I Wound Up in a Ditch

It is hard for me to believe that I learned how to drive a standard transmission when I got out of the military at 36 years old. The old saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” had to be overcome if I was going to drive my new Mazda home with the standard transmission.

I needed a reliable car that was good on gas mileage since my job was over thirty miles away from my front door. In city traffic, it took me forty minutes to get to work at R-House in Rincon Valley east of Santa Rosa from Rio Nido. Getting to work meant I would have to drive fifteen miles down River Road that snakes along the banks of the Russian River until I got to Fulton which was considered the western edge of Santa Rosa. After Fulton, I would have to travel through the City of Santa Rosa until I got to Rincon Valley.

“This is a brand-new Mazda.” The salesman told me as I gave it the once over. It was red and sporty, but it came with a standard transmission which I did not know how to drive. “Do you want to take it for a spin?”

“Can’t.” I grunted.

“Whadda mean, can’t?” He tilted his head.

“I can’t drive a standard.” I shrugged.

“We have some on the showroom floor that are automatics.” He jerked his thumb toward the big building behind him that I was trying to avoid. “They start around ten grand.”

“It’s more than I can afford.” I shook my head as my shoestring budget was an A-Flat. Rent and food was about all I could afford. R-House did not pay very much above minimum wage. I did have eight thousand left over from my early out bonus from the Air Force. This car was around that much with the tax and other add-ons included. If I bought this car, I would officially be broke.

“Hmm, what do you want to do?” He stroked the stubble on his chin.

“I want to buy this car-”

“That you can’t drive?”

“Yes, I will call my friend who can drive it.”

I called Kenn who lived a few cabins down from me. He agreed to drive my new car home, because I couldn’t. He made sure to rib me about this for the rest of the week.

Meanwhile, I sat in my cabin with him after he drove it home and I drove his car with an automatic transmission. Sitting in my chair, I looked out the window into my narrow driveway at my brand new shiny red Mazda that I did not know to drive. Kenn sat there watching television with an evil grin spread across his face.

“So, when do you want to learn how to drive your new car?” He asked, making sure to rub each word in like salt to an open wound.

“As soon as I can.” I sniveled.

“I’m off tomorrow night. Why don’t we start then.” He shrugged.

“Sounds good.” I nodded as I kept glancing out the window. My goodness, it was a work of art parked in my driveway.

There was an ancient Bavarian Inn at the entrance to Rio Nido campground. In the 1960s, Rio Nido was where the well-to-do folks vacationed. During the 1970s, the building began to show its age and fell into disrepair. There were rumors that some of the motorcycle gangs used to use the inn as a meeting hall to plan itinerary for future misdeeds. By the 1980s, Rio Nido was abandoned until a real estate developer bought the dilapidated cabins and restored them to make them at least inhabitable.

This was also the time when the AIDs epidemic ravaged San Francisco sixty miles to the south. Kenn had become a volunteer to bring meals to those suffering from AIDs who were no longer able to do it for themselves. It seemed every week a couple more citizens in Guerneville passed away from pneumonia including Randy Slits from the San Francisco Chronicle who wrote the book And the Band Played On. There was a quilt that contained the names of all the victims of the epidemic that covered the entire wall at the local school gymnasium.

Kenn never talked about his volunteer work, and I never asked.

One thing that did amuse me was that Jordan, my Labrador, loved Kenn. Kenn loathed Jordan, claiming he was a cat sort of guy. I had two cats living with me in the cabin, Whiskers and Bandit. Bandit was my overweight Siamese who would cackle at the birds in the branches of the sequoia branches a few hundred feet overhead. Kenn was a Boston Patriot fan who would come over during football season since I had cable and he was too cheap to pay for it himself. Sitting on my couch, Jordan would plant herself right next to him. It was funny to watch Kenn deal with that sort of puppy love.

True to his word, Kenn took me for my first lesson the next night to the empty parking lot in front of the Bavarian Inn where I would not run into another vehicle or run over a pedestrian. He showed me how to depress the clutch and shift the gear.

