At the end of my last post we'd gotten our bus engine working and were ready to set out for California.
We packed everything we owned in to the bus and a 1968 Corvair my uncle had given me. We said goodbye to our college friends who were just getting back to start school and drove away...
Not very far away because the battery on the bus was pretty old, we had no money to replace it and were hoping that the generator would charge it better as we drove along. Sadly that was not the case... Every time we stopped at a stop-sign we had to pull out the jumper cables and start "Dave Thurston" as we now called the bus.
After the fifth jumper-cable outing, and about an hour-and-a-half we weren't even out of town yet. Since I had to be at my new job just one week later, and at the rate we were going we'd still be in South Bend, Indiana (about 30 miles away) by that time, We needed a plan B.
We dicided that I would rent a U-Haul and put Charlie's stuff, my stuff and our PA in there and head west. Gary would get the bus back to a parking spot and see what he could do about the battery situation. I offered, again, to buy the bus from him and let him get on with life... Being young and daring, he wasn't ready to admit defeat. He'd just get the bus running and join us in a little while.
I only ever saw Dave Thurston one time after that night, but that's a story for another time...
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As an Aside... Here's a picture of the real Dave Thurston Family (circa about 1976.) We found it on the bus as we were cleaning it out over the summer.
They were a southern gospel group out of Battle Creek Michigan and they owned the bus before we did. The younger Dave Thurston still runs a southern gospel group out of Holt, Michigan. Check them out at: www.thethurstonfamily.org if you enjoy southern gospel.
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The next morning Charlie and I set off for the San Francisco Bay area where my folks were living. We had some friends along the way so we had plans to stop and see them as we went. Shelly Solomon had gone back to Union College that year so we stopped in Lincoln, Nebraska and slept the night on her living-room floor. The next morning we got up grabbed lunch with her in the school cafeteria, took a tour through the church (where we hoped to do a concert someday) and pushed on.
For those of you reading in other countries, the topography of the US is such that when you leave Lincoln, Nebraska and head west you're going uphill most of the way. It's a fairly gradual climb but fairly constant. Then there's quite a dip into Salt Lake City, Utah and then you climb again into the high plains of northern Nevada until you crest in the high Sierra range and then descend into the California central and costal valleys.
The Corvair has an air cooled engine and needs lots of fresh air rushing through it's cooling fins to stay at safe operating temperatures. We were pulling a trailer uphill across the high plains and the engine was running very hot. At a gas stop on the Nevada state line, we checked the oil and decided to leave the engine cowling open to help it cool more efficiently and pressed on. A few hours later, as we were climbing a long hill, we heard a loud BANG! and we began to loose power immediately. We pulled off to the side, the engine was clanking like mad, but couldn't see anything wrong in the engine compartment. We shut it off and, when we tried to start up again, it wouldn't re-start. It had thrown a rod deep into the cylinder wall.
Late September in Nevada is still fairly warm most days, but at night it gets pretty cold. It was night we were stranded on highway 80 about twelve miles east of Battle Mountain, Nevada. It was about 2am Saturday morning and we weren't seeing any traffic go by at all. We could have just pulled out our cell-phones and called triple-A, but cell-phones wouldn't be readily available for about 12 years so we sat, and shivered, and laughed, and waited. At dawn, a car went by. We decided that we'd take turns hitch-hiking to see if one of us could get into town. I took the first stretch of about 30 minutes and nobody stopped. Charlie got out and within a few minutes a guy in a pick-up stopped and gave us a ride into town.
He dropped us off in front of the Owl Club Saloon and Casino and we went in to make a call. I called my dad, caught him just as he was getting up for church, and told him what was happening. He said "sit tight and I'll make some calls." We sat down at the bar near the phone and waited.
The Owl Club, in 1978, was like a picture from the old westerns. Built along the railroad tracks before the roads went through, it has a long rich history as the hub of Battle Mountain social life.
A huge wooden bar, with mirrors behind, ran the length of one wall and was strewn with stools and a big brass foot-rail. Feeling a bit like Butch and Sundance, we ordered our diet Dr. Peppers and turned around to survey the scene. A few of the local denizens were still playing cards and one guy of indeterminate age, obviously a hard drinker, was sitting at the bar. He called out loudly to the bar-keep, "Mike, you know I could be working today if I was in Lovelock, but I'm *!&%$ing stuck here in Battle Mountain." Then he turned to us and said "You're not from around here." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact. I said "no we're just passing through..." I couldn't believe this was happening, TV dialog coming to life and we were in the middle of it. He said, "Sounds to me like you've got some trouble." So we told him our story as we sat and waited for our call. When I ended up by saying "I've called may dad and he's going to send help," he turned and looked straight at us. "As long as you have a dad you can call you'll be OK."
Just then the phone rang...
My dad and uncle were bringing a motor home to take us and our stuff the rest of the way.
We bought a six-pack of Diet Dr. P , said goodbye to our new friends, and set out to find the sheriff's office. We thought maybe he'd give us a ride back to the car and trailer, but he said he'd only take us as far as the edge of town. "Stick out your thumb and I'll check back on you in a couple hours. If you haven't gotten a ride, then maybe I'll take you out..." he said. And with that he took off.
We waited for just a few minutes when a carload full of guys stopped and said, "Whatcha got in the bag?" We told them it was Dr. Pepper and that we were headed back out to our car. "We'd hoped it was Coors," they said. "Hop in we'll give you a ride."
Have you ever done something and almost immediately begun to regret it? As we sped away, throwing gravel, I realized that these were the same guys who'd spent the night drinking and playing cards at the Owl Club. They'd had a lot to drink and were feeling no pain.
It turns out hey were a crew that went across the whole of the US working on the railroad tracks. They drove a big old Cadillac, they called it their "Cataract, because it's an eyesore." We stopped by their home on wheels, a train of cabooses that they lived in while they were working, and picked up some "doobie.' Then we all sped out to our car weaving and lurching. I'm sure we spent nearly as much time in the median as on the road. For a kid from Christian college, not very worldly-wise it was a white knuckle ride, but we got there finally, with me praying all the way.
About six hours later my dad showed up with my uncle and his motor-home. They brought a friend who came to pull the trailer to the next town with a U-Haul station to drop it off.
We loaded everything into the motor-home and hit the bunks while my uncle drove us on to California. We'd been up for about 48 hours and were dead on our feet. Although there were some adventures between Battle Mountain and Pleasant Hill, where my folks were living, we slept through them all. We crossed the Sierras into California sound asleep. We'd wake to a new adventure the next day, my first day at the new job.
I never forgot what the man at the bar said... "As long as you have a dad to call you'll be OK." Now that I am a dad, I know that those calls are ahead for me too. I'm beginning to feel what my dad might have been feeling when he got a call for help. It also helps me understand a bit of what God feels when we call on Him. He doesn't ignore us but moves every agent at His disposal to do what is best for us. Knowing that makes me want to be an "agent at His disposal" for others who are in need.
Let me in on some of your stories of change and growth. Click on the comments link below, next to "posed by allan clarke, "and leave me a note or story about your memories of "God moves" in your life.
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