Something's Wrong with the Horizon

Mt. Shasta stood like a quiet sentinel - dominating the eastern horizon. 

The mountain was majestic – draped with white snow - in vivid contrast to the late afternoon sky of early summer.  The view was spectacular.  On any other day, it would have been “a photo-op waiting to happen”, but not on this day.      

My attention was on anything BUT the view. 

I was preoccupied with a payphone.  It was 50 miles south of the Oregon border, at a rest area just north of Mt. Shasta, California.  Vehicles whizzed by as they picked up downhill speed on Interstate-5.  But, my vehicle was not moving.  It was stopped.  More accurately, it was cooling off.  And, Los Angeles was still 600 miles away. 

The phone call was to my girlfriend, Lisa.  As she answered the phone, I had three minutes to blurt out my plight.  There was no preamble. The message was straight and to the point. “Lisa, pray.  Something’s wrong with the Horizon.”

Now, let me clarify what I mean.  

For the past 150 miles, the car’s “red warning light” had been coming on with increasing frequency.   It was crystal clear.  I was in “a pickle”.   Something was really wrong with my Horizon – my 1979 Plymouth Horizon.

The entire month of June 1986 had been a whirlwind. Pure and simple!  At the beginning of the month, I was flying south to move north – intending to ride a motorcycle.  Instead, by the end of the month, I was flying north to move south – while driving a car.  Whew!

After Lisa and I decided to start dating, I made plans to hightail it back to Oregon.  I wanted to get my things and move back to southern California.  Once I got to Oregon, I got a lead on a car to buy - which made it easier to move my stuff.  

While living in Portland, I had gotten to know Dave and Julie.  They were friends of my friends, Eric and Cindy.  Partly because of my influence, Dave and Julie were heading off to teach English in China for a year.  They were using the same organization that I had used.  I was aware that they were downsizing, and that they were selling a car.  It was a faded blue 1979 Plymouth Horizon Hatchback. 

Most importantly to me, the Plymouth Horizon was affordable.  In other words, they weren’t asking much for it.   It came with lots of receipts and Dave’s full disclosure of its condition.  He told me that the engine had recently blown a head gasket, but that it had been repaired.  Dave had driven it a few weeks, and had no issues.  I drove it around a couple of days, as well.  I didn’t have any issues either.  I needed a car to drive.  This met my need.  So I bought it, loaded it up, and got ready to head south. 

On, Friday, June 27, 1986, I left Portland for what I thought was going to be a routine trip to Los Angeles.  I. Was. Wrong! 

The first sign of trouble occurred about 200 miles south of Portland.  Just north of Roseburg, Oregon,   the temperature light started to flicker red.  This happened a few times.  I reduced my speed, somehow thinking that might help.  But soon enough, it burned a steady bright red – mercilessly.  Fortunately, the radiator wasn’t boiling over, so I waited for the engine to cool a bit and limped to the next exit.  Since this was before cell phones, I looked for the nearest pay phone, and contemplated my options.   The exit had gas and food, but no mechanic.  I felt it was too far to go back to Portland.  But, I needed help, so I made some calls.

Over the next hour, the engine cooled.  I called several friends in Portland.  And at some point, I talked to Dave.   He connected me with a distant aunt and uncle who lived in Roseburg.   They were an older couple.  They took me in, fed me, and gave me a place to spend the night.  I was treated like family.  During supper we talked about my time in China, and about what might be wrong with the car.  After talking about the car, we decided to replace the thermostat. 

The next morning, Dave’s uncle took me to get a thermostat, and helped me put it in.  After running the engine for a while, it seemed like the problem was solved.  So, late-morning, after thanking them profusely, I was on my way. 

Everything ran well, for about 125 miles - until I got to the mountains.  The light came on again, so I nursed the car over the California border.  At the second rest area, I knew I was in trouble.   That’s when I found a pay phone, and called Lisa.  I needed her encouragement, support, and PRAYER.   

After letting the engine cool for an hour, I decided that I had to try to keep going.  The road was mostly downhill, which was good.  But, the temperature light came on again not far down the road.  This was not good. 

As I approached Mt. Shasta, California, it was getting dark.  I knew I needed to do something, but I didn’t know what.  I didn’t have much money, but since the light had come on again, I knew I had to stop.  

I remember stopping at the end of the last exit for the town.  I pulled off the shoulder near the stop sign and prayed.  It was pretty simple.  “Lord, help me.”  

After praying, I looked around me to get my bearings, and I noticed a small church just down the road. It was Saturday evening, and night was falling quickly.  A light was on in the church.  As I went to the door, I could hear someone playing the piano.  The front door was locked, so I banged on it.  Loudly!  Surprisingly, a young man in his early twenties answered the door, and I proceeded to plead my case.  I blurted, “I’m a Christian.  I taught English in China last year.  I am moving from Portland to LA, and I am having car trouble.  Do you know of anyone who could help me?” 

And, then I took a deep breath and waited.  I’m really not sure what I expected. 

Amazingly, the young man listened patiently and sympathetically to my plight.   He said that he was the pastor’s son, and that they lived next door in the parsonage.   He said, “Let’s go talk to my parents and see what they think.” 

So, we went next door and he introduced me to his parents.  

I told the family my story.  They welcomed me and invited me to join them for fried chicken and all the fixings.  Somehow, I had arrived just in time for supper.  As we talked around the table, his mom said something very interesting.   She said, “God prompted me to clean our camper today in case we needed it.  I think you’re the reason.” 

So, I spent the night in the camper – sensing that my stop was not a surprise to God.  It certainly wasn’t to the pastor’s wife.

