I’m posting this here because the tale is too long for social media.
On behalf of my dayjob, I journeyed deep into the Navajo Reservation (in NE Arizona) because I was “in the neighborhood”). A bit of remedial geography – no one is ever conveniently close to Dilkon Arizona, a crossroads deep in the Rez featuring a Basha’s grocery store, a gas station, and someday soonish a medical center.
There was a need for someone in our company to meet with someone working on that medical center. I was, that morning, in Flagstaff for a similar meeting that did not happen, and Those Above figured they’d never have anyone closer. So off I went in the 20 year old Dodge Dakota.
I had the Dakota (called Verity) because my Subaru Forester had a damaged suspension (likely from stunts like Packsaddle Mountain), and was in the shop that very day.
I started and ended my day in Kingman AZ (where it was 28 F when I left my hotel room) on account of a third day-job assignment.
On my way back, I stopped to manage some cabin logistics, and take some Bongo pictures for Instagram, because we are trying to build a little platform here.
The road is Tribal 15, which looks just like that most of the way.
Friends, that was a $40 Instagram picture, and only that cheap because I got stupid lucky.
Took the photos, got back in the truck, tried to pull away, wheels spun.
By spun, I mean the passenger rear tire buried itself in loose sand up to the axle.
I did not take pictures.
Verity carries a shovel, and I had it half excavated when some locals stopped by to help. As sand filled back into the hole, they explained, and probably correctly, that I wasn’t going to dig myself out. I would need a tow.
Happily, they had the means. Once we excavated the axe from the dry quicksand (this stuff was hour-glass quality, flowing freely in a way that was both amazing and horrifying), they produced a rope, wrapped it around my front end, and we were able to free Verity from peril on the first try.
A had a $20 bill in my wallet, and I gave it to the lead guy. Then I dug out another $20 bill when we had to cut his rope to free it from my truck. (I hide one in my wallet for just these occasions.)
When nerves allowed, I drove on to Kingman. That’s 470 miles round trip, part of the nearly 750 miles I drove over 3 days for my job. (I get compensated for that). That took the rest of the afternoon, during which I negotiated paying the mechanic for the Subaru. (Which is why you always want to get paid for mileage, not just reimbursed for gas.)
Stay on the damn road on the Rez. Now we know.
Mohave County’s original county jail is one of the oldest still standing. It’s protected, so the county can’t tear it down. I have no idea what they use it for now, but they are building the new courthouse addition basically around this structure.
I was also in that neighborhood and have a couple of photos.
2 thoughts on “Some Stupid Luck in the middle of nowhere.”