Bound for Rexburg—Part III
Now, the Durango was shaking. The first thing that came to my mind was, the road must be rough here, in spite of the fact there was no visual evidence to support it. But at the time, I was thinking we had just slipped on ice, and thus a rough road due to constant sanding was not that much of a leap. Even if the road looked the same as it had the last few hundred miles.
“It feels like a flat tire,” Evan said.
That conclusion changed everything. I hesitated momentarily, weighing the possibility, then guided us over to the side of the road. Thankfully, it was wide enough to do so and allow for some room on the driver side to get out. It was plenty cold as I stepped down and took a look. For a moment, I felt a flash of relief—none of the tires were flat. But as often is the case, Angela was the one who made the discovery.
“Look at that.”
She pointed at the right rear wheel. From the back, you could tell that it sat askew. Instead of perpendicular to the road, the top of it was leaning outward. I glanced back to see if any cars were coming and then came around to look at it. I didn’t make it completely in front of the wheel, but from the angle I had, I could see three of the five lug nuts were missing.
What in the world? Lug nuts don’t just fling themselves off, I knew, so what had happened to them? I didn’t have a chance to inspect the wheel thoroughly, though, as I could hear some cars approaching and quickly moved back to the shoulder.
“What are we going to do?” Angela asked, very concerned.
There was a Les Schwab back in Pendleton. I knew they offered roadside assistance, and figured replacing three lug nuts and tightening up the other two would be easy enough, so I told her I’d make a call. As I got back into the Durango, two different vehicles stopped to check on us, one a truck with a long flatbed trailer, and the other a compact SUV. Two men from the truck came running down the hill while a woman got out of the car. By this time, everyone was out of the Durango. While the three motorists spoke with Angela, I got back in and dialed up Les Schwab.
“That’s not good,” the guy from Les Schwab said after I recounted what had happened. No, it’s not, I thought, but kept it to myself. He was after all, just trying to help. And he wasn’t that convinced that replacing lug nuts would fix it. “I’ll get our guy out there as soon as he can.”
I thanked him, then got out to see how the conversation with the thoughtful motorists were going. Apparently, the men from the truck were discussing how they might get our Durango onto their flatbed trailer. The problem was, they just weren’t equipped to get an SUV on to the back of it which probably shouldn’t be driven any more.
I told them I had spoken with Les Schwab, that they were sending a truck out, and told them I appreciated the thought. One of them said, “We can’t help, let’s go,” and they ran back up the hill. At the same time, the woman, who hadn’t spoken while I was there said goodbye, wished us luck, and took off, too. We all said thank you for the fact that they stopped, and then the five of us got back into the Durango.
“How long?” Angela asked, after I’d told them someone was coming.
“He didn’t say. I’d guess at least 20 minutes. And that’s if he’s not out on another call.”
She didn’t look happy with that response, but what could either of us do about it? The situation was not in our control. We would be dependent on others to help us, and we were on their timetable.
We sat in the car, waiting. The conversation was scattered, but primarily focused on our situation. Some of it was not helpful, but it was more out of stress and nervousness. We didn’t know what was going on, we didn’t truly know if it could be easily fixed, and the thought of being stuck out here for much longer wore on everyone.
Not more than 10 minutes had passed. I was looking into the driver side mirror for signs of the repair truck. Cars and semi-trucks passed us periodically, those ascending in the fast lane shaking our vehicle as they went by. That didn’t help the nerves any. An older model maroon colored Ford Explorer appeared around the corner. As it did, it seemed to glide from one side of the road to the other, hitting the guard rail full speed and then exectuted some bizarre maneuver that lifted it up off the ground as it struck. Then, it returned across both lanes again and ended up on the shoulder, facing the mountain side.
The whole thing took less than three seconds, was impossibly surreal, and I sat there dumbfounded.
I knew I shouldn’t say it, because I knew it wouldn’t help the mood of our group any, but the words tumbled out, “I can’t believe this! Someone just crashed behind us!”
As predicted, it caused a couple of people to panic, thinking the car in question was near us, rather than a couple hundred yards down the hill. As they were reacting to that, I finally realized someone should go and see if the people in the Explorer were okay. I was about to open the door, when I saw a truck of some kind pull off the road and the driver got out. Thankful there was someone else, I sat there, looking in the mirror, listening to what my family was saying.
“I think they’re all right,” I replied to a question about the well being of the other people. “Someone’s there to help. Let’s just knock it off. We’re okay, and it’s going to work out.”
I didn’t know for sure that it would. One thing I did know. I didn’t want to be stuck out here any longer.
TO BE CONTINUED
