The Day his Motor Died - 1. Chapter 1

Less than a week later, Michael found himself filling the gas tank of his previously owned 1998 Lexus. He was just a few miles from the Wyoming-Nebraska border. While he was at the service station, he took a moment to consult a map. He was quite close to I 80, but he had vowed not to use super highways. He found a secondary road that paralleled I 80, and would take him to a small town in western Wyoming. His research said that this town was sparsely populated, but had magnificent views of the Wyoming landscape and the secondary road terminated at The Grand Tetons. He had decided to make it his destination. He didn’t even know if they had a hotel where he could stay. He’d cross that bridge when he reached it.

He drove along the country road, and admitted to himself that it was quite boring. All he saw were wheat fields after wheat fields. Every few miles, he spotted a farm house dotting the road.

He was about fifty miles into Wyoming when his car stalled. He turned the key in the ignition. The car started up again, but after a few short miles, it stalled again. This time it didn’t start. Michael knew the symptoms well. His transmission was shot. He looked under the hood to verify his diagnosis.

At that point in human history, Michael was one of the few people who owned a cell phone. He had kept it charged, but when he went to use it to call for help, he was dismayed to find that he had no bars, and therefore, no service. He felt that his life was continuing its downward spiral. He calmed himself down to think clearly about what he should do. The last farm house he had seen was a good five miles from the direction he had just come. He decided not to go back, but to walk forward until he came to the next farm house, and seek help. He locked the car and began his trek.

Michael thought that he was walking toward a farmhouse, but he was walking to his destiny.

He reckoned that he had lucked out at last. Less than a mile up the road, he saw a small farm house. He ran the last few yards, and knocked on the door. He feared the farmer might be in the fields, and he would have to wait for him to come home. Then again, maybe his wife was home.

The door was opened by a handsome young man about Michael’s age; late twenties. He looked thoroughly shocked to see a stranger at his door. Michael saw the amazement on the man’s face, so he spoke up first.

“Hi! I need some help. My car broke down about a mile down the road, and I can’t get cell phone reception. I wonder if I could use your phone to call the AAA or some service station in the area.”

The young man got over his shock and found his voice. “There’s a good size village about ten miles up the road. The owner of the only repair shop in town is a buddy of mine. I’ll call him for you. The farmer got his friend, Emanuel, on the phone, and handed it to Michael.

“Hi, my name’s Michael Moran,” he began, and then he described the problem. “I’m sure it’s the transmission,” he concluded.

“I can get there in a couple of hours with a tow truck. Stay at Doug’s and you can take me to your car when I get there.”

“Thanks. I’m really grateful.”

Michael turned to his host, and introduced himself. “So, your name is Doug. I’m Michael.”

“I heard,” Doug said, and he extended his hand for Michael to shake. “I was about to make myself some lunch. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“No thanks. I’m good, but don’t let me interfere with your lunch. Please go right ahead.”

“Fine, but make yourself comfortable. I know Emanuel. If he says a couple of hours it could be a couple of days. He’s one hundred percent Arapaho, and he has no concept of time.”

As if Doug was a prophet, Emanuel called a couple of hours later to say he couldn’t get there until tomorrow afternoon. Michael was really pissed, but Doug said, “I’ve got a spare room. Let’s take a ride to your car, and you can get what you need for an overnight stay.”

“That’s very hospitable of you. I don’t know how I can thank you.” Doug just smiled. “It won’t take long,” Michael added. “I keep an overnight bag packed for the motels I stayed at since I left New York.”

Doug’s face lit up. “You’re from New York?” he asked. “So am I.”

“You’re a New Yorker?” Michael asked. He was equally amazed. “What are you doing way out here?”

“I might ask you the same question. It’s a long story. Let’s discuss it after we get your stuff and make you comfortable.”