“Nice and easy.” He shrugged as he put my new car into second gear. “Now, let’s switch.”

I got out and slid into the driver’s seat. My new car was small and I’m not, so I had to cram myself into the car.

“Ready?” He glanced at me from the passenger’s seat.

“Yup.” I depressed the clutch, but I could not seem to put the car into gear. I stalled out.

“Try it again.” Kenn insisted.

I did with the same results, but this time I tried again without a verbal reminder. I moved a few yards forward before stalling out.

“We have a lot of work to do.” He muttered to himself just loud enough for me to hear.

After two hours, I managed to drive around the empty parking lot.

“You seem to be getting the hang of this.” He said with a halfhearted approval. “Now drive home.”

Home was about two hundred yards away. I managed to drive that distance only stalling out three times. It was a victory, nonetheless.

It so happened I had a two-day break before I had to go back to work, so I used my time to practice driving the narrow roads of the three canyons of Rio Nido. I was learning how to shift from first to second gear without stalling out, but I was still having difficulty stopping and then shifting to first gear to go forward again. In my difficulty, I developed a phobia of stopping.

Driving to work entailed about twenty traffic signals and about thirty stop signs. Getting to work was going to be a monumental task. I still had one more day to practice. I would drive River Road to Guerneville and practice with the three stop signs that were there. Guerneville was too small to have a signal light. I would have to do the best I could.

As it turned out, I had partial success as I only stalled out three times but had success the other dozen times I attempted. When I parked my car in the driveway, I took a deep breath. Tomorrow I would actually drive to work for an early Sunday morning shift.

The next morning as the sun peeked over the canyon peaks and redwood trees, I got into my car and started to drive to R-House. I began praying that I could manage to get through the city without having to stop at all. When I came to a stop sign, I would leave the car in first gear and come to a rolling stop, just like a native California driver.

The first signal light was around Santa Rosa Regional Hospital. As I neared the light, I was overjoyed to see a green light as I approached the intersection. So far so good. I was literally the only car on the road at this time. I must admit I cheated at a couple of traffic lights near City Hall since there was no traffic and so far, no cops. When I got close to Rincon Valley, I came to a stop sign where there was some traffic. I had to come to a full stop. In doing so, I immediately stalled out. With a car behind me and a driver with limited patience, I started my engine after enduring the blaring of a rude horn sounding. As it turned out, this was the only hitch in the entire trip.

Three months later, I had become proficient at driving my car until I misjudged my driveway and almost tore off the front wheel panel on the passenger’s side. It was early in the morning, so I doubt anyone heard me scream when I saw the damage on my new car.

It is hard to believe what was about to happen when I took my driving skills into the Coastal Mountains. To this day, I still recall very clearly what took place on that day. I’m sure many of you will think I am making this up, but the truth of the matter is that it did happen. The hills are beautiful, and the view of the Pacific Ocean is breathtaking, but nothing can match the terror I felt when I drove up those mountains.

A few weeks later, Kenn suggested we drive to Cazadero that was high in the coastal hills and where Jerry Garcia was from. The roads however turned out to be somewhat of an obstacle with a steep grade and switchbacks that were carved around the hills. These roads were one and a half lane wide so if you met oncoming traffic, you would have to work out how to get by each other. There were pull-off places at intervals, but the drop off was about a hundred feet or more. While I had become proficient, I was not the expert I needed to be to navigate some of these roads. It was thrilling in a bad way with the rocks a few inches from the passenger door and the hundred foot drop off just a foot to my side as we scaled the mountains of the coastal range.

As we rounded a switchback, Kenn pointed to a tree clinging to the edge of the cliff.

“See that.” He pointed to the tree where it had a few notches about four feet up on the trunk.

“Yeah.” I hissed as my tires moved closer to the edge.

“Those notches were put there by the motorcycle riders who clipped the tree as they rode by at a higher speed than posted.” He explained as I passed the tree and saw the deep gouges.

Seeing the notches, I began to wonder what went through their mind besides the damaged oak tree. Those folks who lived in these hills were on exit south of insanity for sure. I began to wonder if Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead suffered from some of the bumps he took on that tree.

