When I arrived in California to pick up my motor-home I realized that my prayers had been answered – just not exactly as I had planned (that’s a clue folks! be very careful what and how you ask for something. That was also before my introduction to the TMHG).
I had asked for a “top of the line coach that was worth around $60k, but that cost less than $10k” and that is exactly what I got. Sometimes my guides have a wicked sense of humor. In its day this motor home was the top of the line motor home. It was the one that everyone came out to look at when it pulled into an RV park and it had cost around $60k in its day. But its day was 22 years passed ‘its day’ when I acquired it. Its value had decreased exponentially, hence the “under $10k” part of my request.
It had been well cared for and had been well made (back in its day) and everything still worked. Well, most everything worked. Unbeknownst to me, the drive shaft was a bit tired. It decided to call it quits as I was heading north on I-15 near San Bernardino. It simply fell off and landed in the middle of the interstate. Minor detail.
After getting towed back to San Diego, the seller grudgingly fixed it for me. Thank goodness California has that blessed Lemon Law.
Three times I had tried to head north and three times something went wrong that pulled me back to San Diego. The drive shaft really got my attention and I decided it might be best to choose another direction. I had three to choose from except for the fact that west of San Diego is Pacific Ocean. South would put me in Tiajuana, but I don’t speak Spanish. East was my last choice. I had just driven from the east coast to the west coast, so east was the last direction I wanted to head, but I was out of options.
Oh, well. I had a friend in Arizona that I had threatened to come and visit on this adventure. As I crossed the Arizona border I remembered she was in Kansas at her daughter’s wedding, so I called and left her a message on her answering machine (this was pre cell phone/voice mail) telling her I was in Arizona. After sightseeing for a while I headed in to New Mexico and spent the night in Gallup, the heart of Navajo country.
The next morning I was determined to drive at least 150 miles.
Grants, New Mexico is 75 miles from Gallup. The exit called to me and I took it. (75 is one half of 150, I reminded myself). It was rapidly becoming apparent to me that *I* was not in charge of this adventure.
By this time a couple of weeks had passed since I left my Arizona buddy a message. I decided to call and see if she was back from Kansas yet. I dialed her number. When she answered the phone and found out it was me, my reception was not exactly what I expected.
“Where the ****** are you? I’ve been worried sick about you! I’ve been expecting you to pull into my driveway for two weeks! Are you ok?” and so on.
When she stopped I told her I was in Grants.
She asked if I was joking and I said no.
“Where in Grants?”
“In an RV park on Hwy 53.”
Again she asked if I was joking and again I told her I was not.
“The people I want you to spend the summer with are one hour from Grants off Hwy 53 in Ramah,” she said.
She had mentioned something about friends who wanted me to come stay with them for the summer, but I had dismissed the idea. I didn’t know these people and did not relish the thought of spending an entire summer with strangers. Plus I thought they were in Utah and Utah is north of Arizona.
Of all the places I could have stopped, to have ‘accidentally’ chosen the very road they lived off of and only one hour away from them, I knew this was no ordinary guidance. It turned out to be one of the best summers of my life.
to be continued