Long Walk Home

The day started with the usual routine: Jinx awakened me by sticking his nose into my ear and snorfeling and snarfeling around like a Texas javelina, we made coffee, fed the dogs, got showered and dressed. Off to work, and everything was calm until a few miles from my office. That’s when the car started vibrating, pitching and yawing.

Oh, man, I thought. Flat tire.

But I happened to glance down at the dashboard and saw the Check Engine light flashing on and off like a strobe light at Studio54 in 1978. I’m no mechanic, but I know enough to realize that when that particular light is blinking, it’s bad news. As in very expensive bad news.

The vibrations subsided when I was level ground and the engine light stopped blinking, but stayed on steadily. I made it to my office and texted my wife to let her know what was going on. Then I headed straight to my desk and put the vehicle symptoms into a search engine. The most likely candidate was a bad catalytic converter, which is indeed quite costly. There were several things I needed to take care of today, so I got down to business so that I could leave work before noon, hopefully to have the vehicle looked at and at least diagnosed before the weekend began. My only sticking point was how to get home once I got to the garage; my wife was miles away and unable to return just at that time.

Our mechanic, a lean, laconic family man who runs a pretty tight ship at his garage, has a towing service at his business. I called him to see if he could send the truck out to pick me up, but he explained that the truck was out on a job at a remote location and might not be back until almost closing time. “But based on what you told me, if the shaking stopped and the light’s not still going on and off, it’s probably safe for you to drive it here. That way we could take a look at it before the end of the day.”

Chances weighed, risks assessed, prayers offered. I told my coworkers I would see them on Monday and headed out to the parking lot, where my car sat beneath my favorite little bird-sheltering tree. I unlocked her, then placed my hand on the hood.

Blessed Mother, I whispered, I won’t ask that my car miraculously be repaired. What I will ask is that you pray for me, that you ask Christ to give me the grace to calmly accept whatever happens and whatever it costs to fix it. Beloved Maid, Saint Joan, pray for me, pray that my mind would be clear and decisive and calm. Through Christ our Lord, amen.

The engine light began to flash and the vibration returned only once during the twenty minute trip to the garage, which is located at the foot of our mountain. It was when I was on a rather steep incline for about a quarter of a mile, and the car slowed so much, I worried it was going to stall. My fingers were embedded in the steering wheel for the rest of the drive. I breathed a prayer of thanks as I pulled into a spot outside the garage. Finding the owner/head mechanic, I gave him the keys and my cell phone number. “I’ll call you,” he told me.

I made a fairly big show of announcing that I’d better get started walking home. Up the mountain. About seven miles away. I received a smile and a nod from the owner and one of the other mechanics, and they turned back to continue looking over a Jeep. So I started walking. Up the mountain. About seven miles away. At my advanced age. In a knifing wind and wearing uncomfortable shoes. Well, then….at least I had on a good wool coat.

My mind was smooth and I was certain that someone would stop and offer me a ride, so I settled into a steady rhythm, leaning into the incline and watching my tempo, not wanting to go too hard too fast. My earbuds were in my coat pocket, so I stuck them in my phone and brought up an Ann Barnhardt podcast I’d been listening to the other day. The wind was rough but the sun was out, and my coat had a hood if I needed it.

Cars sped past in both directions. I watched them from behind my sunglasses; no one showed any sign of slowing or even noticing the geezer on the side of the road. Perhaps twenty minutes up the road, I heard a car approaching behind me. It suddenly roared with quick acceleration as if the driver had floored it. And that’s when the bottle came sailing past my right ear, barely missing my head.

It was one of those large plastic bottles of some sort of sports drink. It struck the embankment to my right with a heavy thud, confirming my instinctive assessment that if it had hit my head, I would be in the hurt locker. The vehicle zoomed on past me, an old red Dodge truck with three twentysomething males in it. They seemed to be laughing and having a grand time on an early Friday afternoon. Up around the curve and they were gone.

I was much more wary now that I had been informed that the roadside redneck rodeo was in session. I kept waiting for something else to happen, but no more cars menaced me, no more objects were thrown. But I was still wary.

It’s interesting to walk along a highway and see all the things that are beneath one’s notice when one is driving. In the ditches, I saw a large variety of dead animals, including a doe and later a fawn, two raccoons, a possum, perhaps a dozen sparrows and starlings, a skunk (quite dessicated, mercifully), and a groundhog. In the seven miles, I strolled beside several stretches of guardrail, and noticed that large metal washers and some bolts were plentiful, probably from when the rails were first installed. I made a mental note that I could save some money in the future if I need any washers; I could probably have filled a medium-sized grocery bag with the things.