When we hit the crest of the hills, I looked over my shoulder and saw the gray ocean cut through the misty horizon. I was happy that we were finally on a road that did not end in death on one side or the other. It was then I noticed that the grade of the road resumed an upward incline that got steeper the further we drove.

“I love coming out here.” Kenn remarked, “It’s always so peaceful.”

Peaceful? I did not feel peaceful in the least as I struggled finding third gear that would boost me to the summit of the hill we were on.

“The grade is getting steeper.” I noted.

“Yes, it will do that for another mile.” He nodded. Wearing his sunglasses even though there was not a single ray of sunshine to be found, Kenn sat back in the passenger’s seat really enjoying the excursion we were on. I was too busy trying not to stall out and drift back into the surf. As a sea breeze blew in from our open windows, I shivered a bit since it was cold and damp.

Try as I might, I tried to pop the stick into third gear and missed horribly. Suddenly the engine stalled out and we began to roll backwards toward the ocean. For the first time, Kenn’s expression changed to one of concern. I pressed the brake, but for some reason the car did not stop.

“You are pressing the clutch.” He pointed out.

Sure enough, I had missed the brake and depressed the clutch which made the car roll backwards at a faster speed. Finally, I got my trembling foot on the brake. The car swerved and we went into the ditch. The ditch was not very deep, but when I tried to drive out, the tires got stuck on the weeds.

“We’re stuck.” I said as I tried to rock the car as I had done before with success. It would not work this time. I cursed and put the car into park and turned off the grinding engine. “Now what?”

Kenn just shrugged.

I put my head on the steering wheel. There wasn’t a vehicle for miles. The road was empty of any traffic.

“Shit!” I pounded my fists on the steering wheel. It was a very long hike back to our cabins. I exited the car and felt the breeze grow stronger and colder. I was wearing shorts and a short sleeve shirt. Chances are I was going to freeze to death before we got home.

I was glad to see Kenn try to get my car out of the ditch, but he was unable to, because of the weeds that were about waist high.

“Gonna have to call a tow truck.” He shook his head as he got out of the car.

“Do they even have service out this far?”

“I hope so.” He put his hands on his hips.

“Where are we gonna find a phone to call?”

“Beats me.” He sighed.

It was then I saw a vehicle drive over the crest of the hill. Much to my surprise, the vehicle pulled over to the side of the road. The driver of the Explorer got out and took a gander at the car in the ditch.

“You got stuck, ja?” He had a German accent and was wearing lederhosen with a feather cap on his head.

“Yeah, I wound up in this ditch.” I pointed to my stranded car.

He put his fingers to his mouth and made a sharp whistle. At that moment, four other guys all dressed in lederhosen jumped out of the Explorer and jogged up to my car. Each of them took a hold of the under chassis and lifted it out of the ditch. With careful precision they deftly and gently put my car back on the road.

I can never be sure, but they all seemed to chant, “bip, bip, bip, bip” as they put my car down.

“My name is Hans.” The driver tipped his feathered cap, “And we are on our way to an Oktoberfest in Healdsburg.”

“Good times.” One of the passengers chuckled.

“I cannot thank you enough.” I shook Hans’ hand.

“Not a big deel.” His accent was still present. With a wave of his arm, they all turned in unison and got back in the Explorer as they continued to chant, “bip, bip, bip, bip.”

I stood there utterly astounded by what just happened. I wondered how many people could say they wound up in a desolate ditch and were rescued by a team of men dressed in lederhosen on their way to an Oktoberfest. I doubt there would be that many.

Kenn and I got back in the car.

“Are you alright to drive?” Kenn asked.

“Yes, I am.” I answered, noting that the road had leveled.

“If we stay on this road, we will get back home.” Kenn pointed straight ahead. “I swear, you never cease to amaze me. Just when I thought we were in trouble, someone comes to help you out.”

It amazes me that I wound up in a ditch only to be rescued by a deus ex machina who reached down and brought me home even if He was wearing lederhosen.