Last year I took on an assignment in Gaston, Oregon about an hour outside of Portland. This isn't my normal beat, but I've been known to take rural appraisals here and there just for the scenery. And my plan was to take half the day off and continue on towards Gleneden Beach to meet my parents and my aunt who was in town visiting.
I drove (and drove and drove) through windy roads that got smaller and more rutted the further I traveled. One last turn put me on a gravel road. It must be the driveway... No, wait, this is just another road and judging by the addresses on the mailboxes (thank goodness at least half of people in rural areas have the heart to put address numbers somewhere visible to the road) there was about a mile more of this to go.
The owner was kind enough to give me landmarks to the entrance of his property which included a structure for his kids when they were waiting for the school bus (I think of this and immediately give my condolescenses to the school bus driver that got this route).
There it was. I turned into the driveway and found the owner outside. I made my introductions and started the inspection. It was a beautiful piece of property with a bit of acreage and loads of solitude. I was in no hurry and the owner and I chatted for a bit. It was a beautiful day; one that made me appreciate my job that much more.
The owner and I said goodbye and I got in my car anticipating a pleasant drive to the coast. Ah, but Gretta (my car) had different plans today. As I turned the key all I heard was click click click. How embarrassing... my battery is dead and out here! I sheepishly got out of the car and without missing a beat the owner cheerfully pulled out a battery tester and charger (must-have survival items for those in rural areas).
He couldn't get an accurate reading on the battery with the tester, but opted to hook it up to the charger for about 3 minutes. "Try it now" he said prompting me to try starting the car again. Click click.... That's one click less than last time! "We'll leave it for five more minutes". This ritual repeated for three or four more times with the same results.
I pulled out my AAA card and made the call. Although I've had their service for years and had been very pleased with them for the most part, I immediately remembered the year before getting stuck in the Nevada desert over night on the side of the road because AAA messed up on a dispatch call and due to lack of cell phone service, we had to rely on the kindness of police officers who would pull over every hour or so to check our progress... but that's another blog all together.
The dispatcher at AAA was optimistic, I thought in saying that a tow truck should arrive in 30-45 minutes.
Despite my telling the owner of the house I would be fine there alone if he had things to do (ie: go back to work), he was kind enough to stick around and we talked more about the city verses the country and laughed because I was taking the day off to go for a rural drive and he was taking the family into the city for the weekend for his ‘retreat'.
Sure enough, within 40 minutes, the tow truck driver came down the road. It sounded like a stampede of elk and the truck stirred up just as much dust. An appropriately big man hopped out tow truck with jumper cables in hand. Although we told him that we'd already tried that, he insisted on hooking them up. I didn't mind his efforts. Once he had justified our diagnosis that the problem was indeed not the battery, he hooked the car up to the tow truck and we were off. Again, I bid adieu to the most understanding home owner in the world.
Mr. Tow Truck Driver drove at about twice the speed that I did on that road with Gretta in tow. I winced as I looked in the rear view mirror at my car swinging from side to side spitting gravel all over. "Where to?" he asked with a smile. "Um, Vancouver" I said almost ducking in apologies. It was 3:30 in the afternoon by this point and what should be an hour plus some commute would likely be doubled with rush hour traffic. "Not a problem, I get paid by the hour" Mr. Tow Truck Driver turned up the music on the only rap station that could receive signal in the area and we were on our way.
Over the long ride, we chatted about everything from his home town (which we had passed through and he greeted nearly everyone with a honk and a wave), to his daughter, to being a tow truck driver.
Finally we made it up to the dealership and I dropped off the car. While waiting for the car to be detached from the tow truck, it was finally quiet enough to be able to check the days messages and respond before my clients had gone home for the day. I left a message with my parents letting them know that I am alive but not to expect me tonight. Although it was against company policy, Mr. Tow Truck Driver dropped me off at my house on his way back through Portland to Hillsboro saving me the inevitably long wait for a shuttle ride from the dealership.
Finally, I walked in the house where my menagerie of animals greeted me. I plopped down on the couch and smiled. You know, for a day that went horribly wrong, it wasn't so bad.
Got an appraisal adventure? Please share.
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