Joy in the Journey

Something caught my attention. I glanced down at my dashboard and noticed that the battery light and the brake light had come on simultaneously. "Idiot lights," Dad had called them many years ago when he had informed me of their uselessness and unreliability. I handed my cell phone to Sharon. "Call Dad," I said.

"Call Dad!?" Sharon asked. "And tell him what!?" Good question.

As usually happens when auto tragedies strike, we were far from home; 120 miles, to be exact. We were cruising along Rte 231, on our way to Daviess County, Indiana, to see the Kansas Youth Chorus give a program at Fresh Start. Little did we realize that these two little seemingly harmless lights were signs, yea, even Symbols of What Was To Come.

My stomach muscles tightened even as I remembered a certain Other Incident that happened to me this last February when my alternator gave out and left me standing beside the road as if I were a politician. At least it isn’t the alternator, I thought. We powered down the stereo to be able to keep abreast of any new and seemingly odd Noises that should develop. "As long as you don’t notice the car driving any differently, keep driving," Sharon ordered, ever mindful of our Race to Beat the Clock. I noticed nothing; I kept driving.

Leisure driving seemed to be "in," for everyone except us. When the motorist in front of me sat idly at a traffic light watching all shades of green, I tapped my horn lightly.... not at all impatiently, mind you, but we received a "friendly salute," just the same. It was impossible to pass on the narrow, curvy road.

Several miles later as we made our way through town, something thumped. The reaction was instantaneous. I wheeled Big Red into the next available drive with a suspicious little "What was that?!?" It was only road trash, we noted, even as the next two hundred cars drove slowly past us. We sadly took our place at the tail, right behind a very wide camping rig. The only scenery we were privy to was the occasional yellow line coming out from under its tailpipe.

We drove on in this fashion, never noticing anything unusual at all with the car except for the two little red blobs of light. "Please Lord," we prayed. "At least let us get to our destination."
We made it with five minutes to spare. We enjoyed the service, the food, and the fellowship. At 10:00, we decided we’d better amble back on the road to make the 3 ½ hour trek back to Franklin.

"Is it my imagination, or are your lights dimmer than they were?" Sharon asked. We watched in dismay as the once bright and vivacious headlights became mere candles gleaming weakly through the thickening darkness. We made it four miles down the road to the little town of Montgomery before candlelight was no longer adequate. I wheeled into the only gas station in town, a Phillips 66. Phone calls, cable jiggling, and prayers of supplication made no difference to the plight of two distressed young maidens.

It was not long before a car slowed down and turned on the road beside the gas station. Thank you, God. Cousin Maria to the rescue. Her mouth puddling to the floor, she convinced her driver (Michelle) to do a U-turn, and they came back to investigate. Because of the lateness of the hour, the size of the town, and the day of the week, we decided to relocate the problem to Michelle’s house and re-evaluate. We started out right, but only made it over the hill and across the railroad tracks before all systems shut totally down. We "landed" at Trailor’s Fertilizer.
We crawled into the backseat with Michelle’s sister while Maria cradled Rhoda Nisly in her arms to make the once 5-passenger car into one for six. "It’s a Divine Appointment," she kept saying as she related her own tales of woe about the Intrepid she’s going to relish abandoning sometime in the near future. And all I could think was, "God, this is not in the Plan!"

When we got to the house, we began the long process of figuring out what our options were. It was quite frustrating to find that my cell phone battery was dead and no charger in sight. After repeatedly trying my calling card on the land line, we determined that the phone we were using did not have touch tone privileges. "What is ‘touch tone’?" Mamma Whitmer asked. We explained. She kept checking on us about every five minutes to see if we had reached a conclusion. We hadn’t. She graciously provided us with some Mountain Dews to help us think. We drank. "I have some cell phone chargers in the closet that I’ve been saving just in case," Mamma Whitmer remembered a bit later, reminding us of our own dear mother. With some creative maneuvering, we finally got it to charge!

Many phone calls later, Sharon and I found ourselves occupying the bed that had at one time been reserved for the Daughters of the House. Guilt. Humiliation. I don’t enjoy either one. And so began a very short, restless night. 5:00 a.m. came entirely too fast.

