That being said, I made my grand escape from the res this morning! No, the car hadn’t been fixed yet. It did, however, start and run (albeit without taillights, turn signals, a charging battery or a working speedometer… amongst other things). I charged the battery overnight with Gerald’s wall charger, then loaded up early this morning and took off for the mechanic-laden town of Chadron, Nebraska.
I knew Shannon and her family would have let me stay longer, but I didn’t want to be any more of a burden and I was going stir crazy just sitting around the house for the past four days. I also concluded that it was time to seek some expert help on the car, and Chadron had a foreign car repair shop. I figured my Infiniti wouldn’t look to them like it came from another planet as it did to my mechanic friends on the res. I love and trust my res friends, but their experience was more or less limited to Fords and Chevies. At one point, Gerald spoke to his brother on the phone and told him about my electrical problems. I heard him say “I don’t know what kind of car it is… one of those expensive Japanese models.” Expensive? My ’93 Infiniti? Maybe 17 years and 130,000 miles ago…
Another perk of Chadron was that it was within range at 70 miles away. I estimated I could only drive about 150 miles before running out of gas because—get this—the electric button that opens the gas tank cover also didn’t work.
The drive was tense, to say the least. Fortunately, I only had to make a few turns on the whole trip. The scariest part happened about two minutes after I first started out because it was a cold morning and my whole windshield fogged up from the outside. Wipers were kaput, so I had no way of cleaning it off and I couldn’t see the road in front of me until I rolled down the window—one of the few electrical things that did work—and stuck my head out. That’s when I noticed a car behind me. There was no shoulder, just a steep ditch, so I couldn’t pull over. To make things worse, driving with your head out the window makes it really tough to stay right of the center line. I was swerving like a maniac, so I just stopped on the road and waved the other driver by. No doubt he thought I was completely wasted. At least, that’s what I read from the look he gave me.
I got out and wiped off my windshield from the outside before continuing. Without a speedometer, I decided to play it safe by driving a bit below what I guessed was the limit. Lower speeds are easy for me to gauge by the feel of the road, but faster speeds are much more difficult; I could have been going anywhere from 60-80mph and the last thing I needed then was a ticket (at a time when I probably really deserved one for operating a vehicle that shouldn’t be anywhere near a road). The funny thing is that at one point, a tribal cop pulled up behind me and followed me for a couple miles. There was a turn coming up and I was sure he’d pull me over when I didn’t use a turn signal (I knew I could use hand signals, but I guessed he still would have pulled me over if he saw that). At the last minute, he swung into the other lane and passed me. Guess I chose the right speed.
So I made it off the res and into Chadron, which felt like coming back to civilization after crawling through the dessert. Chadron was a hip little Nebraska town with a lot to offer. The guys at the repair shop were super friendly and directed me to a coffee shop down the road where I could hang out until they had news. I was warned that if it wasn’t an easy fix then it could take days for them to trace all the wires to the problem. Honestly, the prospect of being trapped in Chadron didn’t worry me one bit; I was bracing for the worst and had already arranged to stay the night at the house of a very cool old guy named Buffalo Bruce (thanks couchsurfing.org!). And the coffee shop not only had my favorite tea, but a very mouthwatering selection of gluten-free and pumpkin flavored treats. Could have stayed there all day in total bliss.
Chadron, NEAs it turns out, I barely had time to finish my pumpkin strudel before the mechanic called to tell me my car was done. We’re talking 20 minutes, tops.
In the end, it was a blown fuse. A big fuse, and one hidden deep inside the engine compartment, but a fuse nonetheless. I gladly paid the $20 labor fee and refused to feel bad about missing that fuse when we checked the others, or about buying that new alternator. Hey, I followed my friends’ advice—which was very sound given what we knew at the time—I grew a lot closer to them and I saved a ton of money by learning to change that alternator myself instead of paying a garage to do it. And there was no way I was going to spend another four hours removing that new alternator or drive all the way back to return it. I already cashed in the old one to be rebuilt and resold, anyway. For what it’s worth, the mechanic told me that fuse was a rare part and I wouldn’t have been able to find it in any auto parts shop in the area. They were only able to replace it because they had another broken down Infiniti with the same part and they pulled it for me.
So, with a big weight off my shoulders and a big smile on my face, I gave my best to Buffalo Bruce and hit the road. It took me over 12 hours to cross Nebraska and most of Iowa, but I finally arrived at my uncle’s house in Cedar Rapids. I decided to cut out the Chicago visit to save time and more than make up the cost of that alternator, and now I’m back on schedule to arrive at my next farm in Mississippi in two days. And while I was on the road, the Mississippi farmer called to ask what kind of beer I liked before he went shopping.
Life is good.
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