Somewhere, lost on a floppy, is the contemporaneous recount of this story. It is too good to be lost. Doing my best to recreate it here.
After a wonderful Backpack on the John Muir Trail with our four small children, Cousin Peter and J'Carlin were returning to LA via 395 on Saturday of Labor Day weekend. About Lone Pine, which is about as close to the middle of nowhere as one can get, the Chevy we were in began to overheat and make funny noises under the hood. We turned onto a side road to a campground hoping to find at least a safe place to stay and maybe a phone. Alas, a few hundred yards in the Chevy quit in sight of the sign to the campground 2 miles. Peter and I were matching pennies to see who would trek to the campground when a well used Jeep pulled up behind us. A gentleman jumped out and asked if he could help? We said probably not but a lift to the campground to get the kids a place to sleep while we waited for repairs or whatever after the weekend would be nice. He introduced himself as Blackie, and said that when camping season was over he was a car mechanic and would be happy to help both with a camp and possibly with the car. He looked under the hood and quickly found that the drive belt pulley was torn off its mounting. He sighed and said he would need an new one and the junk yards were closed, but maybe he could find one tomorrow. He said there was plenty of room in his campsite and towed us all to it with the Jeep.
Once there he introduced his camping clan of a dozen people, and they invited us in to share dinner. All hints of payment were waived off, with a “Happy to help!” With what, we didn’t know, as all we had was a couple of credit cards, and the small change we were matching with. After dinner and the kids were down Blackie’s story was told. He was well known mechanic in the LA basin, and never lacked well paid jobs, but as soon as camping season opened up he left the crowds and hassles of LA for his Lone Pine Campsite. The camp had a well stocked general store, and was close enough to Lone Pine for other necessities, so camping season was free of pressure and worries and Blackie and his clan could do as they pleased.
On Sunday Blackie disappeared for the Junk yard, and all of us were treated as part of the clan, our meager remains of trail food were refused with a thanks but no thanks, we eat better than that here, and you are welcome as friends of Blackie. Later he returned with the bad news that no part could be found but that all was not lost as he knew the home phone of the Chevy Dealer, who would have the part. After a brief conversation about the dealership being closed on Labor Day Blackie said “you live next door, meet us at the parts door. We need to get these people back to work on Tuesday.” A brief contretemps about payment, since we didn’t have that kind of cash and the banks weren’t open on Labor Day, No ATMs then, which was solved by Blackie personally guaranteeing the credit card payment.
Labor Day morning Blackie and I picked up the part, he had the car fixed, road tested and ready to go by noon, but insisted that we stay for the afternoon barbecue. We agreed only if we could provide the meat. We bought the store out of their best cuts, and dropped them in the cooler. Much less than the cost of the repair, but the store had a limited supply. As a result we arrived home early evening, with a repaired car, full bellies and wonderful story of human kindness.
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