We contacted AAA and arranged with them to meet the tow truck at the gas station and then catch a ride with him to the Scene of the Breakdown. Being a AAA Plus member, I was entitled to 100 miles of free towing. The first plan consisted of being towed 100 miles and then having Martin meet us with a trailer and carry us on home. We would’ve gotten within an hour of home.

Sharon and I caught a ride to the gas station with Michelle, Maria, and Rhoda. It was 6:45 a.m., and without having had shower privileges, we were not feeling very glamorous. The sight of two women in Sunday clothes quickly made us the newest Item of Local Curiosity. I had no idea so many Amish and Mennonite men start their day with a bottle of pop and a candy bar. What happened to the days of sausage, eggs, and toast?? It was almost a non-stop stream of people from all directions. Why.... We met Betty Graber’s cousin and Andy Byler’s acquaintance, and a Guthrie Amishman’s Somebody.

In the true fashion of men, almost every one of them had a suggestion for fixing our dilemma. They were kind’ve taken aback when we explained again and again that we already had a plan in place. The kindest gentleman of the lot was the one who told us he’d go down to the fertilizer place and tell them not to have our car towed. They had their own tow truck on site.

AAA was supposed to call us with an estimated time of arrival, but it never came. Later, we realized Sharon and I had gotten our cell phones mixed up. I was using her phone and had given AAA my number. My cell phone actually happened to be sitting on my car floorboard. So with being the local spectacle and all and seemingly no hope of the tow truck ever arriving, we inched our way to the back of the building to minimize our Exposure to the general public. Amazing. They make good use of the alley too. We just seemed to become more and more a part of The Local Gang.

We were praying for a decent-looking tow truck man, no tattoos, and a big dual-wheeled diesel tow truck with a nice friendly yellow light. A second seat would’ve been nice too.

God said No.

I was shell-shocked at sight of the wimpy little ‘84 flat-bed Ford truck that finally came limping, coughing, and spluttering in. Jerry’s Lube and Towing Service. It was time to make our move. I walked to his side of the truck and asked him if AAA had sent him. The driver was noted to have bottom teeth only as he confirmed his identity and invited us to "come awn in." He had long, black greasy hair that looked as if it hadn’t been combed for several days and glasses that came with their own special film.

Fearing this was the last time to wear these particular dresses, we carefully placed our Selves on the very dirty, greasy seat. I decided against a seatbelt when I saw exactly what the belt was coated with; besides, the other part of the seatbelt was hidden in the depths of the seat somewhere. This was not my morning to fish.

Because the car causing the trouble was mine, it went without saying that I would get the joy of snuggling in the middle. I got in without complaint or protest, but thank God for stick shifts. It provided the reason I needed for creating The Great Divide. I quickly became Sharon’s second skin. "Jerry" had gotten out of the truck and walked around to Sharon’s door; he opened it and gave it a good old fashioned Amish slam! We looked at each other.... There were simply no words.... Our departure, according to Sharon, really caused a stir with the locals who were gawking unashamedly. I was too preoccupied to notice.

Over the hill and across the railroad tracks we went. While Jerry loaded up the car, Sharon took the opportunity to call Wayne and tell him she wouldn’t be in to work quite as early as she had thought. "In fact," she told him, "You may need to pray us home." The truck spluttered and jolted and moved and rocked until it was simply a wonder we didn’t just roll away without our driver. Amazingly enough, he accomplished the task and was back inside the truck in short order. Moments later, we were on the Road to Home. A man on a mission, Jerry had us rolling down the highway at 75 mph in short order. How can a truck that old go that fast?

We told him what we were planning to do about getting all the way home, and he mentioned that if Martin would bring a battery with him, we could drive the car the rest of the way home. I had my doubts, but I didn’t say anything.

We didn’t say too much for the first little bit. And then his phone rang. It was almost too noisy inside the cab to hear much of anything, but he let us in on the conversation afterward. "You just can’t find good help these days," he said. "That was my wife. She’s freaking out because one of the boys has just called in sick. And if one calls in sick, she thinks they all will." I had heard him instruct her that if "Dale" didn’t show up, he was ‘farred.’ He told us how these guys look "soooo terrible. It used to be a man would work when he said he would." They’re all drug addicts, so they work just enough to support their drug habits. But oh! They look like druggies... Why, Jerry himself has to do all the towing calls because "people sech as yerselves would flip out if one of them would show up to give you a ride. And I don’t blame ya," he said, waving his hands in exasperation. "I’d flip out too!" We bit back our smiles. Uh...never mind that he seemed to be describing himself.

