It’s pretty astonishing how quickly things can go from bad to worse and back again when you’re traveling. You really are vulnerable out there on the black pavement, subject to bad weather, mechanical malfunction and that bizarre asphalt-zombie feeling you get behind your eyes.
We’ve been lucky enough to weather only a few spells of bad luck on our trip, the most recent on the way to Yosemite National Park from King’s Canyon National Park. It was hotter than blazes and we were traveling in the heat of the day, our truck pulling four drowsy people in the cab plus the Airstream behind it. When we started overheating, none of us could even muster the energy to stress out. We just waited calmly for AAA, playing cards and sneaking sips of warm Tecate.
Our tow-truck driver (who had a Garmin GPS of his own, with a man-voice and a soaring eagle representing his truck) drove us in to a parking lot in Oakhurst, CA, a little town in the foothills outside of Yosemite Valley. We were greeted almost immediately by Shirley, who told us she lived there in a broken-down Winnebego. She identified herself as the night watchman and gave us a rundown of the surrounding mechanics, then left us to feed her cats and go to bed. Soon the sun set and so we resigned ourselves to settling in for the night, lulled to sleep by suspicious banging from Shirley’s motor-home and the angry rush of cars on the freeway.
The next morning I woke queasy and disoriented and halfway sure I’d never regain the strength to get out of bed. But within minutes the heat forced us all up, and we set about making a plan for the day–or rather, a plan to get coffee so we could have a passing chance of surviving the day. We rode our bikes to Von’s Grocery and bought ourselves some yogurt and granola, rode back and brewed up some weak Folger’s, and set ourselves down in the meager shade of the Airstream on the pavement.
We sat there and ate and drank and puzzled and scowled as the ground grew palpably warmer under our shorts. We were heckled by a passing mechanic. Shirley was nowhere to be found. So when a man in a huge pick-up truck pulled up to us, grinning wide and chuckling to himself, I’m sure he was taken aback by our sour expressions.
“It’s gonna be a hot one today,” this man said, smiling from his air-conditioned vehicle. “I heard 107.”
“Ha ha,” said Allie.
“Go fly a kite,” said my face.
“You sure all must be hot over here in this parking lot,” said this smug ne’er’-do-well.
“Uh, yep,” someone said, undoubtedly rolling their eyes.
“You know, I’ve got a little plot of land just across the highway from here,” said the man. “Why don’t I just hitch up that Airstream and park it there under a tree. Actually, it’s my birthday and we’re havin’ a barbecue, why don’t ya’ll come over and have a hamburger?”
We jumped up. We were ecstatic.
“Oh, THANK YOU,” said Allie to this wonderful gentleman.
“YOU’RE MY HERO,” said my face.
This heroic fellow introduced himself as Richard, and from that point forward became Richard the Man Who Saved Us From Abandoning Hope in Oakhurst. We rode over to his land and found the prettiest little tree to park next to. Now that we had found a safe spot for the Airstream, we were free to go forward to Yosemite. And we did. Within the hour we were dunking into a cold mountain stream, and that night we shared a campfire with climbing legend Ron Kauk, whose very presence stilled our minds and made sense of our whole project.
Had Richard kept driving, we would have been stranded in that parking lot until the mechanics had opened the next day. It wouldn’t have killed us, of course. It would have been fine. But what we got from that day in Yosemite was so perfect; imagining our story without it makes me realize how lucky we were. Again and again, I’m being shown that the smallest act of generosity can change an entire story.
Best wishes to Shirley, who we last saw carrying a cat across the parking lot by its little armpits. Eternal thanks to our angel in a pickup truck, Richard.
-Lisa Montierth, 23 feet
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