Road Trip to Seattle (Part 2)

…continued from Road Trip to Seattle (Part 1)

Potentially stranded in a snow storm, on the side of a West Virginian highway, my silver lining at this point was the fact that there were no other cars or people involved in the accident. With the exception of the rusted red pick-up truck that was pulling over on the side of the road near my crash, the highway was empty.  From where I was standing, inspecting my damaged car, I could see that the man in the car met the West Virginian stereotype.  He sported a burly woodsman beard, frazzled gray hair under a John Deere baseball cap, a red and black plaid flannel jacket with a gray t-shirt underneath, and was about 50 pounds overweight.

“Are you alright?” he asked, with a paternal smile.

“Yeah. Yeah – I’m not hurt.  I hit a patch of ice coming off the bridge back there,” I answered, almost apologetically. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Guilty. I was going 70mph in a snow storm.  What the hell was I thinking?

“Hop in.  Let me take you to a garage to get your car towed.”

Um – really? I’m supposed to get in the car with this guy? Everything I had been taught about talking to strangers since I was 3-years-old sang like a gospel choir in my head.  But everything I had learned about listening to your gut since the time I started college resonated on another spectrum throughout my body.  “No.  Thank you.  I need to stay with my stuff.”

“You can’t stay out here in the storm,” he prodded – or was he honestly trying to talk some sense into my obviously shocked state of mind?

There were two excited Australian shepherds in the cab with him.  He glanced down at a car phone in the passenger’s seat next to him and offered it to me.  This I could do.  There were three people I desperately wanted to talk to – my parents and Michael.  Although I don’t remember the conversation with either of them, I know that they were both mad – at me and my predicament.  I got a whopping sympathetic “What are you doing, Cortney?” from all of them.  But they did not offer a solution.  The storm was not letting up, it was now dark, and my options were this:  either stay with my stuff and wait out the storm until morning on the side of the road in sub-20-degree temperature, or put my life in the hands of a complete stranger in the middle of West Virginia.

I got in the red truck with the burly bearded woodsman.

We only had to drive to the next exit to find a garage.  The woodsman walked me into the garage and waited with me until he knew I was taken care of.  Before he left, he gave me a bear hug.

The tow truck driver from the garage and I made our way back to my car to get it out of the ditch.  My car was kept at the garage overnight to make sure it was able to be driven, and to tape up the shattered rear window.  He drove me to a nearby hotel for the night, and offered to pick me up the next morning to bring me back to the garage to pick up my car.

I approached the hotel check-in desk with a small overnight bag in one arm, and my day planner in the other.  In that instant, my head pounded and my heart sank.  I realized in a flash that I had left my wallet – with $700 cash in it (every penny to my name, mind you) – sitting on the passenger’s seat in my car, which was now in the hands of the tired and surely-cantankerous garage workers.  I was able to book my room with the emergency credit card that I had stored in my day planner.  But what am I going to do for cash for the rest of my trip?  What about when I get to Seattle?  It seemed like a fairly grim prospect that the men at the garage would not take my wallet.

As soon as I got to my room, I called Mom and Dad to let them know I was ok.  I relieved my stress and conjured their sympathy with a good cry.  I received the lecture that you would expect, and that I deserved.  Then I called Michael.  Unlike my parents, he did not offer condolences over my misfortune – his lecture was harsh.  “Cortney, what are you doing?  You don’t have a job when you get there, you don’t have a place to live, and now your car is wrecked.”  Yes, all very good points.  I really didn’t know what I was doing.

As I tried to fall asleep that night, my mind was racing.  I was worrying about everything I could possibly worry about – my wrecked car, my auto insurance, the cost of fixing my car, my stolen wallet, my move to Seattle, my boyfriend hating me, my parents disowning me, the West Virginian police knocking down my door and arresting me for ruining a highway road sign…

The next morning, the man from the garage picked me up in my car (yes, it was driveable!).  They duct-taped a garbage bag across the back window.  It was now a ghetto-mobile, but I was confident it would make it to Seattle.  Oh – and sure enough, my wallet was sitting, untouched, on the passenger seat of the car.  All $700 accounted for.

The storm was over, but the few flurries made me gun-shy to drive any faster than 30 mph.  A half-hour in, I stopped at a diner to eat breakfast, drink coffee, and get my head together.  I finally made it to Kentucky that day without any other unexpected detours, and seeing Michael and knowing that he would be with me for the rest of the trip made me feel like I was now swimming in a mug of hot chocolate.