Trapped in Lone Pine
Second part of a story posted Dec. 12
By James Donahue
After our harrowing experience following a breakdown of our car in Death Valley, my daughter Jennifer and I found ourselves trapped in Lone Pine, California. What happened there is the second half of the story.
Lone Pine is a resort town because it lies right at the base of Mt. Whitney, one of the highest peaks in North America. Looming majestically over head at 14,492 feet above sea level, it was difficult to believe such a monster mountain would stand so close to the hell pit called Death Valley. But such are the extreme contrasts in the mountainous regions of the Western United States. That mountain, and the entire range of lesser snow-capped giants comprising the great Sierra Range, made the area among the most beautiful I have ever witnessed. The only range in the United States that might top its beauty is the Grand Tetons, far to the north.
For us, the grandeur of this place, however, was marred by the fact that Jennifer and I were left trapped there, with a limited amount of cash but luckily some reserve in a credit card I happened to be carrying. I calculated that once I knew what the cost of the repair of our car was going to be, I had to decide whether to go ahead with a new transmission or consider replacing our eight-year-old vehicle. There were no new or used car dealerships in the town. We couldn't even find a used car for sale in front of someone's house. And we seemed to be about a hundred miles away from anyone or any place that might sell us a car. That we had an auto repair shop in the area was about our only chance of getting out of that town.
It was a long and frustrating wait. There were various telephone conversations with both my wife Doris, back in Mesa and our son Aaron in El Soreto, who had no better advice than to have patience and wait for the car to get fixed. Finally it was Monday morning when the repair shop opened again. I waited until just before noon to give the mechanics time to check the car, determine the extent of the damage, and prepare an estimate on the cost of the repair. Finally, unable to wait any longer, Jennifer and I set off on the long walk out to the garage which was a mile or more away. The mechanic said it was going to be expensive. If I remember, the price was something around two thousand dollars for a rebuilt transmission, labor and getting picked up in the middle of Death Valley. I reasoned that this money was almost enough to buy another car of equal value, but because there were no other cars to be had at the moment, I approved the work. That was when he told us that the transmission would have to be shipped from Los Angeles and that it would take another day to get it to Lone Pine. At best, he said, the car would be ready for us sometime on Wednesday. In the meantime, the mechanic wanted some money down before he ordered the transmission. He would not take my credit card.
I was seething with anger as we walked in the hot California sun back into town. But I got myself under control. I knew I had to keep a cool head. There was only one way to get this money and it meant going to the local bank and talking the banker into drawing cash from that credit card. I knew that might be difficult because, even though there was a plenty of credit available on the card, I was a stranger in town. I recalled a situation a few years earlier when the family was caught in Los Angeles because we were out of cash and the local banks would not cash our traveler's checks. I had one banker actually tell me that I needed to establish an account with the bank before they would cash a hundred-dollar check. I imagined that same kind of crazy logic hitting us in a place like Lone Pine.
I took a shower, made myself look as presentable as possible, put on my best clothes, and walked to the bank located about three blocks from the motel. After I explained my situation, the bank made a call to my credit card company and agreed to draw the needed amount of cash. I walked back to the garage and put the required deposit down on the repair order. Now all we could do was wait for another two days. It seemed incredible that we were in such a situation. Jennifer was especially frustrated because she saw her week of summer break being stolen from her.
That afternoon our situation became more interesting. Jennifer was getting stir crazy and decided to explore the town in search of someone who might drive us to a place where we could shop for a different car. She also thought the price for the transmission work was too high and that by buying a car, we could escape our unexpected prison. She returned about an hour later with a young man named James who also was in trouble. He came to Lone Pine from some distant town, several hundred miles away, to surrender to the police. Apparently James learned that a warrant had been issued for his arrest over an unpaid traffic ticket and he came to town with plans to spend some time in jail. What was crazy about his story was that the people at the police station said they couldn't handle his case told him to come back later. Thus he was left on the street, with no money and no place to go. What he had that we lacked, however, was a car.