Not quite halfway, I passed the waterfall that I see every day driving to and from work. A few days ago when the rains were heavy, the waterfall was a rampaging thing to see. By today, it had calmed down quite a bit. I took several photos, including the de rigueur selfie, but none of them captured the beauty and purity of the falls. It was like trying to take a photo of the moon; it looked so vivid and dramatic through my eyes, but the phone’s camera lens diminished the power of the sight. I trudged on.

More than an hour into my walk, the podcast was finished and I wasn’t in the mood to listen to anything else. My legs hurt. My feet hurt. The coat was heavy, but the wind was too frigid to allow me to shed it. I began to think of how good it was going to feel to arrive home and take off the work clothes and put on something soft, like my favorite flannel shirt and some worn corduroys. Time seemed to slow down, and I felt as if I were marching in place, or walking a treadmill.  How to pass them time? I was inspired to pray. What should I pray? How about the Rosary? I didn’t have a rosary with me, but I could count the Ave Marias and decades on my fingers…why not? So I crossed myself and began.

What did I pray for? I announced my intentions for each decade, and I wanted to let you, my dear readers, know that I prayed for all of you. I prayed for my readers in general, but in particular for those of you who have left comments with your names or screen names. I prayed for each of you by name, your and your families’ salvation, health, protection, and prosperity. I prayed my way through my entire family, my wife’s family, for friends, for certain leaders, certain monasteries, and also for the people in Purgatory. I made a mental note to devote some time this weekend to saying the Office of the Dead from my Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary, to pray for the repose of the souls of several departed family members and friends.

As I neared the turnoff from the highway to the road that leads to our gravel road, my step got livelier, though my pace was slowing; I was growing quite tired. Still praying the Rosary, I was ticking off each Ave Maria with my fingers and thumbs. Just as I reached the turnoff for our road, I was beginning the sixth Ave Maria for that particular decade of prayer, and to indicate “six,” I jutted out my left thumb. Almost immediately, a car slowed and a smiling man leaned over and called to me.

“You need a ride?”

I laughed and asked him, “Where were you a couple of hours ago?” His smile faltered a bit, and I hastened to add, “I had to leave my car at a garage and have been walking for a couple of hours.” I pointed and continued, “I live right down there, off that first road, so I’m almost there. But I surely appreciate your offer.”

He shrugged. “Well, I saw your thumb and thought you was hitchin’.”

I waved when he drove away and stepped off the highway onto the county road. The Rosary is effective, even if the effects are not timely, I thought.

Between the highway and our home, I passed several local dogs who were out roaming their farms. Two in particular were lovely and friendly, and made me feel very welcome as I passed their section of gravel road. “My partner Jinx would love y’all,” I told them, caressing their soft heads and muzzles.

Finally, after two and a half hours of walking, I rounded the bend in the road near the little cemetery and there it was, the corridor of trees sheltering our driveway. I don’t think I was as tired during the whole walk as I was that last hundred yards. Jinx was very happy to see me so early in the day, and he raced around in the chilly sunshine to show his appreciation.

Until I got inside and began removing my outer layers, I hadn’t realized that I had sweated into my clothes. Time for a shower, I thought. Passing through the house, I let Dixee out into the back yard, then gathered my towels and washrags from my bathroom and took them to the laundry room so that I could do a load or two after my shower. A quick drink of water and a couple of grapes, and I called forth the hot water from the shower and stepped in, luxuriating in the scalding needles as they massaged me and cleansed me. It was bliss.

Until I turned off the water, opened the curtain, and realized that I had taken my towels to the laundry room but had failed to get any fresh ones from the linen closet. So there I stood, dripping and starting to get cold, with no towels. I looked down at the vanity counter. My favorite flannel shirt was there, with my other comfortable clothes. I shrugged, shook my head, and picked up the shirt. It was quite absorbent, albeit small, and did a serviceable job.

Later, after I dried off properly and got dressed, I went in search of something to eat. I passed by the front window and looked out to see Jinx, snoozing in the sun on the front porch. His paws and legs were twitching. He was running in his sleep.

No running for me, I thought, and went to put on the kettle.

~ S.K. Orr