I obviously don’t drive my truck enough.
I was driving to the mailboxes three days ago and the truck stopped working at the bottom of the first hill. It sat there, dead, blocking the road. (It’s a good thing it’s a private road and almost never used by anybody but me and my neighbors.) I didn’t even bother to take the key, and walked the quarter-mile home.
I called my neighbor Bill, who is a mechanical genius, and asked him if he would take a look. He very quickly determined that a packrat had begun building a nest in the air intake system. He dropped everything and drove to Alpine, a 130-mile round-trip, where he bought a tool and a part he thought he might need.
He didn’t, which is a good thing because the new part cost about $150. When he used the tool to open up the old part, a sensor, he found that it was malfunctioning because there was one piece of packrat detritus crossing a couple wires and causing a short circuit.
Now I ask you: what kind of person is so fortunate as me to have a neighbor like Bill? Most people don’t even know their neighbors, and many of those who do are feuding with them.
I drove to town yesterday and bought Bill a freshly-made cinnamon roll. It no way repays his kindness and effort, but it is a small way of expressing how thankful I am to have such great neighbors.
Groove of the Day
86° and Partly Cloudy