Whose fault was it? Gary’s or mine? I’m actually not sure. When we’ve told the story over the years, Gary has taken the blame. But I’m not sure that’s how it went. It doesn’t matter because the outcome was the same. We were almost stranded on a Sunday evening, in the middle of a national forest in Oregon, but with luck and the kindness of a stranger, we were rescued.
Gary and I took this trip in June of 1982. I had just finished my master’s program, before I started a full-time job, and before he heard that he was accepted to medical school. We planned it meticulously. Gary had not yet been west of Amish country in Pennsylvania. I had traveled a bit more, as I have written about previously, with my family, but was hardly experienced. In celebration of my completing graduate school. we decided to go California. We would fly out to San Francisco, rent a car and do a loop, first heading south (but not as far as LA), then going north (up to Crater Lake, Oregon), then back down to the Bay Area.
Gary and I went to a travel agent recommended by his parents to plan the trip. In those days, I think you had to use an agent to get airline tickets. Maybe you could call a particular airline on the phone and make a reservation, but it was confusing and time consuming to compare schedules and prices. We didn’t have the tools we have now to do our own research. We were young and inexperienced. In short, we didn’t know what we were doing. We didn’t even have a credit card.
The agent was very helpful. We got a package deal that included two nights in a nicer hotel. We decided to use those nights during our stay in San Francisco. She knew we were traveling on a tight budget and she told us about Motel 6 – the cheapest place to stay, other than camping. We weren’t campers. We planned our itinerary, taking advantage of the all the Motel 6’s that we could find. We flew to San Francisco, drove as far south as Monterey, then east and north to Yosemite, on to Lake Tahoe, then Crater Lake in Oregon, and finally back down to the Bay Area. We made the loop in one week.
The trip was memorable for so many reasons. We learned we were compatible travelers: enjoyed the same level of hiking (easy), interest in the same sites, on the same page as far as our budget for activities and food. Early on we bought a large Styrofoam cooler and filled it with ice at each motel stop. We bought breakfast and lunch supplies. Once, in the Lady Bird Johnson Grove of the Redwood forest, we were chased back into the car by aggressive blue jays when we were picnicking. We were both cowards (hence the preference for a cheap motel over camping).
We had more success picnicking next to the Merced River in Yosemite. It was late Spring and the river was very high, white water rushing by, cooling and freshening the air as it went. I stored that memory, the pine scent, the sound of the water cascading over the rocks, and called upon it in Lamaze class years later. When asked to go to a peaceful place as part of the exercise, even though the water was anything but peaceful, I imagined our time next to the river. I felt relaxed and happy there.
I wasn’t so relaxed on that late Sunday afternoon returning from Crater Lake. We saw signs for a natural bridge – formed from lava – in the Rogue River-Siskiyou National Forest. It was about 4:00 and we were heading to Medford about 60 miles away. We took the opportunity to see something interesting. We pulled into the parking area, there were only a couple of cars. Locked the car – we are New Yorkers, after all, and our valuables were in it. We took the short hike to the bridge and wandered around. After about an hour, we went back to the car.
Gary asked, “Do you have the car keys?”
“No, I thought you had them.”
Gary was patting his pockets, then turning them inside out. I did the same. No keys.
We walked over to the car and looked to see if the keys were still inside. Nope.
We head back the way we came, scanning the forest floor for keys, hoping the fading sun might catch the metal of the key. No luck.
Now it is about 6:00.
We go back to the car and look for ways to get in. We do manage to pop the lock.
Gary and I are good kids – we have no idea how to hotwire a car.
A couple of hikers pass by and we flag them down – explain our situation. They were as clueless as we were
We remembered that we passed a small town – and when I say a small town, I mean SMALL. Union Creek, Oregon. There was only one shop, but fortunately it was a gas station. We walked there, hoping it will be open, even though it is after six on a Sunday. It isn’t.
But, there is a pay phone. I call information and get the number of the rental car agency. After some more phone calls, fortunately we had change, I learn that if we get the car towed to an AMC dealership (we were driving an AMC Gremlin), they can make a copy of the key. They tell me there is a dealership in Medford. That was the good news.
Now, how do we get the car there? Gary and I assess the situation. We look around the gas station and notice there is a house right next door. Out of options, we knock.
Clearly, luck was with us. The owner of the gas station lived there and had a tow truck!!! He was willing to tow us the 60 miles to Medford for $100! That was a lot of money to us, but we were in no position to negotiate – we were grateful. In retrospect, even considering inflation, it was more than fair. I think he took pity on us.
I don’t remember his name, I do remember his kindness. We climbed into the cab of the truck, chatted along the way, and took many deep breaths of relief. He deposited the car on the lot of the dealership. We said our good-byes, thanking him many times over. We walked to the Motel 6 and tried to sleep.
I called the dealership first thing in the morning to find out when they opened. We were there when they did. The rental car agency had given me the code for the key and they were able to make a copy.
We were back on the road again in no time.
Aside from learning we were compatible travelers during that trip, we got through a stressful situation without killing each other. I don’t remember either of us blaming the other, I think we behaved pretty well. Of course, I could be telling myself a story, but I tend to think it is true, since we are still together 38 years later to tell the tale. Perhaps Gary would care to comment?