The I-15 Car Trap

 This is what happened last Saturday to my Dad and I coming home from Ventura.

There's a 50 mile stretch in the middle of Utah that's cursed.  Three times I've broken down with my family: last weekend at mile marker 100, a few years ago Memorial weekend near midnight at marker 150, and several years ago at 141, which is now around 139 because the numbers shifted a few years ago.  And I've talked to other people who have broken down around that area as well, though I believe I have the best stories.

 The first time was in 2004.  My Grandpa A was still alive, and my Grandma, Grandpa, Mom and I were coming up from Porterville.  That trip already had a feeling of the surreal, because my Mom and I flew into the Bakersfield airport and had an emergency landing.  We were helping my Grandparents move and look at places here in Utah Valley, but of course we hit a bump while coming back.

It was coming towards the end of the day and we had just past Cove Fort.  My Grandma was driving when we felt something and pulled over, discovering the tire blown.  That piece of land is hilly, where those used to driving 80 mph must slow down for the curves.  Not the safest bit to sit and wait.

Thankfully my Grandparents had AAA, only we needed the mile marker, but we were far from one.  I'm pretty obedient, straight laced, practical, but every now and then this rebellious streak strikes.  Rare, but I did something completely illogical.

I decided I would find the mile marker so the tow truck new where to find us.  Without telling anyone I started walking south, and was too far away when my family noticed.  I heard the yells, but ignored them.  It felt foolish.  I starting believing I couldn't find it.  Reality struck and I started getting scared.  Car, after van, after truck whipped by at 80 miles an hour, the air shocking me with each pass.  Then I realized anyone could pull over and I'd be defenseless.

A small SUV pulled over, my heart racing as the door opened.  Inside sat an elderly couple, missionaries serving at Cove Fort on their way to Fillmore.  A feeling of protection came over me then, and I looked to the sky as we drove back.  Instead of rebuke I felt love, and a feeling of gratitude overwhelmed.  After I was dropped off the couple called shortly after, giving us the mile number.

 A few years ago my Mom, brother Steven, Robbie, and I got a super late start coming back home from Ventura.  Once again that trip had a strange feel about it.  On the way down in the beginning of the trip I was driving, getting the first shift, everyone asleep, when I rounded a corner.  Standing on the side of the road was a deer, just waiting.  The first time I'd ever seen a deer on I-15.  As I passed I looked in the rear view mirror; the deer started walking immediately across the highway.

 A week trip later we came back Memorial weekend.  After passing those hills I mentioned in the previous story, nearing midnight, I breathed a sigh of release as my Mom continued to drive, a habit I developed during the first incident.  When we passed St. George earlier there was a coyote lying dead, blocking the right lane.  That was on my mind as we increased our speed to 80 mph.  Quite immediately we felt something shift under the car, and as my Mom pulled the car over we saw the tire roll behind us, stopping close to where we stopped.  The rubber of the tire was a shredded complete circle.  The metal rim remained on the car, miraculously unscathed.  

What was amazing is that our car stopped right next to the mile marker.

It wasn't until 1:00 am when the tow truck came, all the while howls of coyotes could be heard in the distance.  In Fillmore the couple towing the car put on the spare, and Mom and I drove the final length at 50 mph, grey blurs of coyotes shooting across the highway the whole way.

When we got home my Dad was amazed the car didn't flip, and I'm still amazed we were able to pull over.  Technically we shouldn't have been able to.  It was the front left wheel we lost.  It was like we were being carried.

 Last weekend I was the one driving when the van started getting slower and slower: 70 mph to 60 to 50 to 40 when I pulled over.  It was the transmission.  And we were just 9 miles from Beaver.

The Van stopped right in front of the mile marker.

So many stresses and worries going through our minds.  It was just Dad and I, and after some thought it made sense to pay the tow truck to take us home.  Everything was set up and paid for, when the shop we were towed to suddenly got busy.  We were there for some time when the head guy, the one who towed us, wanted to stay and get some work done.  But instead of having us wait, he called his daughter to bring his car for us to use, in case he couldn't tow us that day, and we wouldn't end up stranded.  He completely trusted us with his families car.  Sure enough when we got home Rick was on the road with our van.

One thing I forgot to mention was that right before the tow truck came, there was an older man who pulled over to see if we were all right.  He went all the way to Beaver then came around again to make sure we were okay.  That was so nice.

The World is full of great people.