Disclaimer-- The title has little to do with my narrative, but I just wanted to use the Yuman puns since the story relates to my most recent visit to Yuma.
What would you do if your car suddenly shut off as you were in the middle of the desert in the midst of the afternoon in 112 degree weather? I was confronted with this scenario last Monday on my way to Yuma, Arizona, on the far southwest corner of the state.
It was not supposed to be a complicated day. I had my day charted out perfectly. I would leave early in the morning from Scottsdale and spend the lion's share of the day at the Yuma Adventist Christian School doing observations and getting to know the school community better. A number of complications short-circuited those plans before they even got started.
First of all was my return flight from Southern California. The flight was not originally in the schedule. You will have to refer to a precious blog in order to understand why a return flight from necessary from the other side of the Colorado River. That alone would have only put me behind schedule. There is more....
Late Thursday of the previous week I received an e-mail from the President's Office (as in president of the AZ Conference) informing me of a Director's Meeting which was scheduled for Monday morning. All directors were expected to attend and report on their activities. Even with this additional invasion of my carefully crafted scheduled I felt that the day was still salvageable. But there is more....
I calculated the meeting would take at most one hour which would still give me time to get to Yuma by early afternoon. It seemed plausible, if not practical or realistic. But the meeting ended long after noon had come and gone. This was now becoming extremely challenging. I looked at my watch incessantly as time slipped away during the endless meeting.
I rushed out of the Conference Office a shade this side of 12:30 p.m., still thinking I could make it before the end of the school day. I mentally calculated the distance and the time and had a decided I could still make it the 250 miles in less than 3 hours, maybe even 2 and a half hours. What was I thinking! I glanced at my gas gauge and saw that I had half a talk left. Once again I make my mental calculations and concluded I had sufficient gas to get to Yuma, with gas to spare, based on previous experiences. This was the beginning of then end.
To be fair, I do not believe I looked at the gas gauge again until I was 10 miles outside of Yuma...and then only because I noticed the gas light blinking. I even remember asking myself, "I wonder how long that light has been blinking...." Then it happened-- what I never imagined would or could ever happen to a hybrid-- a Prius Hybrid, no less! My car simply died! The instrument panel lit up light Las Vegas at night! Red exclamation points flashed. Orange engine-shaped icons with a line drawn through them blinked.
Bold capital letters that meant something that did not come to mind then or now beckoned for my attention. Buzzers, bell, and whistles made their inappropriate sounds clamoring for immediate attention like spoiled children on a long trip.
It was a moment of uneasiness. Had the car finally given up the ghost after 215,000 miles? Had the batteries short-circuited or melted in the hot desert sun? Had I pushed the car too hard trying to get to Yuma in time to see the students while still in their classrooms? The last was the closest to the truth.
I pushed buttons without success. I accelerated with no effect. I imagined myself stranded out in the outskirts of Yuma under the blazing furnace that is the Arizona sun in mid-September. I wondered if anyone would stop to help me and give me a lift to the nearest Toyota dealership. Would my fate be worse than that? Would my bleached bones be found lying on the shoulder of Interstate 8? I coasted for about four miles, every mile I coasted slower and slower? How long would I continue to coast. It wasn't downhill anymore.
After almost coasting to a stop I managed to get off on the first exit hoping for a gas station to park my car.
Unfortunately, there was no gas station or meaningful civilization on this exit. My car was now dead almost at the end of an uphill exit. I stopped the car. Perhaps the worst was behind me since I would not die out in the desert. I sat in the car in a continual state of prayer. "Please, God, don't let me be stranded in Yuma!" Nothing personal-- I am sure Yuma is nice in the winter. But this was late summer, and summer was not going out with a whimper. It was 112 degrees, but felt like 150 degrees in the car with no air-conditioner running (I had shut if off to conserve gas).
I was not going anywhere just sitting there on the edge of the off-ramp (still in traffic). I had nothing to lose so I pushed the "Power On" button. It turned on! Mind you the battery gauge had marked dead for a few miles. I had assumed the battery and engine were dead. The dashboard had strongly implied my engine was non-functioning. I was delighted to discover my electric engine was still running. I pushed the accelerator. The car moved! Minimally, but it moved. I was hoping to find a gas station with a mechanic along the frontage road I was on. The car went for a quarter mile and then stopped responding to my prodding on the gas pedal. My engine was dead. The road was flat. I had more than a mile to go before I got to the next road. There were no residences. There was a McDonald's. No people, no homes, no civilization, but there was a McDonald's! That is a powerful silent social commentary.
I can't explain how my car continued to move without battery life and apparently no gas. Yes, no gas. I was now banking on the possibility that my car had shut off due to lack of gas! I made the mental calculations again in my head. I saw the miles traveled. I noted the miles per gallon. I remembered my speed over the past three hours plus. The math did not add up.
Well, I guess, it did add up. I should have run out of gas miles ago. I did.
The car was almost totally stopped now, but somehow it kept moving. It kept moving and moving-- slowly, but moving. I was within reach of a Chevron station, but to get there I would have to maneuver my way on to the main street uphill and turn right and then right again into the station. The car was now not moving at all. I got out and started pushing the car uphill in 500 degree weather. I didn't seem that hot, surprisingly so. It only seemed about 112 degrees with 50% humidity! But miraculously, the car required very little effort to move it. It was as if someone was helping me push the car. It glided uphill as if pushed by five people and not just one chunky old man. I saw a person coming towards me asking, "Do you need some help?" All I could say was, "It seems to be moving pretty well right now." "You're killing me," I remember him saying, probably because he ws running in my direction after being prodded out of his car by his wife/girlfriend who was still in the air-conditioned comfort of their auto. He stopped and watched me push (with the help of my invisible friends)!
He did end up following me into the gas station. I filled up with mid-grade petrol. I pushed the "Power On" button, and presto! The car ran like a charm. Amazing how cars work better with gasoline than without it.
Well, I learned an important lesson. Bring lots of water if you are traveling through the desert. And also, angels are not averse to helping push hybrids. Thank you, Lord!
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