JANUARY 6, 2023 – (Cont.) Out of the wrecker cab dropped a driver from central casting—a burly, bearded fellow, wearing blue transition-glasses, a baseball cap, heavy-duty gloves and a green safety vest. His name was “Jim.” and he proved to be as much a witty conversationalist as he was an engineer on the fly. He’d been working as a wrecker driver/operator for six years. Prior to that he was a school bus driver and before that, he’d worked on highway billboards. When asked what his rig could do, Jim said he’d pulled people out of the craziest predicaments imaginable. “With this rig,” he said, “I’ve even pulled a fully loaded semi out of a big ditch.”
I told him that my car had no recovery points—no undercarriage hooks, no towing eyelet. Before Jim could say anything, I read his face. It told me that he knew a lot more about towing than I ever would.
“It has one,” Jim said. “The A-brace. Every car has one.”
We watched as he positioned his rig at the top of our hill. After hearing my confession about how I put the car into the snowbank, Jim turned to Byron and said, “Now it’s your turn to learn how to drive.” Jim pulled a 75-foot-cable all the way out from the rig’s boom, then attached two towing chains to the end of the cable. Next, he directed Byron to turn the wheels while he, Jim, connected the end of the line to a front axle-bracket of my car.
With everything in position, Jim told Byron to hang on for “the ride of his life,” then hiked back up to the wrecker. Byron and I soon realized that Jim was being facetious: The low-geared wrecker-winch pulled slowly, surely—less than a foot per second. Eventually, the car was at the top of the hill, but Byron, still behind the wheel, couldn’t get any traction. Jim had to repositioned his rig—and attach, detach and re-attach/detach—the towing cable several times before my car was in the clear.
As Jim was packing up his equipment, I told him that when I next encountered a tow truck or wrecker, I’d salute the driver.
“Be careful,” said Jim. “I waved to a policeman once, and he pulled me over.” With that, we exchanged cheers for the new year, and he drove off to his next engagement.
Leaving my car where we knew it had traction, our crew traipsed back to the cabin. With the weather deteriorating, we spent precious minutes capturing photos of the spectacular beauty that had made our exit so challenging. As we packed up Beth’s car, a third miracle occurred: the plowman appeared, clearing our drive almost down to the dirt.
On our way out, we stopped at John’s to drop off some beer in appreciation for his efforts on our behalf. Upon accepting it, he told me the sad story of the baby flying squirrel he’d rescued. When John had returned in the Mule to his cabin, where he’d planned to give the squirrel protection from the storm, the creature crawled out of the cardboard container stowed in the Mule’s cargo box. The squirrel dropped to the ground just as John backed-up the Mule—running over the very animal he was trying to save.
Winter. It’s not for wimps.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