We made a deal with James. We let him sleep on the floor of our motel room that night in exchange for a tour of the area. He had an old Honda, if I recall. It wasn't in the best repair, but it took us up the steep road into the Sierra Mountains, in the shadow of Mt. Whitney. We had to stop a few times when the engine overheated, but we eventually reached an area high on the mountain where we found a wonderful park with walking trails. We spent the rest of the day hiking the trails, enjoying the scenery, and having a great time. Afterwards, we ended up at a pizza place in Lone Pine where we celebrated with pizza and beer.
On Tuesday James drove us to the garage to rescue some more of our personal things in the car. He planned to bring everything back to our motel before trundling off to the police station. James was a pleasant man and Jennifer and I both thought it sad that he was going to have to go to jail. James, however, didn't seem to mind. He had an unusual outlook on life and seemed to take each day as it came. He actually taught us something important about patience and learning how to deal with the strange situation we were in. I have since determined that nothing happens to us by chance. There is a design to our lives. Every event is either a test or a lesson in spiritual growth. The last thing I ever expect to do is allow fear to overpower me. Our escape from the desert was a perfect example of the way forces provide. This boy already understood this and he was barely old enough to be served a beer in that pizza place.
When we got to the garage we got more bad news. The mechanic said something happened to the shipment and our transmission did not arrive as expected. He said somebody made a mistake and sent it on the wrong truck and in the wrong direction. Consequently, there was going to be a wait of at least another two days before it arrived. The car probably would not be ready until the end of the week. The mechanic knew our frustration and offered a solution, however. He said his wife was driving that afternoon to Ridgecrest, about a hundred miles to our south. He said there was an airport there where we could rent a car. It was a solution. Another unexpected expense, but it was a way out of our dilemma. We agreed to go to Ridgecrest.
By mid-afternoon we were in Ridgecrest and I was flashing that credit card over the counter at a car rental agency. Within minutes we had our bags loaded in a nice, compact little four-door sedan that smelled like a new car. Since we were so far south, we took the mountain roads west to Bakersfield, then followed Highway 99 north toward San Francisco. We didn't stop until we arrived at El Cereto late that night.
Second part of a story posted Dec. 12
By James Donahue
After our harrowing experience following a breakdown of our car in Death Valley, my daughter Jennifer and I found ourselves trapped in Lone Pine, California. What happened there is the second half of the story.
Lone Pine is a resort town because it lies right at the base of Mt. Whitney, one of the highest peaks in North America. Looming majestically over head at 14,492 feet above sea level, it was difficult to believe such a monster mountain would stand so close to the hell pit called Death Valley. But such are the extreme contrasts in the mountainous regions of the Western United States. That mountain, and the entire range of lesser snow-capped giants comprising the great Sierra Range, made the area among the most beautiful I have ever witnessed. The only range in the United States that might top its beauty is the Grand Tetons, far to the north.
For us, the grandeur of this place, however, was marred by the fact that Jennifer and I were left trapped there, with a limited amount of cash but luckily some reserve in a credit card I happened to be carrying. I calculated that once I knew what the cost of the repair of our car was going to be, I had to decide whether to go ahead with a new transmission or consider replacing our eight-year-old vehicle. There were no new or used car dealerships in the town. We couldn't even find a used car for sale in front of someone's house. And we seemed to be about a hundred miles away from anyone or any place that might sell us a car. That we had an auto repair shop in the area was about our only chance of getting out of that town.
It was a long and frustrating wait. There were various telephone conversations with both my wife Doris, back in Mesa and our son Aaron in El Soreto, who had no better advice than to have patience and wait for the car to get fixed. Finally it was Monday morning when the repair shop opened again. I waited until just before noon to give the mechanics time to check the car, determine the extent of the damage, and prepare an estimate on the cost of the repair. Finally, unable to wait any longer, Jennifer and I set off on the long walk out to the garage which was a mile or more away. The mechanic said it was going to be expensive. If I remember, the price was something around two thousand dollars for a rebuilt transmission, labor and getting picked up in the middle of Death Valley. I reasoned that this money was almost enough to buy another car of equal value, but because there were no other cars to be had at the moment, I approved the work. That was when he told us that the transmission would have to be shipped from Los Angeles and that it would take another day to get it to Lone Pine. At best, he said, the car would be ready for us sometime on Wednesday. In the meantime, the mechanic wanted some money down before he ordered the transmission. He would not take my credit card.
