Ark Down

Even though Kiwis are speaking English, there are times when the country-bumpkin-type folk are speaking in such a colloquial jargon-y tongue and with such speed that really they may as well be speaking Vietnamese. 

Today: Day 10 of Ark ownership.  We have suffered our first accident. 

We decided to take the scenic way called fittingly "The Forgotten Highway" - aka Highway 43. 

There was a sign for a turn off down a dirt road that said Ghost Town and much like the girl in the Death Cab For Cutie song, I may be young but I only like old things, so we turned left to see the old town. 

Turns out it really was a ghost town. Like all the buildings have since been razed and the only remnants were some rusty irons and vices housed in a plexiglass diorama labeled "Museum".  

Disappointed, we turned around to get back to the highway only to come across an over zealous campervan with a trailer who forced us to veer into the ditch on the left hand side. The ditch was soggy and muddy so we were basically stuck. Don't worry it was a very small ditch. And no one got hurt. And it wasn't even a big deal. But a little dramatization never hurt anyone. Except Greg Mortinson. And James Frey. But just them. 

Here's The Ark in its state of helplessness:

 

The guy who ran us off the road actually returned a few minutes later to check on us. I hate to judge, but I'm like 99% sure he was a rugby player. He had those tiny little shorts that let everyone know all about your thighs and then huge clunky work boots and also he tried to pick up our van. That's how I knew. Sadly, even the best rugby players with the best thighs can't always lift vans out of ditches so he turned around to run back to the ghost town (current population of 9) to ask for help. 

Ten minutes later a pick up truck rolled by. He mumbled something (enter bumpkin-kiwi English) and drove off. I did get the impression he was going to help us so we went ahead and made that assumption. 

Two minutes after that a small sedan slowly rolled by. We informed him that help was on the way and he needn't worry.

Two minutes after that the same pick up came zooming by and this time the right head light was dangling. He pulled up close enough for us to hear him say something like "Wanker crashed into me!" And also to see blood covering his face. There was literally no time for me to even ask if he was okay or anything. He just zoomed off literally leaving us in the dust. That's right, the guy who set off to help us got into a car crash and is now gone. 

Ten more minutes passed and Bill decided he'd walk back to the ghost town of 9 (now 8) to see if someone else had a tow line. Seemed like bloody-face car crash victim was no longer in our artillery of help. And hopefully he was fine. 

I sat in the shade and waited. 

Bill meanwhile had run into the guy in the sedan, his name was Blake, and he was the other car crash victim. "Wanker crashed into me!" was his recollection of the incident as well. He has a grey wife beater on that was ripped from the neck line down to his umbilicus and approximately one thousand tattoos. Also a very nice beard that all Wasatch ski hill men would envy. He kindly picked up Bill (and his wife and daughter who happened to crawl out of the bushes at the right time) and though he only had a 2wd vehicle he was determined to get our van out of the ditch. 

First they called the bloody-face white pick up truck fellow (who's name sounded like "Bruceless" - not a single Bruce to be had by this fellow) to see if he was still planning to assist us. No, he was not, he was home tending to his bloody face. Fine. Understandable. Still a real wanker though.

Next, Blake and Bill went to Grouchy (we don't know his real name but this is how the others describe him and it fits our perception as well). Grouchy was sitting in a 4-wheel drive buggy but averted eye contact and said no he didn't have time to help with our van. 

Blake was a bit incredulous but he knew that Grouchy's daughter also had a 4-wheeler so they left to find her.  Blake pulled up to the neighborhood (a row of 4 houses) and started screaming instructions aloud for all residents to hear. "We need a 4 wheeler to get a van out of the ditch come out and help!" 

Lindsey, the local honey and jam producer, heard the ruckus and came outside. He was peeved that Grouchy hadn't spoken to him in a month ("don't even know what I did!") and that Bruceless had just driven off to take care of his bloody face rather than just give us a tow prior - and so got in the car with Blake to fix our situation. 

The three of them pointed to every single vehicle in the city. "How about that one?" "Nah, its 2 wheel drive too." Until they just decided to utilize their shabby 2wd vehicle because it was the best they could do. 

Meanwhile, Grouchy must have been curious because he rolled up to me standing alone by the car. He asked if I could drive it and then gave brusque instructions to put on my hazards and put it in reverse and do as I say. I did and we got the van out with a chain and his 4wd buggy. He directed me to get off the road and when I told him I needed to turn around to find my husband he said something like "No you don't. You pull out the road and wait. He's coming." I did as I was told. 

Five minutes later Bill, Blake and Lindsey pull up. They can't believe Grouchy helped me out because just 20 minutes prior he had explicitly stated he would not be helping. They can't stand the guy. What a piece of work. Never understand him. Bruceless too. Must be hard to be in a bickering match with 15% of your town. 

They wish us luck and see us off. 

We didn't see any ghosts or ghost town but I'm not terribly broken up about that. 

My one regret is that we didn't buy any honey from Lindsey.