The Rest of the Story...

In a previous blog, Esther reported on the car breaking down Sunday night. Here's what happened on Saturday.

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While we were at McQueen Lake, we decided to visit Isobel Lake, which in retrospective, was not a good idea. We should have known something was up when, halfway there, standing right in the middle of the road in front us, was the Bull of the Bush. Big horns, big hooves, big face, big trouble. I said, "Esther! We're in a red car!"

She calmly replied, "Actually, they're colourblind. It's movement they respond to."

"Then don't move!" I whispered dramatically.

Eventually, he snorted derisively and sauntered off to join his significant udder.

~

Figuring that was our close call of the day, we kept going.

At Isobel, all we found was a boat launch and some rough campsites. So we kept driving around the lake. Then the dirt road we were on split in two. One was wide and flat; the other narrow, rocky, and steep. Guess which one I took?

It was like being a teenager in Williams Lake again.

Esther said, "Are we allowed to be on this road? Is it even a road?"

"Oh, sure," I said. "We've taken this car over worse roads."

But then it got steeper, and rockier, and ruttier. When we started climbing straight up, I said, "I think I'm gonna find a spot to turn around." But it got even narrower, rockier, and ruttier. There was nowhere to turn around, and there was no way I was gonna back down.

As the engine began to steam and smoke, we finally reached a flat spot at the top and, after breathing a sigh of relief, we tried to turn around.

But when I put it in reverse, it stuttered and died. When I put it back in drive, it would go. If only we could get pointed down the hill, we could drive back. Esther bravely volunteered to push while I put it in neutral and steered. For my part, I stood in the door, steered with one hand, and pushed on the frame with the other. We finally maneuvered it around and got it pointing downhill. That's when it decided to go on its own.

When I tried to jump in, the door frame hit me in the rear end and bounced me onto my left knee. I bounced a couple of times, and was dragged down the rocky hill for a few feet.

Esther was on the other side, between the car and a gully full of trees. When she realized the car was angling toward the edge, she tried to push it back onto the trail. This whole time, I never let go of the steering wheel, and was trying to keep the car on the trail. With a herculean effort, I pulled myself to my feet, and karate-kicked towards the brake. I caught it just in time. One wheel was over the edge, and we still could not reverse.

As the thunder rolled, and I bled into my shoe, we made our way back down the hill and back to the boat launch. We needed a guy with a truck to pull us out. One guy with a flashy red truck who was yelling at his kids was a 'no.' The other guy with the big black truck and a couple of dogs looked promising.

"Sir," I said to him, "I'm about to make your day."

He looked at me suspiciously as I continued. "I'm about to make you a hero, and an answer to prayer, and I'm gonna give you the best stinking story to take back to town about the IDIOT you helped."

Without giving us a hard time, he agreed to help. However, when I pointed out which road I had taken, he said, "I don't even take my TRUCK up there!" But he did this time, to help us out.

When we finally got to the top and he saw my car, he said, "Oh. Yeah. THAT'S an offroading vehicle."

While he was getting his tools, his wife told me, "You picked the right guy. He's the 'boy scout' of mechanics and an ex-tow truck driver." Sure enough, he had the big fat rope and all the tools you'd ever need to pull someone out of anywhere. Minutes later, we were heading back to our camp at McQueen Lake.