O Canada

Adventure into the Unknown^R4

Ingrid Dore

My husband loved adventure, especially exploring the back roads of BC. One day he suggested we visit Glen and Betty, our friends in Seton Lake. "Sounds good," I said, ready for another adventure.

Driving west past Vancouver one hot July morning, we turned north onto the Sea to Sky Highway. Then, after stopping for a quick lunch at Whistler, we headed north again.

In the town of Pemberton we stopped at a gas station to ask directions. "I suppose it's best to drive through Lillooet to get to Seton Lake?" my husband asked the attendant.

"Oh, no." The man shook his head. "That way it will take a long time through some isolated areas. The mountain road is much quicker."

"Really? But, I've heard this logging road is quite high and used only for service vehicles and trucks. Is it safe?" my husband asked, a bit concerned.

"Oh, sure. I just drove that road a week ago. It's a little steep, but I think you'll be all right," he said as he looked at our older model Chrysler.

"Well," my husband hesitated for a minute. "If you say so, we'll take a chance."

After a couple of miles the pavement ran out, and the car shuffled along on a gravel road dotted with large potholes. Soon, the road, carved out of the side of a mountain, deteriorated into just a single lane of gravelly ruts.

As our car climbed higher and higher, I got my first glimpse of Seton Lake about 500 feet below. "Look how beautiful it is down there!" I exclaimed.

Just then, the car hit something. My husband stopped the car and went to check. "Bad news," he told me. "A rock must have hit the oil pan. The oil is running out."

I was suddenly fearful. Whatever would we do on this isolated mountaintop?

"Maybe I can push the car over the hump. Then we can coast down." My husband looked at the mountain crest just a few yards ahead. "You will have to steer."

When I noticed that the car was so precariously close to the edge of the road, I began to panic. I turned the wheel away from the steep drop, yet I knew it could catapult right over the edge into the lake at any moment. Was this going to be our grave? My mind reeled at that prospect.

As my husband began to push, the car lurched forward. I clung to the steering wheel. "Please, God," I prayed silently, "help me to get it away from the edge." Another lurch and the car shot forward and then stopped just before it hit the rock ahead. "Keep steering to the left!" my husband shouted.

Again, I tried to straighten out the wheels and watched in horror as the car now rolled toward the lake. "Help!" I screamed. Just then my husband appeared at my side and grabbed the steering wheel. "We've made it. We're at the top. I'll drive now," he said, wiping his brow. "That was a close one. I wish the garage attendant had told us how bad this route is."

"Yeah," I agreed, still not sure if the car would suddenly plunge into the mountain lake below. Yet, with my husband steering, the car began to roll slowly down the mountain. In a few minutes we were at the bottom and coasted right into the driveway of Betty's and Glen's house, the first one in the community of Seton.

"We don't have a garage in this village," our friend Glen told us when he heard about our car problem. "However, there is a First Nations man here who sometimes fixes cars out of his driveway. Let's go down and ask."

When the man looked at our car, he shook his head. "There are no spare car parts around here. Sometimes I go to another town to get a part, but most of the time, they don't have any parts, either," he informed us.

We looked at each other in silence. "Well, I could try to patch it," he finally said when he saw our disappointed faces. "I'll take some time. Come back in a couple of days and I'll see what I can do."

Grateful that he was at least going to try to fix our car, we drove back, past the only grocery store, which doubled as a café, and the little library where community gatherings were held, discussing our options.

After a couple of days, we went back to the home of the mechanic. Crawling from underneath our car, he beamed. "I patched the oil pan. Now you can drive the car home."

While we were expressing our gratefulness, my husband pulled out his wallet to pay for the repairs, but the man shook his head. "No! No! If we can help our neighbours, we do it free.

"And we're all neighbours," he said, gathering up his tools. Even though he refused any money, we determined to someday bless others as we had been blessed.

Arriving home in the Fraser Valley safely after a six-hour drive the long way through Lillooet and the Fraser Canyon, we were thankful that God had not only kept us from plunging into Seton Lake, but that he had also led us to a gem of a man who practiced the Golden Rule. This misadventure certainly had turned into an adventure, one that we would always treasure.

(945 words)