miles from home and eight miles off road from the nearest pavement...I'm lying on the ground. Watching the transmission fluid bleed out. While not normally one for praying, I clasped my hands together...
" Oh God. "
I get up and climb back in the cab. Just to see if God was listening I fired up the truck and put her in drive. The engine revs and a sound like a wet blanket being pulled across plywood comes from underneath the truck. We do not move.
She looks at me. " There goes our vacation! "
I smile towards the backseat " You kids want to go for a walk? "
They yell and she glowers. " What now, " she says.
" The situation is, we're fucked, " I say this quietly, " and we need to get you and the kids back to camp. We have three hours of daylight and 2-3 miles to walk, let's go. "
She sits there without speaking, or looking at me. I get out and crawl back underneath the truck. Using all my strength I try to force the drive line back in place, but it's useless. Large black ravens circle overhead like vultures. I hear the sound of an approaching truck.
" Somebodies coming, " she says, clearly implying I'm stupid enough to just lie there in the trail and get run over. Hell, who can blame her.
The vehicle pulls up. It is a Toyota Land rover, decked out for the desert complete with a winch. Driven by three women. Three drunk women.
" You guys need help? "
The code of the desert. I love it. I know that these people will stop whatever they are doing until we are safe. It is unspoken.
I walk up to their truck. Unreal. They even have car seats for the kids. " I dropped my drive line. "
I assume they are lesbians; why not? Three burly women drinking beer and four wheeling.
She looks at me rather coldly, I begin to feel nervous. " It means I am stranded. "
" Do you have a tow rope? " she asks.
" No. "
She revs her engine. " Well then, see you later! "
She stops and turns off her truck. They pile out. All of them are holding beers. " We have one problem..."
She sloshes her bottle around.
I look sheepishly at my DOA truck and don't dare tell them that I intentionally drove over the rock trying to show off. " It's okay, that's part of the reason why I am stuck. " I fetch three cold ones for them and one for myself out of my cooler. Ten minutes after breaking down the kids are strapped in and we are heading back to camp. I look back at my truck, now abandoned in the wash. I just made the first payment. I am grateful that the back window is open in her Land Rover because I fear I might puke with stress.
Back at camp, we file out of their vehicle. I check my cell phone; two bars. I have service. Things are looking up.
" What are you going to do? " she asks, pulling a long drink.
" I'll figure it out, I reckon. Thank you for helping us. " I shake their hands and they drive away without much more words. I walk away to begin making calls. Off road towing is available, but they want $600.00 plus mileage.
We resign ourselves to a night in camp without our truck; nothing can be done tonight...except...the cooler is in the back of the truck and my god damned beer is there too.
This just will not do. I prepare our diner of dutch oven rib eye roast, baby red potatoes, carrots and onions. Night falls and the temperature plummets. It is a moonless night and black as sin. Orion beams brightly and the Seven Sisters are directly overhead like a puffy cotton ball in space.
The kids go to bed. It is only three miles to the truck. I'm in a narrow canyon, how can I get lost?
One thousand feet out of camp the Mojave river cuts through the road. An easy drive during the day, a bitter walk in 40 degree desert air. My boots soak and my pant legs are wet.
I walk on trying to conserve my one flashlight.
I conserved too much and overshot my truck by about three miles. By this time my feet are aching and my pant legs are frozen. I turn back and eventually almost walk into the front bumper of my truck. Half frozen beers and the ingredients for my jazz cigarettes are my only reward. I have been walking for two hours now. Hypodermic and drunk it occurs to me that I actually could die out here because I am now really tired and fighting the urge to take a break. Doze off for a minute maybe.
On impulse I check my cell phone. I have service!
I call a buddy and get his voice mail. I leave a rambling message about being lost and cold, but forget to hang up and the message contains seven minutes of me crunching through the sand.
Finally back at camp. The wood is gone and the fire is out. I fire up the two burner propane stove and try to thaw. I don't say a word to my wife about missing the truck. We sleep, or try. It is bitter cold.
The next morning I make sausage and eggs and potatoes. Something tells me to make extra.
Just as I finish scrambling the eggs the Land Rover pulls into our camp. The lesbians are gone and two burly guys get out.
" That must be your truck broken down. "
" Yup. "
" We're going to fix it for you, tow it back to camp. " I almost weep. " But, you have to trust us with your keys. "
I shake their hands. " Not without breakfast. "
They try and refuse, but I insist.
" Look, we're L.A. fire fighters, we help people, it's what we do. "
So, basically, we ( as in, they ) manage to remove the drive line and get her back to camp. My wife's dad came out the three hour drive to help. I tried to tell him they would not accept money but he offers anyway. A hundred bucks. They refuse, saying that they will only accept thirty seven cents, exact change.
Three hours of back breaking labor.
My truck is now in Barstow getting a new drive line.
I tell my wife we will have a Afton Canyon redux and she just glares.
" Let us not speak of this again, " she says.
To Chuck and Mike of the LA FD; long days and pleasant nights my friends. No words will ever suffice to express my thanks.
