Drive time
I visited the ancestral grounds for a memorial service last weekend. Originally I planned on getting there a few days early in order to take advantage of some world class fly fishing on the lower Arkansas river, but plans changed, and I ended up driving straight from Omaha to Leadville in one shot. I loaded up a Lee Child audio book and settle in for the drive. Denver traffic at 3pm is painful, but I get into the foothills and traffic opens up again once I get past Idaho Springs.
I'm right behind a fast driving Porsche SUV listening to Jack Reacher about to kick some serious ass when my car dies. It's confusing at first because I'm driving fast and my momentum is keeping the speed up. When the gas pedal isn't responding and the steering gets heavy, I know it's trouble. I'm clear to move to the right, but being the mountains, there isn't much of a shoulder to aim for. I see a pull-off spot ahead, but my inertia dies about 100 yards from safety. I feel a flop sweat coming as I fumble to shut off Reacher, put it in park, hit the hazards, and dig out my phone. I'm about 2/3 of the way off the road and people are honking. (the Nebraska license plates don't help)
My sister is 10-30 minutes behind me and I want to text her so her husband can help me push my giant, dead 4WD up to the safe spot. Thoughts are racing through my head, it's Friday the 13th, it's 5pm, I just had this car checked, I'm hot, and I'm fumbling with the phone which isn't responding to my sweaty fingers. I see it's almost dead, only 1% battery. My flop sweat turns into full-blown stress and I start swearing and texting.
Long story short, I'm about to set fire to this heap but decide to give the ignition one last turn and the truck engine roars to life. No error messages, everything working and eagerly awaiting my instructions. I turn off all the electronics, roll down the windows and get up the hill. Then down the hill. Then up to the final destination, Leadville at 10,400 feet, where I pull in front of the rental, still shaking. My sister's family pulls up 20 minutes later and they hand me an icy beverage to help take the edge off. I must not look happy.
I recount the story, filling in the details from my frantic texts, and we all have a good laugh. My brother-in-law sits for a minute, then a smile creeps across his face and he says, "Hey Jenn, how long between Greg's first and last text?"
4 minutes.
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