Ackerd

A dark, lonely highway in North Alabama is not the ideal place for a pedestrian. It is not my first choice of locale for a brisk stroll. But on a Saturday night in the spring of 1996 that’s exactly where I found myself. Walking along Highway 157 just north of Cullman. At night. Alone.

It started out as a perfectly normal trip from Florence to Auburn. An hour into the trip, the night took a bad turn that quickly veered into the surreal.

I guess I should admit I wasn’t as alone as I portrayed myself to be. My wife, of a year, was with me. And my dangerous trek only went a few dozen yards. But, honestly, those facts aren’t exciting and, frankly, that detract from the story. Even so, let’s go back to the beginning.

April 27, 1996. I do, in fact, remember the exact date. More on that later. Misty and I loaded our bags and ourselves into our Honda Accord for the long drive back to Auburn. We spent the first part of the weekend visiting with my parents and other family. Now, on Saturday night, we headed toward home.

At the time, I was employed as the Children’s and Youth Minister at Wesley Memorial United Methodist Church in Opelika. I had to be back to teach Children’s Church and Sunday School on Sunday morning. Thus our Saturday night trip.

The first part of the trip, as was always the case, was boring. The drive from Florence to Cullman is long (long for an hour drive anyway,) relatively straight, narrow (at least it was in 1995,) dark, and mostly deserted. Just before entering Cullman, the road widens from 2 lanes to 4. Always a welcome sight. Reaching this point means the Interstate, and its welcome high speeds, is only 5-6 miles away. It also means one of the longest hours of your life is over.

We passed this point around 9:00 PM. We drove a few miles on the four-lane road when suddenly the car lurched. The engine sputtered and stalled. We continued down the highway as the car jerked and staggered. I pulled onto the shoulder, but continued moving forward. The engine’s sporadic operation continued. Finally it died. Completely.

At this point in our relationship, Misty and I were experienced “broken-down-on-the-highway” travelers. (Remember this story?) Because of our past experience, I checked the fuel gauge. Almost full; we’d only been 60 miles since we filled the tank. I tried the re-start the car. Nothing. No sound. At all. My head dropped to the steering wheel. I let out a deep sigh.

We were stopped in front of a deserted storefront about 2 miles from the Interstate. There was nothing else around. No signs of life. I looked at Misty and said, “I guess I’ll start walking.” Remember, this was 1996 BCEp (Before Cellphones in Every pocket.) I got out of the car and began to mentally prepare myself for the 2-mile, up-down-and-back-up-again walk to the civilization, and payphones, of the interstate exit.

We decided I would walk to the exit and call a wrecker. I can’t remember if Misty decided to stay with the car or walk with me. Neither option was ideal. #1 – stay with the car. A Female alone in a car on a dark, deserted, semi-rural highway. Not a good idea. #2 – walk with me. One reason for our trip home was to let my family know that we were going to have a baby. At this point Misty was about 3-4 months pregnant. We, being naïve first-time future parents, had no idea if she should walk 2 miles or not. I’m thinking we decided she’d stay. And lock the doors.

When I was only a few yards from the car, a vehicle pulled to the shoulder in front of me. I looked back at our car. An oncoming car’s headlights illuminated Misty’s face. Her eyes were large. Her head shook quickly from side to side as if to say, “Don’t you dare!”

The driver’s side and passenger doors of the stopped car both popped open. I froze in place. My feet seemed locked into the pavement I didn’t know if I should expect a gun or shouting or to be bum-rushed. I did know that no matter what happened it was likely my feet were staying where they were.

After the oncoming car passed I could finally make out three silhouettes. Misty switched on our headlights and I saw the young faces looking back at me. Two guys and a girl. My feet lost a little of their weight and I was able to shuffle them forward on the gravel. I heard a car door open behind me. Misty’s feet were obviously still operational. She appeared next to me.

A voice came from one of the faces. “You guys OK? You need ride somewhere?”

Misty and I looked at each other and weighed our options.

“Yes,” we said simultaneously.

Misty and I piled into the back seat of their car and rode to the nearest gas station. The BP in Cullman. (Most anyone from Florence knows exactly what I’m talking about.) Once there we borrowed a phone book and called Jack’s Service Station and Wrecker Service. A tow truck was dispatched to collect us at the BP and drive us out to check our vehicle.

He arrived a few minutes later. The driver looked like something straight out of a typical “road trip comedy.” Chin length stringy, greasy hair. Dirty plaid shirt. Dirtier, mesh-backed ball cap. Rough, leathery skin. And at least 4 visibly missing teeth. He looked 50 but was likely not much older than 30. We’ll call him Wilbur.

Wilbur greeted us with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He spoke with the gravelly voice of a life long smoker. “Y’all call fer a wricker?”

