(2012, middle of nowhere north of Crested Butte, CO)
…is *thwump.*
The first thwump you ignore, the second makes you blink, the third and fourth have you glancing at your friend and turning down the music.
You stop the car and get out, walk around the hood.
There is an F bomb to be dropped, and then you start laughing.
Because, you know, this has happened:
And you and Meredith and your two deliriously happy dogs are right here:
And that's pretty much what things look like 360 degrees around you. Also, like this:
And not at all like this, which would've been helpful:
I can't even attach that with a straight face.
But! You do not need muscular overall man to change your tire in the middle of absolute freakin nowhere as it starts to snow and of course there's no cell service -- you are woman! Hear you roar! You have a spare and a tire jack and know how to use them! You laugh into the winds and move a few bags to get at the spare while the dogs go Julie Andrews frolicking on the musical mountainside (second person is getting annoying; I'm switching out).
Meredith and I are both quite cheerful, and only silently consider the walk we'd have out of this beautiful landscape before hitting civilization. Miles are in the very low double digits, but still. We have only jolly ranchers, 1/3rd of a cold mocha, and dog-backwash-water to sustain us.
But hey, we're plucky, and we've got tools!
As I start to haul the spare out of the back, a truck full of very nice dudes in a very large Arkansas truck drive up (they look nothing like the above). We are honestly shocked -- from the look of things driving in, we weren't planning on seeing another human throughout this process, no matter how long it took. I ask if they'd mind hanging out for 15 minutes or so to make sure we can get going, and of course they agree. Sweet! Day's looking good. I'm gonna go be a mechanic. I'm wearing hiking boots and my pants already have mud on the knee, which always makes me feel extra badass. Fresh in my mind is the gorgeousness of this:
And this:
And this:
And Meredith and I both refreshed acquaintance with our inner ten-year-olds laughing at this:
So I'm ready for anything.
Except, it turns out, for changing a tire in the wilderness. Now is when I discover that the jack was not returned after the last time a certain former dude in my life used it.
I think it is in the LaPorte house garage. There's many things I could say to that, and 95% of them would have humor as their centerpiece. We'll assume I've said a few brilliant, snarky things, you've all laughed, and move on.
The guys from Arkansas…they're wonderful. They're three Good Ol' Boys who drove out here for fall as they have for 15 or 16 years. They have accents so broad I start falling into it myself, especially with Meredith's Texan accent beside me, and soon we're all laughing. As they're all southern men in their 60s and maybe 70s, there's no way in hell either of us two girls are doing anything useful to solve our predicament, especially once it's established that I am not actually in possession of the one tool necessary. They, of course, are.
When you realize that all the payment a very important good samaritan asks of you is to sit down, keep them company, and allow yourself to be rescued -- that to do otherwise would just be rude – you brush the mud off your pants, let images of Rosie the Riveter fade for the moment, and allow the rescuing to happen.
So the day started to look like this:
That's a second truck, and a 4th dude in the white shirt. It was a regular party. The whole thing became more complicated for reasons of mud and physics and Arkansas, and ultimately required a bunch of flat rocks and two jacks (2nd truck dude had his, too) to put stuff together in the right way. So we really lucked out, because that ran beyond my level of expertise.
I chatted with one guy (with the cane in the pic) who was recovering from a stroke and glad to be out in the world. Another guy, almost giggling, went back to his truck so he could show Meredith the PETA hat he'd just bought -- People Eating Tasty Animals. Another guy said they'd just eaten at a place with quiche, and they weren't used to such things. They told the waitress they were from Arkansas, and she said she'd heard of that place, and he asked her if she was a hippy, and she said no she wasn't but she was some other close word he couldn't remember (hipster?). They were all sweet, and switched out the damn tire, and refused any payment but hugs.
The rest of the ride back was uneventful but for slow navigation of an impressive section of narrow cliffside road, general gorgeousness, and a moment standing with playing dogs at the edge of an overlook that reached across to the cloud-wrapped butte and a million aspens still bright and losing their leaves to the rain. That was very cool.
When we dropped off the dogs they looked like this from all the running:
And then we went to Gunnison to take care of my tire, and ran into the same group of guys as they came out of a restaurant that looked like it'd never heard of quiche, and everyone got happy exclamations, glad tidings of solid tires, and another round of hugs.
The rest of the evening was very nice, and involved couches, comfortable chairs, and the sound of rain on the roof.
I now have a hardcore high-lift jack mounted to the rear of my Jeep.