Car trouble. We decided that we would simply refer to it as “car trouble.”
My friend who gives me a ride to church on Sunday evenings and I had car trouble.
It all happened because there was no noticeable precipitation this past week, or at least that’s what I’m blaming it on.
Last week, when my ride picked me up early he decided to show me some of the popular muddin’ areas within a short distance of the church. Muddin’ for those of you unfamiliar with the term, is driving through boggy or miry places and bounding up, down, and through sticky places spraying brackish water and grime anywhere (and you really want to keep spraying it, because if you ever sink so deep that you’re no longer launching large chunks of earth, you’re probably going to be out of foot very shortly, and up to your hips in mud immediately after that).
I haven’t really gone muddin’ for a couple years. I didn’t have a vehicle of my own in college. Thus I wasn’t comfortable turning someone else’s vehicle in a mud splattered jalopy (and with my luck in vehicles, I didn’t want to have to worry about calling a friend with a power four-wheel drive to get me out of a particularly tricky ditch).
My friend repeatedly told me we’d be better of in his other vehicle, but we still tried some slopes. Some hills, however, were unassailable at that time. Some were to crazy to try with the ground and engine being what they were. Some we tried, repeatedly, but couldn’t get the necessary traction. We still got to church early and without having to trample through the muck in dress pants.
This week, the sun came out and dried everything up. You can still find a few mounds of snow clinging on in shadowy corners, but the sidewalks and yards are primarily clear. My ride picked me up, and since we still had some time to spend, decided to give certain hills another go.
The second round was a bit more interesting than the first. It’s something to gaze over the deep, dried out grooves and go, “Yep, that’s as far as we made it last week,” and then cruise on past them. Mounting firmer terra firma, we were able to make it up all the inclines that had repealed us earlier. This also provided us with some nice views of the town, the church, and the Bureau of Land Management wild horse pens. Moments of gunning the engine were interspersed with moments of reflection, like, “Boy, that’s a lot of manure.”
Around this point, I was asked if I wanted to drive. I chuckled a bit before responding, assertively, no. I’m several months out of practice driving, I was on unfamiliar ground (in a landscape with plenty of character), and riding in a vehicle I didn’t know that well.
My friend pressed me, but I told him I was more comfortable riding. I didn’t want to be in the position where I was later lamenting hitting the gas when I should have hit the breaks (or versa vice) or berating myself for not double checking the clearance of the vehicle).
We had climbed to the top of the final hill we hadn’t dare challenge the week before. The sides had a particularly steep angle, and once again I was asked if I simply wanted to drive her down. I politely declined again, colorful images of my previous driving excursions playing in my read (you don’t end up with three wheels on the road with the fourth spinning over the edge of a bridge without being somewhat paranoid). My friend shrugged and we rode the emergency brake down.
I thought we would head directly to the church parking lot – we weren’t even 250 meters away from it anyway – when my friend decided to do one last series of twists and tight turns.
The previous week, there were several mounds of snow that we had raced doughnuts and corkscrews around. Thanks to the sunlight of the previous week, with all the snow gone I could see the original humps of snow had formed around a series of knolls that were largely rounded, but still had some rocky bits sticking out of them.
The previous week, we had heard snow scrape against the side of the vehicle, providing padding when a twirl got too sharp. We had nearly weaved our way through all the piles when I saw one final bump in our path. The thought, “What is the clearance on this…” was interrupted by a solid bang. It was the kind that, thanks to the vibrations, you knew occurred directly beneath your seat.
To break the tension I joked that when we got to the church, we would need to check back after five minutes to see if anything was dripping. We returned to the parking lot without any more snaking or looping.
Trouble became obvious as soon as the engine was turned off. A pitta-patta, pitta-patta echoed somewhere below us. We looked at each other in silence. The question was asked, “Can you smell gasoline?”
We tumbled out of the vehicle to get a look at the “car trouble” that was steadily streaming fuel onto the church parking lot. After a quick phone call to his parents, and against my leanings, my friend decided to make a hurried drive home, racing the gas tank the whole way.
I offered him my prayers and told him to call if he didn’t make it.
The pastor’s wife, who was the only other person at the church at that point, was very polite in listening to the tale. She was also kind enough to tell me, “You smell like gasoline, dear.”
I washed up the best I could in the bathroom. I looked around and spied a can of strawberry air deodorizer. I squeezed out a small cloud and walked through it. And that was how I came to smell like a strawberry Molotov cocktail throughout the evening service.
My friend later called to tell me he was fine. He had won the race against the drips. I still feel bad for what happened, though short of refusing to go muddin’ whatsoever, I can’t think of anything else I could have done to avoid the accident. I gave my common sense response in regards to all the queries I was asked (“Do you think we should try that hill?” “Yeah. I’m sure we can make that hill.” “How about that one?” “I don’t think so.”), but the last bunch of twists were undertaken wordlessly and without warning after we cleared the final hill.
He still has some maturing to do. I can certainly think of many foolish things I did at that age (and my parents and other associates could quickly fill any gaps that I would miss/omit). I pray hmy friend is not put out too long, though I may be a bit more reluctant to go out muddin’ the next time I’m asked, depending on the clearance of the vehicle.
We may conquer mountains, but we still need to worry about tripping over the molehills.