I was seething with anger as we walked in the hot California sun back into town. But I got myself under control. I knew I had to keep a cool head. There was only one way to get this money and it meant going to the local bank and talking the banker into drawing cash from that credit card. I knew that might be difficult because, even though there was a plenty of credit available on the card, I was a stranger in town. I recalled a situation a few years earlier when the family was caught in Los Angeles because we were out of cash and the local banks would not cash our traveler's checks. I had one banker actually tell me that I needed to establish an account with the bank before they would cash a hundred-dollar check. I imagined that same kind of crazy logic hitting us in a place like Lone Pine.
I took a shower, made myself look as presentable as possible, put on my best clothes, and walked to the bank located about three blocks from the motel. After I explained my situation, the bank made a call to my credit card company and agreed to draw the needed amount of cash. I walked back to the garage and put the required deposit down on the repair order. Now all we could do was wait for another two days. It seemed incredible that we were in such a situation. Jennifer was especially frustrated because she saw her week of summer break being stolen from her.
That afternoon our situation became more interesting. Jennifer was getting stir crazy and decided to explore the town in search of someone who might drive us to a place where we could shop for a different car. She also thought the price for the transmission work was too high and that by buying a car, we could escape our unexpected prison. She returned about an hour later with a young man named James who also was in trouble. He came to Lone Pine from some distant town, several hundred miles away, to surrender to the police. Apparently James learned that a warrant had been issued for his arrest over an unpaid traffic ticket and he came to town with plans to spend some time in jail. What was crazy about his story was that the people at the police station said they couldn't handle his case told him to come back later. Thus he was left on the street, with no money and no place to go. What he had that we lacked, however, was a car.
We made a deal with James. We let him sleep on the floor of our motel room that night in exchange for a tour of the area. He had an old Honda, if I recall. It wasn't in the best repair, but it took us up the steep road into the Sierra Mountains, in the shadow of Mt. Whitney. We had to stop a few times when the engine overheated, but we eventually reached an area high on the mountain where we found a wonderful park with walking trails. We spent the rest of the day hiking the trails, enjoying the scenery, and having a great time. Afterwards, we ended up at a pizza place in Lone Pine where we celebrated with pizza and beer.
On Tuesday James drove us to the garage to rescue some more of our personal things in the car. He planned to bring everything back to our motel before trundling off to the police station. James was a pleasant man and Jennifer and I both thought it sad that he was going to have to go to jail. James, however, didn't seem to mind. He had an unusual outlook on life and seemed to take each day as it came. He actually taught us something important about patience and learning how to deal with the strange situation we were in. I have since determined that nothing happens to us by chance. There is a design to our lives. Every event is either a test or a lesson in spiritual growth. The last thing I ever expect to do is allow fear to overpower me. Our escape from the desert was a perfect example of the way forces provide. This boy already understood this and he was barely old enough to be served a beer in that pizza place.
When we got to the garage we got more bad news. The mechanic said something happened to the shipment and our transmission did not arrive as expected. He said somebody made a mistake and sent it on the wrong truck and in the wrong direction. Consequently, there was going to be a wait of at least another two days before it arrived. The car probably would not be ready until the end of the week. The mechanic knew our frustration and offered a solution, however. He said his wife was driving that afternoon to Ridgecrest, about a hundred miles to our south. He said there was an airport there where we could rent a car. It was a solution. Another unexpected expense, but it was a way out of our dilemma. We agreed to go to Ridgecrest.
By mid-afternoon we were in Ridgecrest and I was flashing that credit card over the counter at a car rental agency. Within minutes we had our bags loaded in a nice, compact little four-door sedan that smelled like a new car. Since we were so far south, we took the mountain roads west to Bakersfield, then followed Highway 99 north toward San Francisco. We didn't stop until we arrived at El Cereto late that night.