Wednesday
Day 4
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| Big Sky Country |
We
take the exit off of I-90 west and find Belle Fourche, South Dakota and 212
North (the BearTooth Highway) toward Wyoming. I can’t help but wonder about
this road. It has two-lanes, is remote and appears to cut through the
Reservation. We are in and out of Wyoming in a flash and the sign reads:
Welcome to Montana, speed limit 75 MPH. The good news is there is little
traffic so we can exceed the limit and make good time through the curves. I am
in awe of the snow-capped mountains and feel the weight of the world lift off
my shoulders. I am West and once again feel as if this is where I belong. Gone
are the flatlands of the Prairie and non-stop winds, replaced by the big sky
country that Montana is appropriately referred to. We are cruising, we are
happy, and we are smiling. But then, well. . . things change.
We
are climbing a steep incline reaching 6,500 feet near the Continental Divide
when Dora’s cruise control lurches us forward abruptly and stops. By that I
mean, she is in Drive but we were no longer moving forward. The gas pedal is
gunning the engine but nothing is happening. What the hell? OMG, no cell
service on this road and not many towns either. I am twenty miles from the next
little community according to the road sign. I tell myself to not panic, that it is
just a little glitch along our way and things will be fine. I downshift to
second gear and like magic the gears engage – thank goodness. Maybe the gears
were stuck I reasoned. I turn off the cruise control deciding it will stay off
until we reach flatter ground. As we move forward I put the gear back into
Drive but once again it slips out. So be it, I will drive in second gear to the
next town and hopefully see a mechanic. We adjust our speed to 40-45 MPG and
creep forward at what seems like a snail’s pace after cruising at 80 all
morning.
We
finally come to a small-unnamed community with a few stores. Obviously there is no gas station
anywhere near let alone a garage, so I pull off the road in front of the local
Hardware Store. A man saunters over and introduces himself as “Shane,” like the
movie he said, and wonders if he might have a look. I told him I thought Dora
might need some transmission fluid. He checks and said the dipstick indicates
it is full. He put the end of the dipstick up to my nose and it smells burnt. I
didn’t ask what that could mean because I really didn’t want to hear the
answer. My intuition told me it might not be a good thing. Shane proceeds to give me a lecture
about finding someone honest to have a look at the van; he is concerned that as
a woman I might get ripped off if not careful. He wonders if I could take him
to the next town where we will maybe have cell service and he can call a buddy
that is a mechanic for advice. Well okay, I thought. The guy seems genuine.
And
so it were. . . on a back road route headed west from Wyoming with no cell
service and few towns, I pick up a guy that turns out to be an ex-con that
had found the Lord, but was currently searching for a ride to the post office
to pick up his unemployment check in a town called Lame Deer. Apparently there
would be cell service there and he could call his friend a mechanic, for
advice.
On
the road Shane continues to expound about his religious beliefs while I
continue to appear interested all the time wondering: 20 miles at 40 MPH – how
long will it take to reach Lame Deer? He casually mentions that he had “done it
all, including serving time.” That got my attention. “Really, like how much
time?” I didn’t ask what for because at this point why bother? He admitted about
seven years including jail and penitentiary time, but I really wasn’t all that
concerned. This man did not
activate my internal antenna so I had no reason to be fearful. Although, his
admission was indeed a shock particularly since we were someplace in Montana on
BearTooth Highway #212 where cell phones did not work and people were few and
far between.
We
finally arrive in the small town called Lame Deer and there are still no bars
on my cell phone. He told me where to park the van, and how to do it. Satisfied
he opened the door and said: “I’m going inside to see a friend and use his land
line to call my mechanic buddy to get you some advice. Don’t leave,” were his
instructions. While I waited I asked a guy in the parking lot what he thought
about Dora’s symptoms just as Shane came out of the office and said: “don’t
confuse the issue by asking him, I have the information you need” waving a
piece of paper in the air.
We
return to Dora and he asked me to take him to the Post Office and told me how
to drive there – terrible backseat driver, constantly telling me how to drive
and where to go. Oh well, I keep smiling and Zippy licks his face every chance
she gets. We find the Post Office where he retrieves his unemployment check and
then directs me to a bank so he can cash it. He gives me the piece of paper
with a name and a phone number in Billings, another 108 miles away. Shane said
Brown’s Transmission would take care of me, they were honest and his father
used them back in the 60’s. We had already called them and explained my
situation. We shook hands, he wished us luck and we were out of there – alive,
safe and well. You just never know who you might meet if you're open to an
adventure.
At
2:30 PM a van called Dora filled with six dogs and a blonde continues to head
northwest in search of Billings, Montana at 40 MPH. We will barely make it
before 5:30 closing time at the garage. We are still hoping for a minor problem
in the transmission. We make Billings at 5:15, find Brown’s Transmission and
schedule an appointment for the following morning at 7:00 AM. I explain my
problem saying it was probably something simple but the look on the mechanic’s
face told me it probably wasn’t. He merely said they would hook Dora up to the
machines for an evaluation in the morning.
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| Motel 6 |
We
find an incredibly busy truck stop in the middle of town and it is chaos, noisy
and crowded. Since we’ve had a long day it is time to get out of Dora for while
so we opt for Motel 6, where dogs are welcome. Checking in I tell the desk guy
that we have a minor transmission problem and another guy in the lobby
interjected something like: there is no such thing as a minor transmission
problem, ANY transmission problem will cost big bucks. Comforting. . .
I
need some wine.
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| Room #114 |
We
are safe in Room #114 at Motel 6 on the outskirts of Billings, Montana where
five dogs and I share a bed and DoDog has a bed of her own. It’s Wednesday,
it’s late and we only covered about three hundred miles today, which means
Seattle is still another 900 miles northwest and Dora is sick and we are hoping
for a miracle at this point.
Shit,
shit double shit! MERDE as the French would shout! When will be on the road
again?
To
be continued. . . .
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| A Bed of My Own? |
Merde and Shicht as the Germans say.....
ReplyDeleteCindy