Driving down 285 South on my way to Telluride, I wasn't quite sure where I'd stop to camp for the night. I left Boulder two and a half hours late due to personal procrastination that couldn't trump the convenience of making it to Telluride before sunset to camp in comfort. There hadn't been a car behind me for over 45 miles and out of nowhere I see a black jeep flashing her lights and waving her arms at me as she sways into the opposite lane to get my attention. My Subaru is so full, I can't even see out the back window.
She opened her door, leaned out and hollered, "You gotta do something about that rear right tire of yours - it's real low." I tried to express my gratitude: "Oh, okay th-" with the
"-anks" sliding down the side of her slammed car door.
Fortunately, there was a Conoco not 20 yards from my car. The air tank cost 75 cents and included a free vacuuming. Unfortunately for the cleanliness of my car, I haven't an ounce of carpet showing - I wouldn't have been able to even hoover the ceiling had I the desire. I filled the tire, to no avail; it held it's elliptical shape. I went into the General Store for a minute to give the car a few moments to decide how bad the slow leak was. In the shop, my mission was to find my 'lawn gnome' to accompany me on the trip. He is no where to be found, but a funky looking jackrabbit catches my eye, so I take note.
Back out at the car, 1/4 of my legs appear to be exhausted, so I drove through town in search of an Automotive Repair shop. Just as I suspected: Main Street Garage is not even a mile down the road. The following is an act from the screenplay of my day from 4:45 p.m. to 6:15 p.m.
4:45 - girl enters Auto Shop.
"Hi, I think I have a flat, but I'm not sure. This is my first car."
"Well, lemme go see if Chuck is still in. We'll see if he can help you."
Man and girl enter office and talk to Chuck. Chuck tells girl to pull her Subaru up to the middle garage. Girl leaves to get her car and just after she turns her precarious key, it snaps at the neck. The car is idle, in the limbo of on and not on. The tape deck clicks and the mellifluous voices of Paper Bird blare into her ears. Her eyes burn red and she doesn't waste any time.
"Umm... my key broke off in the hole." She offers up the feeble remnants of her key as proof to Chuck.
"Well... that's Chip's specialty. I'm sure she can figure somethin'."
Chip enters scene. He is finishing up some of his own work and grabs his pliers as he follows the girl to her car. "So where's your spare?"
"That's the thing..."
"Uh oh... I don't know if I can help you here then, miss. Let me call Wayne and see if he closed up yet."
Wayne answers and agrees to take a look at the situation. The girl and Chip get into his large truck and drive across the street to a nearly closed Hardware Store. Wayne and Chip shuffle through keys and numbers - Wayne grumbles every few minutes, especially when the tip of the key slips through the machine into an abyss. After 20 minutes of fiddling and ideas about what to do if he cannot replicate the broken metal, Wayne produces what he thinks is the best facsimile of an already over-copied and worn out key.
The key works.
The girl waits in the office, as Chip has offered to try and patch up her tire past closing time.
Chip comes into the office again, rolling the tire that is now making a slight wheezing noise.
He explains that with a Subaru all-wheel drive, it is essential that all the tires are the same, and his shop does not currently have this tire in stock. It is 5:55 p.m. "Let me see if I can't get an order in to our tire guys to have it here by morning."
He gets the order in, just in time and offers to drive the girl to the closest hotel. After seeing that The Fairplay Hotel is closed for no reason, Chip brings the girl to The Hand Hotel
and points out his wife's coffee shop, his mother-in-law's coffee shop and his laundromat. He gives a brief history of South Park to the girl and introduces her to Richard, the hotel owner. From there, the girl is placed in room number 11 Indian.
The bathroom is a converted closet. There are two tall beds with at least 8 pillows each. Extra toilet paper and tiny towels. Next door is a bar that has wireless.
The locals are grumbling about their days: on the phone with HDTV customer service for over two hours; flooding bathroom; damn tourists asking what's fun to do in town- one man is already drunk at 7:00 p.m.
So... as the news continually became worse and subsequently rescued by perfect timing and helpful people, I've concluded that I am the luckiest unlucky person. But isn't luck one of those neutral words anyway? It is the qualifier (good or bad) that tips the scale of luck. Sure, things aren't going as planned on the first day of my new job, but they aren't going bad.
A broken down car and a weird looking Jackrabbit.
I like it already.
1 comment:
This is incredible!
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