Monster Jam in the woods and other divine interventions

{dead battery story continued}

Time takes a turn when you’ve got somewhere to be and a drained car battery that says “uh-uh.”

I weigh which option is most likely time best spent in the time remaining before my appointment. Walk a remote forest road with few campers for someone with jumper cables.

Or call Triple A. On a Sunday. And have a blast explaining my location.

Fortunately, my Garmin (GPS for anyone unfamiliar), which like my cell phone is old and quickly drained of its battery life, had enough life that I could establish my coordinates. The best I could offer AAA.

I opt to walk in search of a camp “neighbor” with jumper cables.

You couldn’t say I stumbled upon potential. I mean, does anyone really “stumble” upon a humongous beast of an RV parked on a narrow forest road?

Perhaps they feel compelled to park there, blocking the road, to drink in the scenery. Or not grapple with the challenge of turning a humongous beast of an RV (did I mention it’s humongous?) out of a super narrow space. Or perhaps the driver’s sleeping.

Guess which. Surprise! The driver’s sleeping.

So informs the blonde babe with two tykes when I arrive at their doorstep — wow, there’s a concept, a doorstep in the primitive wilds! — in search of jumper cables. Sensing my plight, she overcomes her reluctance to awaken her husband.

“No, he says no jumper cables,” she tells me. “But I’m not sure. We just bought this humongous RV.” Okay, she doesn’t really say “humongous.”

I pass another camp that’s occupied, as evidenced by their bikes and tent and stuff, but no one’s there.

So Triple A it is.

Every minute and every word counts when your phone battery drains faster than a keg at a frat party.

So I hasten the dialogue before I’ve got two dead batteries on my hand. “Well, you see Triple A ma’am, I’m at the end of this dirt road in the mountains in Prescott, Arizona. Landmarks? No, no McDonald’s. There are a lotta trees, brush and bushes though. In fact, I thought I might meet Edward Scissorhands this morning. What? Never mind.”

So I’m explaining the situation, giving her my GPS coordinates, trying to remember the name of the nearest main paved road when out of the blue, a big — not humongous, just big — dark pickup truck swings my way like it’s on the way to a fire and stops on a dime nose-to-nose with my Subaru.

Two scruffy dudes pushing middle age or past jump out.

Okay, maybe it’s the female in me. Or my keen awareness that bad things happen in life. Or acute sensitivities and street smarts as a woman (and not a very big one at that) traveling solo out in the boonies. All of the above and my primal ears shoot up.

“Hold on, some guys just drove up,” I tell Triple A lady.

“You need a jump?” asks Scruffy Dude 1.

“I do! And you are?”

“We’re campers up the road. That humongous RV is blocking us.” Okay, once again, he doesn’t actually say “humongous.”

“The guy with the RV told us you need a jump. Pop your hood.”

And boom! boom! boom! 1-2-3. Just like that, Scruffy Dudes attach the cables like they’d done it 100 times in their sleep.

“Now start ‘er up.”

She’s alive!!

Then boom! boom! boom! Fast as they got there, they’re off, turning corners around the humongous RV that suddenly appears negotiating its U-turn — it’s like a monster jam in my primitive sector of the woods! — my profuse expressions of gratitude and thank you’s and God bless you! trailing like their dirt cloud.

Simultaneously, I’m conversing now with Brian, the Triple A truck driver who’s taken the place of the clerk. I provide a play-by-play action report, not wanting to lose him until it’s certain the car’s good to go.

That achieved, I tell Triple A Brian the same thing I’m telling you and any others hearing this story:

I’ve got camping angels watching over me.

For anyone curious, I make it in time to my appointment.

But not before a final encounter with the man with the humongous RV. “We just bought it. It’s full of stuff. I’m sure it has jumper cables and they’re in there somewhere.”

And not before a closing pass by the site with the two Scruffy Dudes. {wave wave wave and hollering out the window} “Thank you again soooo much! God bless you!”

And, too, for the record, a humongous thanks to the RV recreationists. They may not have been able to locate their jumper cables but they were the conduit to giving my girl her go.



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