Deciding to go into town, I turn the key to start the car. Nothing.
Already it’s happened: As much as I love my new adapter that charges my laptop from the car battery, already I have drained the battery with it.
I’m outside town, on a rough road requiring 4WD. No address. No road name.
Options: Walk out to the “main” dirt road and wait for a passerby and ask for help. With dogs in tow. People would not take kindly to being asked to drive a mile on this lousy road, nor to the time it would take. No, that is not a favor I can ask of anyone.
I call a local auto shop. “So.” I begin. I pause. “Yes?” “My battery is dead. I’m camping outside town. The road I’m on would require a 4WD truck, but not too big a truck.” “Ah ha,” he says. “Can you help me?” “I can leave now.”
I walk through the meadow to the end of the road to meet him. I experienced halting speech while on the phone, and it was particularly awkward giving him directions. “From the end of the…path…you can probably…follow my car’s…[what is that word?! I think]…prints…but it gets windy toward the end so I’ll meet you.”
Later I think: car prints? Ah, finally the word comes: car tracks.
As he attaches the jump cables I forage my purse for my credit card. It’s not in my wallet. It’s not in the outside pockets. I search the whole purse. Damn! I tell him I must have left it at a local convenience store yesterday since that’s the only place I’ve used it. I assure him I will bring it in to his shop. “You’ve got my phone, and my name, right?” He doesn’t seem concerned. Another benefit of small town living.