Driving from Bismark ND, to Morris, MN for the 50th
reunion of my 4-year college class, driving in rain so fierce it feels like I’m
in a carwash, only it lasts for 20 minutes at a time, with just the slightest
let-up before the next roaring onslaught, rain so thick and dark that I cannot
see the sides of the freeway, or the next lane, or the tail lights of the
vehicle in front of me until I’m just a couple of car lengths behind, driving
in that kind of weather takes so much of my attention that I fail to notice the
warning light indicating I am soon to run out of gas, fail to notice until the
modern electronic car computer says I only have 21 miles before I am dead in
the water (pun intended).
Since I can’t take my eyes off the road to look at a map,
and dare not pull to the minimalist shoulder for fear of being side-swiped, I
drive past the next exit, where there is no sign at all of conveniences, noting
that now I only have 15 miles in the tank, deciding to take the next exit no
matter what. I take the “Hwy 108, Pelican Rapids” exit, with enough gas
remaining for 6 miles, no service at the exit, and a sign indicating 12 miles
to the pelican town. Should I get back on the freeway not knowing what is ahead
or take a chance on computer error with a prayer that 12 miles ahead there is a
gas station? I decide it’s safer to run out of gas on a minor highway than on
the freeway, at least in this situation where there is virtually no shoulder
and extremely poor visibility in the pouring rain.
Sure enough, at mile 6 of the 12, the car starts to sputter,
losing power. I coast down a gradual slope, luckily finding a reasonably wide
place to pull off the road at the bottom. Hmmmm. Now what? “This isn’t serious,”
I tell myself. I just need to put on the 4-way flashers, get out the cell phone,
find the AAA card, and call for help. As I’m looking for the card, the only
other vehicle I’ve seen since leaving the freeway passes me. Instinctively I
raise my hand, presumably in an “asking for help” sort of gesture. The car
whizzes past without slowing.
Just as I find the card and the cell, I hear a car pulling
in behind me. A young woman gets out, comes to the window I’ve just lowered,
and asks if I need help. She tells me her husband doesn’t like her to stop to
help people when she’s alone. “He always stops to help,” she says, “but most
people don’t these days. I saw your hand. I just thought you looked OK, so I
turned around and came back to see if you need help.”
I explain I’m out of gas. As she asks where I’m going, and I
tell her how I came to be headed toward Pelican Rapids, in the opposite
direction of my destination town, I can see she is relaxing and trusting me.
She takes me to town, chatting along the way, asking me where I’m from and why
I’m in Minnesota, telling me a little about her kids and the birthday party
they’ll be going to after we get the gas, explaining that the town is on the
Pelican River and yes, there is a falls right in town. She stops at the
station, learns their gas can is already being used somewhere else, and finally
takes me to her house where she has a 2 gal. container she recently filled for the
lawn mower. When I tell her I’ll pay for the gas, she says, “Na, you don’t have
to pay.” But I take $10 from my wallet and put it in her cup holder. In
hindsight, I wish I’d given her $20. She even pours the gas for me. Thanking
her, I give her a hug, because after all this, we’re practically friends.
It’s 3 pm, and suddenly I’m very hungry. So now, with 46 miles
worth of gas, I drive into Pelican Rapids, the highway forming the main street
of town, the way it does in most small towns in Minnesota. An artful sign
reading, The Muddy Moose Bistro, attracts me. On entering, I see and smell at
once my instincts are right on target! I order the special, home-made tomato
bisque soup with a grilled cheese sandwich, and a decaf Americano. Oh heaven,
it is delicious!
The only other customers that late in the afternoon are
three bicyclists, who later tell me they still have 40 miles to ride before
reaching their campground destination. Like me, they are having a late lunch, sandwiches
and beer, while drying a bit from riding in nightmare conditions. One of them notices
an old piano against the wall behind where I’m sitting. He asks the waitress if
he can play it. I and probably she are wondering if we’ll be hearing “heart and
soul” or maybe a little boogie-woogie riff. But no, the young man sits down,
and plays such beautiful classical piano music that it brings tears to my eyes.
I sip my coffee, my tummy satisfied, my shoulders at last dropping into their
normal position, the music soothing nerves frazzled by tense hours driving in extreme
rain, my mood shifting from nervous fear to relaxed happiness.
Before filling up at the gas station and heading toward
Morris again, I ask a passing stranger about the rapids. Learning there is a
small water fall right in the middle of town, only 2 blocks away, I walk there
to take a look.
On the road leaving town, even though heavy, dark clouds are
dumping rain again, my mind replaying conversations with the young woman who
helped me, the friendly waitress, the piano musician, and the stranger who
directed me to the falls, I smile with the knowledge that all is well in
Pelican Rapids, Minnesota.
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