The next day was Sunday and I went to church with them.  The pastor gave me part of the service to speak about my time in China.  By way of introduction, he told the congregation about my car trouble.  After the service a man came to me.  He lived in Dunsmuir, which was 10 miles south.  He said that he was a mechanic and if I was still having trouble when I drove past the exit to feel free to stop and he would look at my engine.

By mid-afternoon, after being thoroughly welcomed by the congregation, and fed and pampered by the pastor and his family, I decided to continue south.  Before I left, the pastor assured me that it was okay to stop in Dunsmuir if I was still having problems.   So, off I went - again.

By the time I got to Dunsmuir, the “red light” was coming on relentlessly.  I knew that I needed a mechanic to look at my problem. 

I found the mechanic’s house.  He looked at my engine, and heard what I had done already.  He recommended that we take the car to his shop the next morning.  So, what was oddly starting to become a pattern, happened again:  the family fed me supper; listened to my stories; gave me a bed for the night; and worked on my car the following morning.

The next day, the mechanic took the valve covers off, and examined the work that had been previously done on the head.  He then re-torqued the bolts and tested the cooling system.  No charge.  It seemed like it was fixed.  I thanked him profusely, and by mid-afternoon, I was on my way – again.

As I headed towards Sacramento, I took my time.  I decided not to push it. I stopped frequently and kept my speed near the minimum.  As night fell, the air cooled off.   The red light didn’t come on, so I kept driving.  I stopped at nearly every rest area along the way to let the car cool and grab a catnap.  The night-time radio talk-shows kept me awake.  I drove on deep into the night.

As I got near Sacramento, I knew I had to stop and sleep in a bed.  I also could tell that the problem wasn’t completely solved.  While the red light wasn’t coming on, the radiator hoses weren’t warm either.  I was sensing that the engine was surviving by being “somewhat” air cooled. 

It was at that point, I had an “idea”.  Hmm! I wonder where that came from.  I recalled that three years earlier, before I went to China, I had been a groomsman in a friend’s wedding.   The wedding was held in the bride’s home church, which was in some burg south and west of Sacramento.   I thought if I could just find the church, I might be able to get the bride’s family – or someone to help me.  Again, this was before cell phones and GPS.

Around 4:00 in the morning, I finally stumbled upon the church and pulled into the parking lot.  I parked in a back corner by some trees.  It was Tuesday morning so I figured that I would wait and hope that someone from the church staff would open up the office.  It was cool enough that I rolled up my windows, locked the door, and promptly fell asleep.

Around 8:30am, I woke up to a policeman knocking on my car window.  

I could see people peering out the church office window as the officer sternly asked what I was doing.  I must have looked a mess, but suddenly the adrenaline flowed and my tongue was loosened.  I babbled about having car trouble and being in a wedding at this church three years earlier, and could someone call the bride’s family and see if they could help me.  After hearing my wild story, the policeman seemed sympathetic.  He talked to someone in the church office and they made a phone call. 

Within minutes of the phone call I got a welcomed surprise. 

I was invited into the church.  Then, the phone was handed to me.  Not only did the bride’s family get reached, but low and behold, my friend, Mike, was on the other end of the call.  He and his wife were up from southern California to visit her parents over the Fourth of July holiday, and they had just arrived the night before.  Hmm!  “How coincidental was that?”

Mike gave me directions to his in-law’s house.  I got a bit more sleep, and then I started to reconnect with them.  I had not seen Mike and his wife since their wedding.   So, I told them about my time in China, my budding relationship with Lisa, and of course, my drive from Portland.   As we talked about my engine problem, a mechanic was recommended. 

I also learned something interesting.  Mike and his wife were living in Pasadena – two blocks from Lisa.  “REALLY?”   “That’s curious.”

The next day, the main event was to get my car fixed.  The verdict was that the radiator was plugged. I was sent to a radiator shop, and the radiator got unplugged, painted, and was like new.   Mike also helped me with some desperate funding to get it fixed.  In talking over the sequence of repairs with the mechanic, he affirmed that each of the repairs likely needed to be done.  I am guessing God knew this. 

After a couple of days with Mike, his wife and her family, I finished the last 350 miles of my trip.  I made it safely the rest of the way.  This time, the engine problem was truly solved.   In fact, for the next three years the Plymouth Horizon traversed the mountains of southern California – at times, in 100 degree heat - without ever overheating again!

As I think back, “My Plymouth Horizon really did affect “my spiritual horizon”.   The road trip has become a “spiritual marker” for me.  It was similar to Lisa’s “faith trip” to China.  It’s become one of those events to “look back on” and remember a “situation” when I was totally dependent, and God chose to meet my need in a pretty miraculous way.  Remembering encourages me and builds up my faith.  I am hoping that it builds up yours too. 

Oh, by the way, there “just happened” to be another huge benefit of this trip. 

In reconnecting with Mike and his wife, they offered me a place to stay in Pasadena.   For three months that summer, I slept on a foam pad in their living room while I worked for a “temp agency”.   As the second family in “Three Families & a Rock Band”, they helped me get my bearings, as I adjusted back to living in southern California. 

Importantly though, with Lisa living only a couple of blocks away, she and I began to spend time together as a couple.  And, those three months became foundational to our love story - because two things happen later on that fall to put distance in our relationship, and substantially impact our future.

Stay tuned!

 

Next Time: Why are You Resistant to Counseling?

 

Photo Credits:

Top: Pixabay Mt Shasta

Middle: Waymarking Pay Phone

Bottom: Carr Collection

 

Note: If you are one of those “strangers” who assisted me on that trip.  Thank you.  Know that God used you in a special way.