Tow Truck Drivers
Mark and I packed the Ark and
headed for Roseburg this weekend. We have been through the city, about two
hours south of here, several times, looking for food on Sunday afternoon and
have always been disappointed. But, Mark thought we could move out of the rain
clouds blanketing the valley and find some new trails—which we did. We had an
amazing hike along the ridgeline of an old ranch, now managed by the BLM and
found a small campground by the Umpqua River for the night. As always, I
chatted with strangers in the campground; we all agreed that the occasional
downpours which infinitely preferable to last summer’s drought. After an excellent night listening to rain on
the roof of the Ark, we headed further into the mountains to hike waterfalls.
Then the transmission felt funny.
We stopped at a small store, Mark went in for juice, and I tried to move the
gears into first—but... We were stuck in second gear. I turned the engine on,
eased the clutch to see if it would budge, but no. Whacked it. No luck. Slipped
backwards a bit. Nothing. It is not
uncommon for the Ark to break down far from home; we only drive long distances.
We have broken down all over the country.
In fact, when we stopped in Cottage Grove on Friday morning, I felt a
bit smug that the transmission was working. It has died not once, but twice, in
Cottage Grove. Mark called AAA. Half an
hour later, the tow truck was hitching up the Ark. By then, I had it in neutral.
“So,” he asked, “what do you want
to do? I’m towing you to the only place that’s open, but they don’t do
transmissions. There’s a place down the street that does, but they are closed
until Monday.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Any ideas?”
“Well,” the driver considered the
options. “You can drive it slowly to the other place on Monday. It’s only two
lights away. Or…you can rent a U-Haul and a trailer and bring it home.”
“Could you take it home?” Mark
asked.
“AAA only goes a hundred miles…”
We pulled up to the one open shop
in Roseburg. The mechanic on duty laughed. “We can’t fix that! Maybe a U-haul
home?”
Our driver looked at us. He did not
drop the Ark on the streets of Roseburg. We climbed back in the truck and headed to the
U Haul.
“I guess I can drive a U-haul with
a trailer…” I said. Mark did not even offer.
“Well,” our driver considered the
options and did a little GPS research. “It’s probably cheaper for me to drive
you home than for you to rent a U-Haul.” And he did.
The Beaver
A week and a half ago, the ancient
willow in our neighbor’s yard came down, in two chunks, in the middle of the
night. We were all sad to see it go; no one wanted to cut down the remaining
dramatic tall stump, but it had to happen.
Last Saturday, the tree came down, leaving a stump about five feet
around and four feet tall in the back driveway of our neighbor’s house. This
Saturday, Jean walked by it on the way to the grocery store. Someone had carved
a life-size beaver into the side of the stump, turning the sad remains
into Art. We have no idea who did it or when.
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