Spare Me
Sometimes the wheels fall off. Sometimes one wheel nearly falls off. I stopped here and camped for the night as a midway point on my way to Zion. I had a permit in hand for the Subway, a favorite of mine. I was excited, but something felt off. I kept hearing this faint clunking sound coming from the rear end of my car. It got worse the next morning. After I shot sunrise, after I broke down camp, and after I was back on the road to Zion for an hour or so, I pulled over and stopped in a small town. I walked around my car, looked underneath, and bounced my trunk. Nothing. I couldn’t pinpoint it. Sure enough when I started driving again, it came back. Except worse. I stepped out and called my wife. After a lengthy conversation, and with her encouragement, I came to the conclusion to turn around. I was already 7+ hours away from home and had another 3-4 hours ahead of me. I was prepared to cut my losses.
I didn’t expect to find myself here. Pretty sure it all happened for a reason or two that I’ll find out about later in life.
It was already getting dark so I decided to head back to where I had come and re-set up camp. I could shoot sunrise the next morning. I wouldn’t even need to move my car. Just pop out of my bag and start hiking in. Maybe I’d stay there for another night or two. Have a mechanic in the nearby town check it out. Keep it simple. That wasn’t in the cards. I had no idea what was gonna happen next.
After a wonderful sunrise and morning of exploration, I headed back to my campsite with the intention of jumping in my car, getting in range of cell service, and calling my wife to let her know I’d be staying here a while. That all happened. But with a twist. On my way back to the main road, the clunking got worse. It got loud. Then louder. I literally stopped where I was to check it out. This time it was obvious. My wheel had started to fall off. One lug nut had snapped. Another was unthreaded. I wasn’t going anywhere. I figured I could tighten up the four remaining lugs and get myself into the nearest town half an hour away. For reasons unknown, my wrench was missing from my trunk. I also don’t have a jack because, well, my car isn’t (and never has been) equipped with a spare so changing the wheel wasn’t going to be an option. Back to the drawing board.
So here I am with my car not even close to off the road. The silver lining was that I had driven far enough for a cell phone signal. I called my wife and assured her that I was okay. I called the two local mechanics. Both were out of town. One for a week, the other for a few days. I kept calling around. Without paying an arm and a leg, my options were running thin. I waived down every passing vehicle. Asked if they might have a wrench. A handful of folks tried. Most wanted no part of helping. They quickly said they didn’t have one and drove off. For those that stopped and got out to take a look, we got close, but in the end something was always too big. There was this one big family in a big truck with big wheels that stood out. They stopped and seemingly 10 of them got out of the cab or jumped off the bed. They predictably had too big of a wrench. That didn’t stop them. They drove off, went back to their campsite, picked up more tools, and came back. When we got the right wrench and realized nothing would turn under the pressure, they left again and came back with a jack that was too big to fit under my car. They gave it their all. They were so unquestionably helpful. Over the course of the multiple encounters, I tried out some conversation. It was clunky. They like to shoot guns up the road. I like to take pictures of rocks. They’re here with their kids ripping it up on dirt bikes. I prefer to hike and leave footprints. But we still shared common ground. On kids. On camping. On how beautiful it is out here. We’re not that different.
I was beyond grateful. It could have been a whole lot worse. Grateful that I wasn’t going 80 miles per hour down the highway when my wheel decided to fall off. Grateful that I stopped where I did. Grateful for the kind folks that took a not insignificant time out of their day to try and help. Your kindness won’t soon be forgotten. I’ll be paying it forward. I was also grateful that I had that cell service back. I called my wife, again. Reassured her that I was okay, again. I had plenty of food and water. No, I didn’t have a gun. My father-in-law always thinks I’m near a bear… but I did have camp set up four or five miles up the road. I wondered how many cars it would take to hitch a ride...
Next up was the Park Ranger, Mike. He tried to help. He made some calls. It was going to be expensive. He could take me to my campsite, but I had to make a choice. I decided to wait on the local mechanic coming back in a few days. Then I packed up a few things for the night. Just the essentials. Food. Water. Photography gear. While doing so, Mike took one look at my rear windshield and made the comment, “Those are some small hands.” Now, to explain, there were some tiny streaking handprints back there. Accentuated, of course, by all the dust that had settled on my car. I could only imagine what he was thinking. Of course I explained to him that my eldest daughter at the age of almost 4 tends to climb up on my trunk while I pack for trips. She hangs out. Along with her sister, they like me to close them in the trunk (I didn’t quite mention this part to Mike). On this occasion, I think she was looking at some dead bugs. I saw him make some radio call. He asked for my driver’s license. I obliged. And then I got in the back of his truck where a tiny jail cell awaited me. Ten minutes later we were back at my campsite and my sentence was over. Ranger Mike and I said our goodbyes.
I was off by myself. I started to run over the situation. I could shoot sunrise the next morning. Afterwards, pack up and walk the road back to my car. Maybe catch another ride. Based on the previous couple of days, a long unrelenting sun would be greeting me. Not appealing. I felt compelled to take a break, pack up, and hike out during sunset. That’s what I went with.
Under the moonlight, it was a pleasant, albeit long hike to end a long day. I set up camp not too far from my car. I slept in the next day. Didn’t bother shooting sunrise. Over the course of the day, I started down this road of not being very nice to myself. What was I thinking? How did I let this happen? This was my fault. Prior to the trip I switched out my wheels to get my winter tires on. Seemed like a great idea. One of my summer tires was nearly bald. So I went to work. My 8 year old neighbor was really interested in what I was doing. I was teaching him step by step. It was fun. But apparently I missed an all important step: I didn’t tighten one set of them enough. I kept replaying it in my head. A couple decades of changing wheels twice a year and I had never made that mistake. But I had a choice. I could keep beating myself up or do what I came here to do. Be out in nature and take some pictures. To do what I love.
So later that afternoon, I packed up my bag and went for a walk. Where? Didn’t know. I took off towards something interesting. Towards the more common dirt biker area. Probably not where a whole lot of photographers dare. I came upon some amazing scenery. Got great light. Watched a few dirt bikes do their thing. Pumped some Tom Petty.
Now I’m free
Free fallin’
Yeah, I’m free
Free fallin’
It was a most excellent evening. It was; however, a dang windstorm out there. I didn’t care at the time. Until I had to. I came back to my tent hanging on by a couple of stakes. It nearly blew into the freeway. After a nighttime wrestling match to get everything upright again, I hit the hay. The next day I most definitely got up for sunrise. Was present for sunset too and the sunrise after that. I eventually got my car in order. It was a trip to remember, for a multitude of reasons.
I spent much of my downtime during those days meditating. Quite a lot. It’s one of the things that has helped me quiet my mind. To approach the negative thoughts and feelings I often direct inwardly towards myself and outwardly towards others. In doing so, I have begun to find my true worth. I also recognize that so often my judgments of others are really a reflection of the feelings I want to avoid inside myself. I’m starting to face down those shadows. I’m reminded that although we are different, we are the same. We all feel the same basic emotions. We all have pain.
