Crying Solves Everything: Part 1

What can you learn from a broke down car, a blind mechanic, and a exhausting 40+ hour trip in winter over icy roads? I could probably make something inspiring up, for I do have quite the imagination. Alas, I really don't know for sure. At least, I can't pinpoint just one thing that can be learned from those three things. Maybe patience, humility, and gratitude. But, the lesson that we all must learn and accept at some point in our lives is this . . . crying solves everything!

We had quite the adventurous holiday this year. I know you are all clambering to hear it and I am in desperation to tell you. Here it is, the short version.

It all started out like any Christmas trip. We loaded up the car with snacks, books on CD, blankets, and all the necessities. Which I assure you were many. Thus, the car was packed, jam packed. I actually really enjoy a good road trip. I like the time I get to spend one on one with my husband and it gives us a chance to just sit and talk. Even though Bryce would preferr a good book on CD, he indulges my love of conversation occasionally. We were headed to Idaho for Christmas to spend it with the Jolley Family. Then, on to Montana for New Years. The beginning of our trip went so perfect, it couldn't have gone better. We got to Idaho in high spirits and ready for some merriment. Idaho was wonderful and we both had a tremendous Christmas. Then, on our way to Montana. There seemed to be no reason why this trip shouldn't be just as peachy as the first. Oh me, oh my, were we wrong.

We had been experiencing some trouble with the heat in our car. Winter isn't a good time for someone to experience some trouble with the hear it the car. I don't have to tell you why, you all know. But, we passed it off as a small problem and opted to fill the car with new anti-freeze and be off. So, we were off. 6:30 a.m. we were loaded, again, and out on the open road. Again.

Idaho received quite the amount of snow this year and it was in love with the roads. It stuck to it like flies to a horse. It was packed to the pavement from constant use and ICE was what we were driving on. Still, we had planned on some poor road conditions and traveling a little slower than normal isn't the end of the world. The roads continued to be icy for most of our trip to Montana. We had just gotten into Bozeman Montana when I smelled something peculiar. I asked Bryce what the smell could be and he said that it smelled a little like anti-freeze. A short while later we were stopped at the side of the road, our car overheating, pouring water in the coolant resevoir.

Now, one thing we can say about the people in Montana. You don't have to be stopped for very long before someone, or two or three someones, is stopping to ask if you need any help. However, the car seemed to cool down and we went on our way. Not twenty miles down the road, and we were over heating again. We poured the last of our water into the resevoir and then started to worry. Two trucks stopped to offer assistance this time and we were hoping to just get to the nearest town without blowing up. We made it. A small town called Reed Point.

Now, the expression "small town" may not mean much to some of you who are from the cities. You may think a small town is a town with maybe one Wal-Mart, a half dozen fast food restaurants and a few nice quiet subdivisions. And that may be the case somewhere other than Montana. In Montana, a small town, an actual small town, consists usually of a gas station, a bar, a school, a church, and some houses. Anywhere from 200-500 occupants is norm. And Reed Point was luckily, so we thought, on the 500 side of the population scale. There has to be a mechanic here right? RIGHT!

The gas station attendant told Bryce, "Sure, the mechanic lives just two houses down." Pointing down the road in some direction. "His name is Dean. Just knock on his door. If he doesn't answer, he is out back in he shop."
Bryce readily thanked her. But, she continued to speak.
"He really knows his stuff," she exclaimed. "But, he is blind."

To Be Coninued . . .