This Is A TestCan You Handle A Winter Breakdown?A Short Story
by Michael Knight, Editor, Earth Change Report. Thanksgiving - Nov 26 2009. For a preview of how prepared you are, or not, for an emergency situation, try a breakdown on a US Highway. In the winter. Probably the first thought that comes to mind is that you reach for your cell phone and call for help. But if you are in an area where there's no signal, what then? Let's try a real life example, starting with a decision about 10 yesterday morning to drive the 130 miles from Mossyrock to Yakima in order to buy some pipe tobacco. Seems like a simple enough decision to make, and it's a relatively short trip. It would also be a test of highway mileage since having the Gadgetman Groove installed - which has jumped economy significantly on short runs already. We were aware, after a weekend storm, that White Pass ski field was now open - and snowploughs were operating, so road conditions were not a concern. Interestingly enough, I had spent an hour or so the previous day checking out the contents of the backpack that is always in the trunk of the '91 Buick Le Sabre. While doing so, I was imagining (had a 'vision' if you will) what it would be like if Judith and I found ourselves stranded in snow country. So I threw in an extra sleeping bag, made sure the little Carrycook stove had its fuel tablets, and tossed in a pair of ski pants we had bought for about 50 cents at the local Blessings second hand store. I also hauled a winter-weight down jacket out of the closet.
Although it was drizzling wet when we left, we made good time over White Pass, driving a little faster than most folks (that's the motocross/enduro background I guess) but having a red pickup stay close behind for about 50 miles. Then it happened. The "check engine light" lit up, and the car simply stalled. Pulling in to the side of the road up against a 3ft snow bank was easy enough, although I did have to ask myself why I hadn't checked the oil before leaving - or changed it in about a year. I figured a Crankshaft Sensor had decided to either play up, or give me honest feedback that there was a low oil problem. The car started again easy enough, and we turned back to White Pass where I bought some oil and topped her up. Off we went again, this time with no apparent problems. We passed a big Suburban parked on the opposite side of the road with two wrecked tires on one side. This was an obvious "alert" - there had to be something up ahead that he'd run over. Sure enough, a 200 pound rock had slipped off the cliff and broken into pieces - one big enough to wreck both his tires as he ran over it. Being a Good Samaritan, I stopped and moved the rocks, then we checked the couple in the SUV. They were okay. Just waiting for a tow truck. But being a Good Samaritan does not reward one with immediate Brownie Points. 
Being the author of a "How To Survive.." book, you'd think a person would be ready for anything wouldn't you. Well, that simply ain't so. As I was about to learn. We resumed the trip to Yakima, admiring the beautiful snow-clad view in the sunny weather on that side of the pass, and then the Buick suddenly lit up and shut down again. Clearly this was not a day to get tobacco. So we turned round again, and started limping back toward Packwood. The engine cut out every mile or so, but restarted after a short rest. Down the long run from White Pass, I figured I could coast a long way in neutral, just gently riding the breaks. Wrong. With no power, the power steering quit and it was a wrestling match to do any steering. Then the brakes became super sluggish and all but ineffective. Having crashed a few vehicles in my time, mostly when going too fast and out of control downhill, this was not a happy deja vu situation. Fortunately, the brakes did respond to some heavy duty foot pressure, and perhaps the dry throat had something to do with it as well. (That's just a theory though, so don't take it too seriously). We pulled across the road into an area that had been cleared by the snow ploughs and sat a while. I ruminated on the situation, while Judith started questioning me about electronics and "maybe this and maybe that." Without being terse, I responded: "No questions right now, okay? I've got to focus on what we can do to get out of this fix." She didn't take that amiss. So I quietly chalked her up some brownie points. From then on, it was a case of start again, run a mile or two, ride the brakes a little (hazard lights doing their job too) then light up, shut down, pull off into a turn-out, rest, start, repeat. This went on for about a dozen versions until an odd smell started wafting into the car. The disc brakes on the front were starting to overheat and were in danger of catching fire. Forest Road 1276 is a graveled run-out for runaway trucks (that's how steep that part of the highway is) and that's where we finally pulled to a stop ourselves, making sure to park so that any runaway truck would be able to pass us and get up that escape ramp without smashing into us on the way. Guess what, a fire extinguisher is on the new list of must-have items - even though she didn't burst into flames (the car I mean).. We turned the hazard lights on and sat. And sat. And sat.
The thermos of coffee was not doing much except make us uncomfortable - and the nearest portapotty was about 50 miles away. (Being a man has advantages...just climb the bank out of sight and there you are, fully in tune with Nature and whatever bears do in the woods). But if you're a woman with hip problems, climbing banks is out of the question. And so is walking any distance. Judith suggested I hitch a ride to Packwood and get us a tow truck. I declined, having no intention of leaving her alone out there for any time at all. (Why, I'm not sure, since the door and window locks still worked perfectly and it would be ridiculous to imagine some nasty bozos doing anything untoward in broad daylight....but I simply wasn't sure I could be back before dark. Aside from that, she has no experience with Mr Nine Mil, and probably wouldn't employ his services under any circumstances anyway. So I stayed). But back to the hungry thing. I popped the trunk open and retrieved the one can of baked beans I had in the backpack, and a sachet of "Meals Ready to Eat" crackers - which might be about 15 years old, but they say they're immortal. Next time there'll be two cans in the pack. And no MRE crackers. They are not immortal. Instead, I'm going to make (or buy) biscottis with chocolate and almonds. It's no exaggeration to say at least 250 and possibly 300 vehicles went by over the next couple of hours. One did stop and park some distance behind us. I walked back and the driver did offer to see if he could get a tow truck to come on out. Two hours later, it was pretty obvious that he hadn't achieved that ambition. (Afterthought: He was a weasely little guy...and probably only stopped behind us to see whether this was an abandoned car, and maybe he could steal something from it.) Since we don't use cell phones at all, because they mess with brain cells and can cause cancer (*why else would their manufacturers have been made immune from prosecution?) we were obviously in a semi-survival situation. Sure, we could expect a snowplough to come by eventually, or even a State trooper. But oddly enough, we saw neither in all the time we sat there. Finally, I stepped out and faced some oncoming traffic, and put my right hand up to my right ear, making the universal "I'm Using The Cell Phone" signal. The first car that saw me do that, turned around and came back.
That is absolutely true - at least in my experience. The day before I had either imagined or foreseen us in this situation, and here we were in the reality of it. (Learn How Here) (Or Here) or how to "Manifest a Miracle" Here). As for Karma, apparently shifting rocks did carry some Brownie Points with it, since our new knight in shining armor was as willing to help us as we had been to help the couple in the broke-down Suburban. Carl (that's his name) had a cell phone - but we were in a no signal area (so who needs a cell phone anyway?) Turned out that he was heading down Highway 12 right past a service station and tow truck in Packwood and then past Mossyrock itself. You can tell a nice bloke instantly (bloke is man) and Carl is. He took Judith to Packwood where she got the tow truck organized. They waited for me there, and Carl was good enough to drive us the 70-odd miles home. As for the car...well...it's a $500 lesson in tow truck costs, new calipers, an oil change and air filter, plus a scan of the sensors and various parts.
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