Van Morisson’s Gypsy in My Soul played over the radio as I departed Eugene, Oregon bound for Northern California. Like my tenacious Box Turtle back home in Anacortes, for the next few years I would be hauling my dwelling with me. I was amazed at the ease with which my new truck pulled the twenty-seven foot fifth wheel trailer now attached to her. The naming of my vehicles a tradition, with smudge stick in hand I christened my 2006 Ford TurboDiesel F250- Athena: strong, bold and brave.

An aside: The stages of my personality can be identified in the progression of the vehicles I’ve owned. In my youth, which I call my Persephone stage, I drove a cherry red Ford Fairlane, for naïve and fair I certainly was during my later teen years. A royal blue Mercury Capri was my auto in my twenties while I capriciously flitted from country to country as a flight attendant. When I became a mother, I drove a burgundy Dodge Caravan LE and encouraged others to “hook up” and join me on my travels. Her name, “Betsy” reflected my strong tendency as caregiver. That van morphed in my forties into a white Dodge Caravan Sport named Ariel, my guardian archangel while I challenged myself and made a descent into the Underworld. Both these vehicles represented my Demeter stage. Now, at age fifty, with a year of menopause behind me, I have entered my Crone years and look forward to my Hecate stage with the powerful Athena as my guide.

So, with training wheels still attached, the first mountain pass provided a chance for me to feel how the trailer responded to the road and to Athena’s commands. Although jerky at times, the uphill trek was a breeze. I was, however, tested going down the mountainside–was this a reflection of my life’s journey? I was more careful, following behind the slower truckers, certainly emulating a turtle’s pace.

Then the Siskiyou Pass arose before me. A 4% to 5% downhill grade was fine, but when it became 6% my body stiffened. It was then that I found myself saying prayers with every downhill slope. The curves to the left at this angle where I was on the outer edge gave me shivers. I could see the steep drop off looming before me. Why is it that the mind can be our worst enemy during times like these? The movie, Thelma and Louise, where they drove off the edge of the cliff wrecked havoc in my brain. Trying not to ride my brakes, and not having yet been informed that I could let the truck do the work (afterall, I’d only had a day’s training to learn to pull the trailer which now made my total length 40 feet!) I decided to let the Cruise Control do the work. I would learn early on that this was a BIG NO-NO! I was only forty-five minutes from my first overnight stop, having driven over six hours when I noticed the ABS light on my display. Didn’t this have something to do with brakes? Thank God(dess) for idiot lights.

With no off-ramp ahead, I had to drive with the light on until I reached Mercury Street – and what the winged-messenger had in store for me there! I drove to the 76 station to fill my gas tank and take a look under the hood. The pumps were automated. There wasn’t a soul in sight should I require assistance. I pulled away from the tanks and noticed that the warning light had disappeared. Thinking that the ABS light had come on because my brakes were too hot, I rounded the corner of the station onto a deserted side street when I heard a loud **POP**!!! I jerked the wheel and felt the trailer graze something big. I stopped, half in and half out of the driveway to see what had happened.

A trailer tire on the right-hand side had blown out and a lamppost to the left had scraped the door of my propane locker. I stood there on that deserted street and took a deep breath, thinking that this was yet another challenge to test my resiliency and commitment to my quest. In my Hecate phase, (or perhaps now a Don Quixiote) I had already learned that my spiritual practice was to let go of my fears and to own my power as an older woman. To go from Barbie to Witch in one lifetime was quite the journey; a young girl totally obsessed with doing it “right” as dictated by others, to a wild woman whose rich inner world determined her actions. I, again, was on a steep learning curve (pun intended!)

Rounding the corner to find the jack to raise the trailer, out of nowhere a small, dirty white car appeared and stopped. A young man in his early twenties stepped out and asked if I needed help. Where had he come from? I was more than grateful. Totally dressed in black, with long shorts riding off his butt and thick high-top black boots, I noted his pronounced limp as he ambled toward me, and saw that his foot was slightly askew. A fleeting thought arose of my son and I was filled with both gratitude and unconditional love.

