Late One Night
Personal Road Trip Strategy
There was a really memorable night a long time ago. We were moving from Savannah, Georgia to Louisville, Kentucky.
During the years around that move, if I was going to be the only driver, I made it a point to never start a road trip sleepy, so if I didn’t have to be there at a particular time, I wouldn’t set the alarm in the morning. We’d leave when we left and get there when ever. It made me less tied to a conventional notion of when people travel, and I hope, a safer driver. I stopped for breaks, meals and walks. For a long drive, if I was sleepy, I’d get a hotel. If I wasn’t, I’d pinch pennies. I don’t think I got a hotel for any of the trips during this move.
The trip is over 600 miles, something I’d try to split into two days now that I don’t drink sugary caffeinated drinks. I traveled it maybe four or five times over that move because it happened in stages. That was ok with me because there were always things that I didn’t want to trust to movers.
What a Trip
For the trip I’m writing about, I made the decision to drive straight through when we were about 4 hours from Louisville. I felt like staying alert wasn’t going to be a problem, and long hauls are easier when the kids are sleeping. Surely they were going to sleep sometime soon, right?
A couple of hours later, the truck started to loose power. It didn’t sound like anything I knew. I went through my very short list of things I knew how to deal with. I looked at the gas gauge, checked the oil, and thought through the timing of the situation. Could my husband come get us and still make it home in time to go to work the next morning (pre-Uber days).
For lack of other ideas, I cranked it again. It drove a short way, then it repeated the failure. By now, I saw an exit with a billboard for a truck stop with a 24-hour auto garage. It seemed like a proverbial isolated oasis in the desert, placed there to get me through in a Twilight Zone kind of way. I hoped a third crank would get me that last mile.
It did. I wondered what a repair would cost as I coasted into the station. I pulled to a stop in a safe place, but I didn’t quite make it to a marked parking spot. I walked in the huge shiny truck stop and asked where the garage was. The man behind the counter said it had just closed. I said “The sign says 24-hours.” I probably sounded panicked. He said “Oh, uh, yeah, but it’s not. He may still be back there.” and pointed to a side door. I went out the door. The mechanic was still in the parking lot.
Before long there was a group of men trying to figure out what was wrong with the truck. Usually when there’s a problem with anything that has an engine I’d call my father. He wasn’t just mechanic qualified, he spent a part of his life building race engines. He could diagnose from a distance with just a few questions. With him it was almost a religion. Sometimes fathers ask their daughters to keep promises. The ones Dad asked me to keep were to “Never run a car out of gas”, and to “Never drive on bad tires”. It was one of the many ways he told me he loved me. But, you don’t call a man three states away in the wee hours to tell him that his daughter and grandchildren are stranded in the middle of nowhere.
I’d been around for all kinds of engine talk, but I rarely paid much attention. I didn’t expect to be able to add anything to the conversation at the front end of the truck, but I was invested in the outcome, so I walked around to look anyway. I was standing back a little and don’t remember who was cranking the engine at that time, but it was stopping pretty quickly now. I have no idea why I was the one to see it, but I saw a flash and asked what it was. Then moments later, they saw it too.
The truck had overdue maintenance. The spark plug cap was split and the sparkplug was arcing on the manifold. The problem was diagnosed, but there were no parts in the garage. The truck stop was sparkling clean, probably recently built and as safe looking as any isolated place can be at that hour, but I was at least 30 minutes into feeling like a bad mother. It could have just as easily been some other place this happened, and waiting hours for a grumpy man rescue with children wouldn’t be fun anywhere.
Nothing could have surprised me more than what came next. The mechanic said “This truck uses the same distributer cap and spark plug wires as my car. I just changed mine and the parts are still in my trunk. They aren’t new, but I did it a little early. They’ll work fine and I can put them on.” YES!
It didn’t take long. The engine was running fine. I asked him what I owed him. I had credit cards if I needed them and a single twenty dollar bill in my wallet. He said “Nothing.” I thanked him, told him I was sorry I didn’t have more cash and gave him the twenty.
Not the First Time
That wasn’t the first, or the last time something in my life could have gone worse, even terribly wrong, but instead worked out exactly the way I needed it to. At times I felt like I haven’t given as much to other people as I have received.
I occasionally ask myself after some opportunity, why didn’t I step up at a particular moment. I’m not talking about times when I was afraid of a set up. There should be no guilt in choosing not to be a victim. I’m talking about times when I just didn’t think about being able to do something soon enough to do it.
At other times, I felt like maybe I have given to others well. Now, I’m not so sure it can be measured or even compared. The truth is, that we will never know how much difference our choices make, for ourselves and for others. What’s important is that we stay open to the events around us, and when we get the chance, when we see a need that we can fill, we do our best to do our best.
