Two Miracles

If you follow me on Facebook, you already know that I was the lucky recipient of not one, but two miracles last week. If not, or if you just want more details, here’s what happened.

Miracle #1

Scout and I were almost to our destination after driving most of the day from Yuma, Arizona. I had stopped outside of Tucson at a truck stop to take a shower, but was told the showers were closed. Oh well, I thought, I could take one the next day at the municipal pool in Douglas, my destination.

I was going to meet my friend, Linda May, at her homestead outside the small town on the Mexican border. Linda and her friend Gary were on their way from California, but they had to stop in Flagstaff and Phoenix first. They would be a couple of days. The plan was for all of us to stay in Douglas for a few weeks and then move to Taos, New Mexico.

The sun had gone down like a rock, leaving the sky pitch dark as I turned left onto Leslie Canyon Road, the last paved road before reaching Linda’s place. The speed limit was 45 and I could see red taillights ahead so I didn’t turn on my brights. I don’t remember those taillights disappearing but I will never forget the sudden appearance of two large cows, one brown and one black, seeming to rush right toward me. I slammed on the brakes but it was too late.

The van slammed into the black cow and stopped instantly

My seat belt held me in place but Scout hurtled forward, along with everything else in the van. I could see that she wasn’t hurt, just terrified. She tried to climb over me to get out but I couldn’t open the door. I heard the cow (I know, probably a steer) moo once or twice, out of sight, and then stop.

Within moments, I could see headlights in the side mirror. It was an SUV that appeared to pull over behind me. I tried to open the door again but it wouldn’t budge. My hands shook as I looked for the switch to turn on the flashers. I couldn’t remember, though I’d used it several times before. The SUV kept going, turning onto what must have been a road behind me. They probably didn’t even realize I had crashed.

Scout was panting, frantic to get out

When I turned to look behind her I could see why. There was no longer room for her anywhere but right next to me. Everything had been tossed forward: my camp chair that I used as an easy chair in the van; a plastic chest of drawers; a wooden set of shelves that served as my kitchen and pantry, destroyed in spite of being bolted to the floor; boxes and bags of stuff that I’d secured enough for driving, but not a head-on crash.

A police car arrived only a few minutes after I located my phone and called 911. By then, I’d remembered the flasher button was on top of the steering column. I told the deputy that I couldn’t open the door and asked him to take Scout out the passenger side so I could climb over the mess to get out myself. I grabbed my “shower” backpack, filled with a clean change of clothes, shampoo, toothbrush and paste, and clambered out of the van, looking back to see what was left of my life in it.

Once outside, I stared at the crushed front end, disbelieving.

Dorothy. That was her name

I’d decided to name the Chevy Express 3500 van after my late mother because I knew Mom would have loved to travel with me. It was a small way to bring her memory along for the ride.

I bought Dorothy four years ago, after my first van died in the desert near Ehrenberg, AZ. Scout was just a puppy then. Dorothy was the only home she’d ever known. It was her safe place. I knew that because any time something like a skateboarder or a garbage truck frightened her on a walk, she would practically drag me back to the van, jumping in as soon as I opened the door. She never willingly got in unless she was scared of something. She loved being outside as long as possible.

The van was my safe place too

I liked to call her my cocoon, my security blanket. When I was invited to go somewhere with friends, I always insisted on driving there instead of riding with others. I wouldn’t go anywhere without my van.

It’s silly how attached we can get to a big piece of machinery, but I’m more attached than ever now that Dorothy is a crumpled heap in a tow yard, never to be driven or lived in again. After the ER cleared me and I checked into a motel, I looked at the photo I’d taken right after the crash and realized with a start that she saved my life, or at least saved me from serious injury. Like my strong, solid mother who took care of and protected me as a child, Dorothy’s massive frame miraculously kept me safe.

And now I had lost my security. In a small way, it felt like I had lost my mother again.

I took a long, hot shower to loosen tight muscles, and thought of the wildfire victims who lost their homes last fall in Paradise, California. I began to have a glimmer of how they felt.

Then, help arrived

A fellow nomad named Jeff Fox was the first. He took me and Scout to the tow yard, where I got my first daylight look at Dorothy’s smashed front end. It was hard to believe that all this was real, but I couldn’t deny it now.

I crawled inside and tried to find a few things to take back to the motel: my phone charger, laptop (thankfully unharmed), dog food. Money was tight but I would have to pay for another night while I tried to figure out what to do next.

Friends began to contact me to offer help as soon as I posted the photo on Facebook. Larah and Chuck Ritchie, who I stayed with last summer in Washington state, even had a pizza delivered to my room. A Facebook friend offered to sell me her van for $1400. But she was a state away and I had no money.

Insurance would cover the van but I had no idea for how much or how long that would take. I was sure Dorothy was totaled. I looked up the Blue Book value of the van and called my lender to find out the van’s payoff. If insurance paid full value, I should have $7000 left after paying off the loan. Would that be enough to buy a van as reliable as Dorothy?

I went to bed and cried

I cried again the next morning, knowing I would have to check out soon and not knowing where I would live. More friends had offered to help, but right then all I could think was that I had lost a van that had never needed a repair, that had taken me to Canada and back, that I had planned to tow a small trailer with as soon as I could buy one with borrowed money.

Finally, I decided to rent a U-Haul van to live in and search for a replacement. I’d known of several people who did just that when they came to Quartzsite, AZ for RTR vandweller gatherings I try to go to every winter. My policy covered $30 a day for a car rental. I hoped it would pay the $20 U-Haul charge but if not, I would figure it out.

Having a plan felt better

Next, Jen Derge came from California in her converted GMC Vandura nicknamed The Manatee. I checked out of the motel and we went back to the tow yard where Jeff met us and helped unload as much of my stuff as we could carry to Linda’s place. I had felt crowded in the van for a long time, which was why I wanted a trailer, but I couldn’t believe how much stuff I had crammed into it. No wonder I felt so hemmed in.

The time frame is a jumble here. I don’t remember what came first, but eventually, Jen and I headed to Sierra Vista an hour away, to rent the U-Haul. On the way there, Jen hesitantly started to tell me something that seemed to be on her mind.

“I’m thinking,” she said slowly, “about giving you my van.” Miracle #2.

(…to be continued)