As a collector, I’ve hauled wood-wheeled wagons and stages all over the U.S., from California and Delaware to the Dakotas, Texas and countless other places in between. Most of the time, the journeys have gone off without a hitch. However, over the years, there have been some tense moments that changed the way I look at traveling – especially when it comes to pulling a trailer with cargo.
Due to the extent of this subject, this week’s complete post is too long for the blog section. As a result, you can find the entirety of this story within the Wheels That Won The West® Article section. Please see the story entitled, “On The Road Again: Travel Tips For Collectors,” in our collection of original Articles.
With that said, below is just one of the points I covered in this week’s write-up about traveling and towing. It covers a topic that can be easily overlooked or categorized as unimportant. From my perspective, it’s so significant that, whatever you do in preparing for a road trip, it’s important that you NEVER TRAVEL ALONE...
Using well-lit and well-trafficked gas stations can offer added peace of mind.
Safety should be of the utmost priority anytime you’re on the road. So many things can happen and, unfortunately, sometimes do. Lonely roads, poorly lit gas stations and rest stops, road rage driving, sudden engine or transmission issues, dodging road debris, and even dealing with excessive fatigue can all lead to problems we’re ill-prepared to handle without help.
One of my more harrowing yet educational moments on the road +happened roughly a decade ago. I was on an extended trip and traveling by myself. I had broken several of my cardinal rules, including a pledge to always refuel at or near the half-tank mark. Now, the lack of attentiveness had led me to a remote portion of interstate with minimal traffic and no cell service. The sun was sinking, and I needed gas in the worst way. In short, I was in trouble and began to pray for a station. Mile after mile came and went with no hope in sight. I had turned off the air conditioner and was babying the speed. Finally, after fearing the engine might begin sputtering at any moment, I topped a small hill and off to the left was a tiny, near-deserted gas stop that looked like something from the 1940’s. No other signs of life were anywhere in view. I hit the offramp and breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was a short-lived celebration, though. After inserting my credit card and paying for the gas, I noticed the digital dial was barely moving. Click. Wait. Click. Wait, wait. Click. After a few minutes of gas barely trickling, I think I’d racked up about sixty cents worth of fuel. I hung up the hose and reset the pump. Once again, I waited as the gas slowly seeped from the nozzle. At this rate, it would take at least an hour to fill the tank. Plan B required me to abandon the first pump and back up to the only other one. This time, everything worked, and the fuel flowed freely. Finally, things were looking better or at least I thought. It was about then that an old station wagon came roaring in from a dirt side road. A cloud of dust enveloped the machine creating a brown wall that swallowed everything in its path. As simply as I can put it, the car made Clark Griswold’s family truckster look like a multi-million dollar Bugatti hypercar. The rough, rusty, dirty and dented shell of this beast was beyond startling and the appearance of its two occupants was equally disturbing. The whole scene was starting to feel like something out of a Mad Max movie.
As the old beater came to a stop, the men parked right next to me but on the other side of the single, two-pump island. Immediately, both guys got out and the passenger went inside. The driver grabbed the slow hose I’d given up on and began to pump gas. The meter on that previously non-functioning pump roared to life and gas gushed through the hose.The thing didn’t even stutter start! Why was that pump now working flawlessly? As I pondered that shift in events, the driver of the other car tried to chat me up, unpacking story after story of the small animal gun safari the pair had supposedly just been on. I was doing my best to show disinterest in the disheveled stranger until he suddenly stopped talking and leaned over toward me. Looking at my truck, he said, “Hey, are you traveling alone?” I’m not sure I’ve ever had the hair on my neck stand up so quickly, but that kind of out-of-the-blue question rocketed my senses into high alert. Nonetheless, I ignored his query, pretending to be focused on the pump and not really listening. He rattled on a little longer about killing this and tracking that.Then, once again, he stopped and asked the same question. This time, he took on an even more pointed focus and now, there was no mistaking or ignoring the question. Without making eye contact, I casually responded that my buddy had pulled over just up the road and was waiting on me. Of course, I had no such fellow traveler and, on top of that, I had gotten away without my sidearm. In fact, the only trigger I was able to put my finger on right then was the one on the fuel hose. I pressed it harder, hoping to accelerate the flow and get out of Dodge.
Eventually, the man’s partner came back outside. They both looked as if they hadn’t showered or shaved in a month of Sundays. I took a deep breath as they got in their rattletrap to leave. But then something else happened. They didn’t leave! Watching out of the corner of my eye, they pulled about thirty yards away, into a dry, dirt-filled, empty lot next to the station. Pointing their car toward the side road, they immediately began doing something in the front seat. I couldn’t see what they were up to. Maybe they were unwrapping a pair of candy bars, but I didn’t think so – and still don’t. It was now near dusk, and I was about to leave the solitary station to get on an equally secluded highway. I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting and being too paranoid. As I pulled the receipt from the pump, my heart was pounding but there was only one direction I could go. I felt safer on the move rather than being boxed in around an isolated station with no phone service or business traffic.
As I pulled out, the old family wagon wasted no time and immediately pulled right in behind me. Tucked close behind my trailer, the two strangers tracked me back to the lonely interstate. Now, my mind was racing, and I felt no doubt as to the nefarious intents. As I approached the onramp, they turned with me. I floored the truck, pushing the fresh fuel into the injection ports and forcing the pistons into heavy labor. The enclosed trailer was fast-tracking to keep up behind me. I was hoping to get settled in with some other traffic. Unfortunately, the road was completely abandoned. I traveled a couple miles and despite the excessive speed, I could only manage to hold about a quarter mile lead. I wasn’t shaking them but it was a race I couldn’t afford to lose. Even so, at this pace, the transmission was going to get hot in a hurry. Then, just as I topped the next hill, an offramp appeared and low-and-behold, a pickup truck was sitting at the bottom of it. In a split-second decision, I took a chance and shot off the road, hurtling down the ramp and pulling up to the truck in front of me. Staring in my side mirror, I noticed the old wagon slow down but still continue on the interstate, perhaps seeing that I was no longer alone. The truck on the offramp then turned onto a sideroad and disappeared. After waiting a few minutes, I gathered my nerves and reentered the interstate. Again, no traffic. Settling back into legal highway speeds, I strained my eyes toward the darkening westward horizon. I was on high alert. Would they be stopped, waiting somewhere? Still no traffic but, after traveling a few miles, I saw a car headed in my direction. As it got closer, can you guess what I saw coming back on the other side of the grassy median? You got it! The same ultra-rough, crusty station wagon. They had circled back and were now east bound. I pushed the accelerator harder, unafraid of a speeding ticket. In fact, I would have welcomed the sight of law enforcement. The dusk of that late summer afternoon quickly faded into night, and I never saw the duo again. I remain convinced of multiple miracles that day. The uneasy moments were another reminder of the value of a traveling companion and the security of a cc permit. In multiple ways, I no longer make any road trips alone.
As I’ve just shared, travel challenges can come in all sizes. Did I imagine the whole scenario above? No. Was it what I believe it to have been? Some might argue the point but there were too many coincidences to overlook. Whatever a person believes, it’s typically best to be prepared for the worst while looking forward to the best experiences. From helping with navigation, accommodations, and exploring alternate travel routes as well as locating upcoming gas stations and eateries or even general conversation, good traveling companions can be important assets on every journey. Have a great week and stay safe!