My wife heard a song with a title similar to this article’s title. She said it reminded her of some things I talk about and I should write about some of them. The thought of getting home sure crosses your mind when you are a 2 ½ hour drive from home, 7 miles from a paved road, on a rugged fire lane in a wilderness area, your transmission goes out and you can’t get the 4-wheel drive truck out of first gear. Top end speed is about 10 mph. That’s not too bad on the fire lane but it sure caused road rage on the paved roads. It took 11 hours to get home instead of the 2 ½.
Then a car hauler to take the irreparable truck to its final resting place, a salvage yard. But the old sentimental Tahoe got us home and a new, used, Yukon hauled the old girl to a resting place where she could help other vehicles live on.
One other time my wife and I journeyed to a remote fishing village called Punta Allen on the Mexican Caribbean Sea, near Belize. On the way back, through many miles of a jungle road, we came to the first small village on paved roads, Tulum, where we were broadsided by a car with license plates that identified the driver as a political official. I looked at Terry and said, “we are in trouble.” She said “he hit us” and I responded, “it won’t matter.” I had b ...