He introduced himself as “Chris” and told me he knew how to fix the tire because he’d spent many years traveling in a trailer with his grandfather. He tried the two wrenches I proffered and neither fit. One did, however, lower the very dirty spare, which he immediately took off and wheeled around. We went to my truck and found both the toolbox my departed father had given me upon my 16th birthday (thanks Dad!) and my truck wrench and crowbar. Piecing both together he came up with a socket that would fit my trailer tire bolts and proceeded to jerk each loose. It was hard work, as I’m sure the 2003 tires were factory (as it was a 2004 model) and had never been removed before. He began to sweat in the hot sun and the dirt clung to him, but he never complained. He gave me advice as he worked, telling me that I should have all my tires replaced as, even though they looked great, trailer tires should never be more than five years old. He told me the sun and weather wore the rubber down. He was such a knowledgeable young man AND was in the process of taking classes to become an auto mechanic!

It made me think of a story I tell my students when I teach them about multiple intelligences… say you’re traveling in a rig in the hot desert far from everything outside of Barstow, California. Your car breaks down. You just drank your last bit of water and have no food with you. The desert is very hot during the day and VERY COLD at night. You are alone. Who would you like to drive by right about then? Albert Einstein or Joe the Mechanic?

The story is designed to show that we need all forms of intelligence. With this understanding, students who were unable to meet the rigorous standards within the academic world could better see how their own unique gift was just as viable, just as desirable. How happy I was that “Chris the Mechanic” had apparated out of nowhere.

It wasn’t, however, until he finished and I gave him a big hug and slipped a ten dollar bill into his palm that I realized the import of his visit. It was obvious that he was not foreign to receiving…and giving…authentic hugs. Being a sensitive, when his cheek, dripping with sweat, glued itself to mine I felt something familiar. His energy felt so much like my son’s. Realizing that his now grimy clothes were also soaked – all for me – I was touched beyond belief. Pulling apart, our cheeks making a sucking sound as the fluids released, I felt overwhelmed by a familiar emotion. My old fear revisited me and I blurted, “Maybe I should just call it quits. Maybe I’ve taken on too much.”

Chris looked at me, raised his pant leg and said, “Never give up.”

In front of my eyes hung the most mangled appendage I’d ever seen. Envision wavy fiberglass or metal roofing over shanty town shacks. From knee to ankle, three ropy summer sausages hung down the sides of his leg with deep, deep indentations between them. The pits were an angry red with white scar tissue.

My eyes filled with tears.

He then told me at age 18 he’d slammed into a guard rail doing 95 miles per hour in a Mustang Convertible. He had been thrown from the car, which actually saved his life. He had been paralyzed and while he was “out” they told his mother he’d never walk again.

I began to cry noticeably.

Chris continued, “When I woke and found out what they’d said, I immediately told them they’d better march right over and give her a different verdict. I was so pissed that they did that to my mom. She didn’t deserve that and I have always been a fighter and my fighting spirit kicked in. I was determined from the day I saw my mother’s compassionate face to walk again.”

While he spoke I simply stood there not saying a word. I was transfixed.

Wanting badly to become an auto mechanic, Chris attended community college in his wheelchair. He described the initial burden of lugging large items around in his chair, but laughed as he recalled the look on his fellow students’ faces as he madly raced around the room after he became proficient at his two new “round” legs.

By then tears were streaming down my face. I had been sent an angel. Forget the blow-out, forget the scrapes on my trailer and the urgent need I had felt to buy new trailer tires. It had all been orchestrated from something much, much bigger. I was NOT going to give up. I was, after all, protected.

As I watched Chris limp back to his car, I heard a voice in the back of my mind say, “That ABS light stood for ‘Angel by Shoulder’ and there he was--- driving off in his little white car, my angel who had parked on the shoulder of the road.”