Size Counts
by Marian Johns
I know what all of you are thinking, but in this case, it was a bigger hammer we needed, rather than the smaller one we pack along on our desert travels. A big hammer and a small Mexican named Pancho saved the day. Actually, the real heroes of this drama were some incredible friends – Bob and Marilyn Martin and John Page – who came 500 miles when we called for help. Plus, there was a little instrument of modern technology called a satellite phone, courtesy of son (and satellite tester), Jonathan, which was an indispensable item that enabled our rescue.
A week of exploring and wildflower viewing near Cataviña in Baja (about 300 miles south of the border) started off well enough as we “oohed” and “aahed” at the solid blankets of orange poppies covering the hills along I-15 between Corona and Lake Elsinore. But fate had other plans, and she dealt us a hand with a few unpleasant surprises. First of all, Neal’s bridge broke as he was pigging out on Jelly Bellies we had just purchased at Tom’s Farms. After considering different options, we found a dentist in Escondido who temporarily cemented it back in place. By the time Neal’s teeth were fixed, it was too late to cross the border, so we camped in the boonies near Tecate on the U.S. side.
The next morning, Wednesday, we crossed the border with no hassles, enjoyed the beautiful drive between Tecate and Ensenada, had lunch at our favorite restaurant, the Misión Santa Isabel in San Quentín, and arrived at our destination in the late afternoon.
The following day, we explored some two-track roads off in the boonies east and south of El Marmol and were heading back toward the main, paved highway. We had just started down a short slope into a wash, when a horrendous BANG! brought us to an instant stop. Besides a downward tilt, the front of the truck was listing noticeably to the left. With all of that, we were still unprepared for the sickening sight of a wheel turned at a right angle from its normal position. Closer inspection revealed a separated ball joint, and a lower “A” arm buried in the sand. The truck wasn’t going anywhere, and, consequently, neither were we. Should we try to walk out? It was about 10 miles to the highway. We would have to carry a lot of water and take Tessa (our Husky) too. And then what? We needed a new ball joint assembly, but where could we find that? Probably back in U.S.
My next thought and question was, “Did we bring the sat phone?”. Was I ever relieved when Neal said, “Yes.” And Hallelujah! the blessed thing worked! From there in the middle of nowhere, we were able to reach Bob Martin who readily agreed to come and help. Fortunately, Neal had written down the GPS coordinates for each of the junctions where we had made turns. He relayed those to Bob and also suggested that Bob come with someone – maybe John Page?
The truck was at such an odd angle, there was no way we could have slept in it that night, so in the dwindling daylight, we managed to jack up the front end and then dug out the rear wheels until it was much more level. Then the wind began to blow – persistently and with ever-increasing force – over 20 mph. It rocked and buffeted the truck and camper all night long. Even though we had two jacks under the front end, we expected, at any minute, the truck to fall off. But somehow, despite the raging wind, it managed to stay up on its precarious perch.
Friday morning, the wind continued, but at 10:00 a.m. we learned, via another phone call, that Bob and John were rounding up the new part and would be heading our way later that day. Things were looking up! Next, we braved the wind and hiked about a mile to the last junction where we tied blue tape on the bushes as a sign for Bob to turn there.
There was nothing to do then but wait. Because of the wind, we stayed holed up in the camper the rest of the day. We read and played cards, took a nap, and read and played cards.
The wind continued to howl through the second night, and on into the next day. About 1:00 Saturday afternoon, Neal turned on all of the radios we had – the CB, the two-meter ham, and the GMRS (General Mobile Radio Service). I was ecstatic when, finally, about 3:00, we began to hear our rescuers on the CB. They had planned to pretend they could not hear us, but chickened out when they heard the relief in our voices. It was a beautiful sight to see the Martins’ and John’s trucks coming over the hill.
The men immediately set about to remove the broken ball joint, and worked until dark. Unfortunately, no amount of hammering loosened the ball, so they decided they would somehow have to get the truck out to the highway. The wind continued throughout a third night.
In the morning they tried binding the parts together with a steel cable dog leash we had. We packed up everything and moved about one-eighth of a mile before it broke.
What now? Then we remembered that Neal had several chains stashed away in his menagerie of emergency goodies. So they tried one of those next, and (another Hallelujah!) it held the whole the way!
It would have been too dangerous to drive on the highway, should the chain break. So, John and Neal took John’s truck and drove another six miles on the paved highway into Cataviña in search of a mechanic with the proper tools. They returned with Pancho and his BIG sledge hammer. Wow! With just a few whacks, he had the old ball removed and the new part installed.
The secret to his success was the big hammer, and....he pounded at a downward angle instead of from the sides.
What a wonderful feeling of relief! And, besides that, the wind had finally died down. We weren’t really able to properly express our thanks and appreciation to Bob, Marilyn and John, but you can bet we will be forever grateful for their kindness and willingness to come all that way to bail us out of trouble.
During our ordeal we all but forgot about wildflowers, but as we headed home in our repaired truck, we were able to appreciate the colorful fields and roadsides where they seemed to be blooming everywhere.
Thanks again Bob, Marilyn and John!!!
