June 5, 2018
Since May 25, 2017, when we bought the Ford F350 pickup for pulling our fifth-wheel RV, Jeff was its only driver. I knew that, if push came to shove — like if I had to outrun zombies after an apocalypse — I could manage to drive it. Still, the idea of wrangling with the “beast” was intimidating. So, when we sold our fifth-wheel, we sold the truck, too.
On May 12, when we arrived at Appalachian Campground, in Hiawassee, Georgia, all we had to get around in was our motorhome, which would have been cumbersome for grocery-store runs. So later in the same week, one of the campground owners drove us to Blairsville to look for a “runner” to drive to the grocery store, etc. Although we were looking for a junker to get us by until November 1, we revised our plan when we saw the metallic grayish-green and gold 2002 Subaru Legacy Outback on the lot of Blackwell Automotive. Because of Subaru’s reputation for being one of the safest cars on the road, I knew we’d want to hang onto this baby long after we moved onto the next camp, wherever that would be. When daily rainstorms made the roads slick, I was in no hurry to brave them in any car. That is, until today, the second day we have had clear skies.
Invigorated by the sunny, yet cool, day, I struck out for a long-awaited pedicure at Julie’s Spa Nails in Hiawassee. Well, my luxurious pedi was over entirely too soon, but I was still too revved up to go home. So I swung by the Towns County Library to inquire about doing a book-signing. Although the person with whom I spoke didn’t hold out much hope for such an event, she did suggest the Mountain Regional library in Young Harris for such an occasion.
Well, who would have thought that my li’l ol’ junket to Hiawassee would turn into an out-and-out quest! After grabbing a single-meat Patty Melt at The Huddle House in Hiawassee to silence my growling tummy, I struck out for Young Harris. After all, it was just “down the road a piece”. Once again, the librarian at Mountain Regional Library sent me to the next stop in the road to the Union County Public Library in Blairsville where I was able to schedule a book-signing for August.
Chest puffed as I walked back to my car, I was bursting with self-confidence.
What did I tell you, back in Young Harris, Kim? You can DO this!
As soon as I buckled myself back into the car and pulled out onto the road, my moxie melted. Yes, I had been to Blairsville plenty of times, but only with Jeff driving.
Now, in spite of the dubious guidance of “GPS lady” (on my iPhone X) directing me with her whispery voice and rapid but poor enunciation, I wound up at a garage with a bunch of junked-up cars. I half expected mutant mechanics named Bubba and his other- brother Bubba, in their overalls, to attack me with monkey wrenches oozing grease.
C’mon, ol’ girl, I hissed. Get a hold of yourself. The same GPS who threw you off track can just as easily lead you home.
So, I was once more back on track and driving out of Blairsville when a light on the dashboard caught my eye: the “Check Engine” light. As I clicked off the miles, I ticked off the reasons it could have come on:
- that the ‘safest car on the road’ would self-destruct with me in it
- that the dealer where we bought the car had programmed the light to pop on so we would bring it in for a check-up to make sure it was safe.
Clinging tenaciously to Reason Number-Two , I drove the rest of the way with bated breath until I finally pulled up to the safety of our humble but cozy motorhome, reminding me of the last line of an old Nineteenth-Century song:
“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”