North Carolina: where the trip began · Tennessee and Arkansas: stories · Oklahoma and Texas: drove through, with a whole-trip reflection · New Mexico: stories · Arizona: 6 stories · California: 4 stories — Joshua Tree
I left early this morning to get ahead of the storm coming up from Mexico toward Santa Fe. The plan was to find somewhere safe to park and work East Coast hours. On the muddy road out of the campground, the F-150 and camper started sliding into the ditch.
I tried the recovery boards for about 45 minutes before calling insurance for a tow. I also texted my boss to let him know I had an emergency and didn’t know when I would be able to work that day.
Insurance was having trouble finding someone, so I started calling tow companies myself. While the recovery was being arranged, I kept digging in the mud and rain, trying to clear a path for the truck. Every attempt to move it ended with more slipping. I spent more than two hours digging and waiting, and mud ended up on my clothes, my shoes, and inside the truck.
While we were texting, the tow driver asked for pictures. That was when he realized there was a camper attached. He had been told about the F-150 and wasn’t sure he could pull out the camper as well. I told him I would pay for the recovery and sort it out with insurance afterward. At that point, I just needed to get out.
When he arrived, I wasn’t convinced his truck could do it. He was more confident. He hooked us up and began pulling, but the truck slipped again and the camper went completely into the ditch.
He was driving backward while pulling me forward, so he couldn’t see where the ditch became level with the road. I pointed out a spot roughly 50 feet farther along where it looked easier to get us out. Once we were out of the ditch, he pulled the truck and camper about another 400 feet to stable ground before we settled the bill.
Then I had to walk back for the recovery boards. They normally weigh about 17 pounds each. Covered in mud, they felt like 40 or 50 pounds. I dragged them back to the truck.
The driver asked which way I was heading on I-40. When I told him west, he suggested a gas station around the corner where we could get under cover. We went there, and I paid him $280.
A pothole full of water became my attempt at a wash station for the boards and my Crocs. I know people must have been looking at me like I was nuts.
The whole thing took about five hours. I was exhausted. I had planned to drive to Phoenix after work, but I took PTO instead and booked an RV hookup spot at a Love’s, with electricity, water, and a dump station.
The plan now is to park, take what may turn into an hour-long shower, clean some of the mud out of the truck, do laundry, turn on the heat, and watch some TV. Everything I’m wearing is filthy.
The Guy Behind the Desk