“Um, yes.”

“Whur’s yer car?”

We explained to him that we broke down a few miles away and got a ride to our present location. We piled into the cab of his “wricker” and headed north. As we drove I explained to him what happened. Based on my limited experience. I said I thought it was a bad alternator.

“We’ll see,” was his response, and I think were his only spoken words of the trip (not counting grunts of comprehension.)

We arrived at the car. He popped the hood and asked me to turn the ignition. I did. Nothing. He checked the battery. It had a full charge. “We’ll have to take her to the shop.”

He hooked a cable to the car, put the transmission in neutral, and activated a winch that pulled our Accord onto the tilted flat bed of his truck. Once the car was in place the bed returned to a position parallel with the ground and Wilbur secured the car in place. We all climbed back into the cab of his truck and headed for Jack’s.

After he pulled onto the highway Wilbur retrieved and lit another cigarette. I looked at Misty. She looked at me with eyes that said, “I’m pregnant and he’s smoking right beside me!” Based on the fact that I did not want to piss him off because we needed his help and because of the barely healed wounds on his knuckles, I decided to say nothing.

Eventually Wilbur spoke. “I think it’s yer alternator.”

Several moments passed. “I don’t know if I c’n find an alternator fer a Honda Ackerd t’night.”

I looked at Misty. She looked at me. We both suppressed a laugh.

“Ackerd? A Honda Ackerd? Please don’t look for parts for a Honda Ackerd! You might try an Accord, though.” I thought, but did not say, the preceding. Again, the wounds.

“Don’t know if’n I’ll git one t’morra either seein’ as it’s Sundee.”

My head began to throb. I asked if there was a hotel close to their shop. He said there was one across the street.

“I don’t thank you’ll git a room though. Cause ‘a thar’s arasdonaratdayger.”

“There’s a what?”

“Thar’s a race down’ar at ‘Dega. Hotel’ser all full”

Which translates to – There is an automobile race in Talladega tomorrow. The hotels are all at capacity.”

I was shocked. “All the way up here?”

“Yep.”

When we arrived at Jack’s Truck Stop/Service Station/Wrecker Service I asked if we could use the phone to find a room. I called the nearest hotel with crossed fingers and a hopeful heart. The desk clerk informed me that it was a race weekend. I assured her I knew that it was. I then told her of our predicament. She said they’d just had a cancellation, but we’d better hurry.

We ran across the street to the Ramada Inn and checked in. I called Jack’s and told Wilbur where he could reach us. Then I called the pastor at Wesley Memorial to let him know we were stranded in North Alabama and I would not be there on Sunday morning. Finally we settled in for what we hoped would be one night.

I changed into some pajamas and sat on the bed. Just as I started to lay down the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Gotchye Ackerd fixed.”

“What?”

“Yer car is fixed.”

It was Wilbur.

“You found an alternator?”

“Naw, yer ignition fuse’d done come loose. We tightened her down and she cranked right up.”

As I sat on the phone my mind flashed back to March. A trip to Gatlinburg. We stopped at the Great Smokey Mountain Welcome Center. After a brief visit we returned to our car and were greeted by the blare of a car alarm we did not know our vehicle possessed. As the alarm blared I tried desperately for to silence it. Then tried for 2 hours to disable it since our car would not budge and would only honk and flash when I turned the key. I even unscrewed and took out some of the fuses under the hood in my efforts. Finally someone taught us the trick of turning on and off the lights to disable the alarm. Then I found a small switch near the floorboard that I apparently activated with my foot as I exited the car at the Welcome Center. Apparently I did not properly replace one of the fuses I removed.

“…either t’night er t’morrow.”

Wilbur was still talking.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said I don’t know how that fuse got loose. Also, thur ain’t no charge cept fer the tow. Y’all c’n pick ‘er up either t’night er t’morrow.”

“Um, I guess it just worked its way loose. OK, thanks, I’ll come get it tonight.”

I hung up the phone and watched almost all of my man points drain away as I explained to Misty what Wilbur told me and exactly why the fuse was loose in the first place. I crossed the street and returned to Jack’s. As I went in to retrieve the car I’m pretty sure I heard snickers from the unusually large crowd in the shop area. I paid for the tow and drove across the street to the Ramada Inn with my tail between my legs.

Since it was already about 11PM we decided to go ahead and stay in Cullman. The next day we drove home to Auburn. To this day I think of Wilbur and my feeble attempts at vehicle repair whenever I see a Honda Ackerd.

*Don't forget about the "Commenter of the Year" Award. Keep those comments coming. Even for old posts. I'll see them, don't worry. Laura, I haven't come up with a prise yet, but I will. BTW, Coconut Cake...that might win.*