So far, so good, but I was still six hours from home

The town dentist dropped me off at the only gas station in town. So far, so good, but I was still a six-hour drive home. 

While the sole gas station person tended to customers, I used my phone to search airplane + Joseph Oregon + pilot and got the answering machine for a local flight school.

I left a message and hoped for the best.

With a lull at the pump, I approached the gas station man I hoped was named Steve. 

“Are you Steve?”   

“Yeah,” he said. “How you doing?”

“Well. I’m sort of stranded. I need to get to Portland.”

I let it hang there. Steve just smiled and looked at the ground. “Stranded, huh?”

“My ex-wife told me to take a hike so here I am.”

He looked at me with a laugh. “Your ex. That’s a good one.”

“We were camping and . . .” I nodded.

He laughed some more, a kid’s giggle this time. “You hear a lot of weird stuff out here, but that’s good.”

“I got a lift from the local dentist. He mentioned Chet, a pilot.”

“Hmm. I don’t know. You can try.” His face looked full of doubt.

“I left a message on his answering machine.”

“It’s Sunday, and the bus don’t run on Sundays, so that’s a no-go. We’ll figure something out. People passing through here all the time.”

A car pulled in and shut off its engine, Steve excused himself. When he returned, we talked some more. I learned that he went to Wilson High in Portland and bought the gas station in the early ‘80s; he’s lived in Joseph ever since. He told me he loved people’s stories and how everyone in Joseph looked out for one another.   

“We’ll find you a ride. You just stay put.”

There I was, shuffling against the cement block wall of the gas station, keeping warm whenever the sun would break through the clouds. I was feeling grateful—I was surrounded by civilization, far away from invisible wolves. 

I wavered between worst-case scenarios (spending the night right where I was) and building a rainbow factory in my head (for a great outcome involving a shower and 60 Minutes). That’s when I heard Steve ask someone inside a faded red RV where they were headed. The question seemed as normal as can be.

Steve was getting right to it.

“St. Helens?” Steve repeated it loud enough for me to hear. It’s impossible not to pass through Portland on your way to St. Helens, and Steve knew it. He was also doing a great job of rebroadcasting everything the driver said. 

“Heading back today?” Steve asked the driver, who I still couldn’t see. 

“. . .  well, I have a guy here who needs a ride to Portland.”

No one could’ve teed it up better. My new best friend turned to me, pointing with his eyes as if to say, you’re up. His hand gesture was usher-like. Right this way.

You only have one chance at a first impression, and here goes mine.  

“Hi,” I said, pretending I had a great sleep.

He was exactly what I pictured: a beard with a trucker hat. I liked him right away.

He was either about to take pity on me or find my story suspicious and absurd.

“Well,” I began. “I’m sort of stranded.” Pause, take a breath. “My ex-wife—I was camping with my ex-wife, weird, I know—she told me to take a hike this morning.”

I suddenly felt self-conscious. I was dressed less for camping and more for the Costco cheese aisle.

That’s when I met Brian and Tina and their two foster kids. They got me out of Joseph.