He lit up a cigarette, and Sharon desperately mashed down on the once-electric window button. It didn’t work. Coughing didn’t seem to be much of an option. And at that particular moment, we went by not one ...but two billboards... One proclaimed, "Formaldehyde is in second hand smoke." Its sister sign said, "Rat poison is in second hand smoke." Those words of warning didn’t exactly seem to ease the coughing reflex, but we managed to stifle our discomfort.
We found ourselves lurching to a stop at the first truck stop we got to. "Time for a break," he announced, reaching for the door handle. "Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks," we said. "We’re fine."

"Ok." And he was off like a shot. He took off running toward the store, his work boots flopping wide open, hair streaming in the wind. With the truck shut off and our sense of hearing returning, we took advantage of the moment to make contact with Martin again. He just couldn’t understand our gales of helpless laughter. I couldn’t quite explain it to him either. It was kind’ve a "had to be there" moment. I asked Martin if the battery idea would work. Somehow it’s so much easier to believe coming from Martin. He confirmed that the idea would probably work, so we decided to have Jerry take us to an Advance Auto in Owensboro. If we bought a battery there, they would install it free of charge. We would then take a gamble and make a run for home. This would be a lot more cost-effective, I figured, than any of our other options.

Jerry returned about five minutes later, a Mountain Dew in hand; we were soon on the road again. He began to prattle on about the economy of southern Indiana and the future of small businesses. He described his town, and believe me, it was not a pretty picture he painted. Land of the Druggies. In the meantime, he groused at every driver he came up behind. "What’re ya slowin’ down for?" he hollered at the driver ahead of us as we went through some road construction. "They’re not workin’!"

The truck became quite warm as the morning sun grew in its intensity. I could feel the heat of the engine make its way up through the floorboards and soften the soles of my flops. The truck had long ago lost its air conditioning capabilities, but we had managed to open the wing on our side of the truck while we were sitting back at the truck stop. At least we had a little more option should he decide to light up again. Which he did..... Several times.

We had noticed earlier that we were quite low on gas. We watched the needle steadily ease on over, well on its way to the ‘E.’ It didn’t seem to bother him a bit, so I just looked the other way.
At long last, we reached the Indiana/Kentucky line. The bridge spanning the Ohio River was just recently constructed, and it really was beautiful. I commented on it even as I noticed he had dropped from 75 to 55 in about five seconds. "Yes, it’s a new bridge," he said. "If there’s anything I hate, it’s bridges. In fact, this is the fastest I’ve ever gone across a bridge." I didn’t quite get his logic.

As we approached Owensboro, Jerry freely admitted he didn’t know where he was and was glad we did. Martin had given us the address of an Advance Auto, so we navigated Jerry through the streets of Owensboro. We knew it was on 18th but didn’t know which way to turn. He turned right and instantly wheeled into a little diner. "I’ll just go inside and ask directions," he said. He returned mere minutes later and said, "Diners and gas stations.....they’re the best places to go to ask directions."

We were soon at Advance Auto. We strolled through the doors, relieved at the prospect of having our care turned over to someone with corn-on-the-cob capabilities. Advance Auto.... I’ve never seen so much stuff I didn’t want to buy. We finished our arrangements with Jerry and the Advance Auto employee. Jerry unloaded our car, and we gladly bade him farewell.

The official diagnosis was that "the battery went bad and took the alternator with it." I purchased a battery (the best, please) and had it installed by the Experts. We were advised against using anything electrical... air conditioning, stereo, and blinkers included. We were all too happy to oblige. Captain of my Car again....wow... What a welcome feeling! Never mind that the first thing I did was turn the wrong way out onto a one way street...

I adjusted my window to be able to toss my coins into the toll booths without being blown away. It took a bit of re-training to not use my turn signals, but with a little scolding from Sharon, I managed to remember by the end of the journey. Amazingly enough, we made it just fine to our mechanic’s shop here in Franklin. Total cost of battery and repairs: almost exactly $100.00. It could have been so much worse. Thank goodness for AAA+! To quote Sharon, "Sometimes independence stinketh."