Ten miles from Mountain Home, Idaho, where we had planned to turn off and take a side trip past my childhood home, I looked at the dashboard.
“What does it mean when the ‘AT OIL TEMP’ light comes on?”
And with those dozen words, our planned road trip took a detour.
The next hour was a blur of checking fluids in the 100 degree sun, calling our mechanic in Marysville, then talking to the service department with another shop in Twin Falls. What we had to do was apparent. How and why we would do it, wasn’t.
We had four options, as far as I could see:
First, the Yellowstone, or “F*** it” , option, where we wing it, continue to drive, pray the light doesn’t come back on or transmission die, and hope for the best. Knowing that once we left Twin Falls, we were driving through the hottest, most remote areas of the Mountain West for two days, this option seemed about as sane as wrangling cattle like in the scene for which this option was named.
Option two: push on to Salt Lake City, and see a mechanic there first thing in the morning. This option had the same “barren/hot” and “pray for us” problems as Option Number One, and appealed to me as much as contemplating a blown out transmission somewhere near Snow City, Utah.
The third option was we wait for Avery and her brother (following about 20 minutes behind us) and drive to Twin Falls together, go to the shop in the morning, and (again) hope for the best. We’d lose the hotel reservation in Salt Lake City and now would be looking at all of us putting in a 13 hour day to push on to Santa Fe. And that would be if (and that was a big if) there was nothing wrong with the car. Even in the best of circumstances, we’d be starting later than planned and driving further. This option also sucked.
The fourth and final option was that we split up. I would take some of Avery’s luggage in Natalie’s car and limp my way alone to Twin Falls. Natalie would join Avery and her brother, and they would push on to Salt Lake City, then continue on to Santa Fe, Houston, and so on, as planned. They would keep moving forward and get to St. Augustine in time for orientation. Natalie protested until I pointed out I had the time (I don’t have to be anywhere until after Labor Day) and the money (moms have credit cards). If repairs took longer, I’d catch up with them eventually. If I needed to rent a car, fly somewhere, stay several days in a hotel, etc., I could.
This option provided several different paths, depending on what is wrong with the car. Best of the scenarios is it is a minor fix and I meet them in Santa Fe tomorrow night. Yes, I’ll be driving alone for 14 hours, but as an only child with thousands of hours of podcasts, songs, and audiobooks on her phone who rarely has time to herself, this option is strangely appealing. I won’t bring the worst case scenarios to life here. I have learned to be superstitious about these things.
And so there I found myself. In my hometown, the same place where almost 50 years ago I embarked on my first road trip with parents who I’m sure also had to take many unplanned detours in life. Standing sweating the Idaho summer heat making one of the hardest road trip decisions: part with my daughter so we could safely achieve the goal.
We hugged, I got in her car, pointed it back towards I-84, and cried for a bit. We won’t share a memory of listening to the sound of money in the middle of West Texas, but the landscape has changed since I was a child: as a mom, having a little money has given me the luxury to change what kind of hard decisions I have to make.
PS I made it to Twin Falls and the kids to Salt Lake City, all safe and sound. We shall see what tomorrow brings!
