Car Trouble at Midnight

I’m driving down I-5 in the dead of night. All of a sudden, my high beams go to low beams and then to no beams. I try to open my windows—no luck. Then the noise: sputter, jerk, sputter, kick, bam. My car stops on an off-ramp near Sea-Tac. Out goes my Triple-A card and about 45 minutes later the tow-truck arrives. The driver is a character. He jumps out of his seat about eight feet off the ground and walks over to my car in a swagger—cigarette hanging out his mouth. He says it appears I’m having car trouble. I think to myself “tell me something I don’t know.” He turns out to be an interesting guy. I jump into the cab with him as we head toward the auto shop in Gig Harbor. Inside the cab: cigarettes, Chexmix, Red Bull, pain pills, several cell phones, and some trash in the back. He tips the medicine bottle up to his mouth and chews a few pills, washing it back with some Red Bull. Hopefully I won’t die. After all, it is around midnight and the truck driver is getting toasted. Our conversation is friendly. He tells me about his four kids. I tell him about my adventures in the Middle East. We connect on one point. His daughter is involved in Young Life, an organization I am involved with as well. He tells me about living in Montana and the decision to move to Seattle. No surprise, there are a lot more cars in Seattle than there are in Missoula—which means a lot more business for him. After 45 minutes, we drive across the Narrows Bridge and soon we are at Graff’s Automotive. I get out of the car. Dad picks me up. I say goodbye to the truck driver and we head our separate ways. Oh the stories of the open road.