Guardian Angels and Good Samaritans

Our travel with the horses took us many places from Indiana to Tennessee, Michigan, Wisconsin, Illinois, Ohio, Pennsylvania and Virginia. Unfortunately, there were few local shows for Tennessee Walking Horses. The Walkers were less popular and less numerous and the only shows were sponsored by different state Walking Horse clubs.

I think I may be a throw-back to former times when horse-drawn vehicles were the norm—not that I would want to drive one of those on today’s roads, but I just never got into the excitement of driving a car, or anything motorized including lawnmowers and tractors. As a teenager, I never begged to drive the family car and when I got married, my husband had to insist that I start driving. I am a good driver, but I just would rather not. With these sentiments, there was no way I was going to be the one to get us to and from the horse shows driving a huge truck and horse trailer combination.

Daughter Michal, on the other hand, had set her sights on becoming a semi truck driver from the time she was five years old. When we started on the road in 1979, Michal was fourteen. As soon as she got her license and could drive the “big rig,” we were on our own. Before that we had the kind indulgence of several wonderful friends who drove for us and taught Michal the ins and outs of pulling a trailer with a live load. I was the driver only once using a borrowed two-horse trailer. I can’t believe I ever did it. But once Michal got her license at sixteen, we were a perfect match; she became the driver and I was the navigator. I was good at that.

We had several horses to show, so the first trailer we bought was a four-horse, gooseneck stock. It was heavy, being made from steel, and had open slatted sides with detachable Plexiglas windows. It had a division between front and back with two stalls facing forward in each compartment. Loaded with four horses weighing half a ton each and the trailer weighing three tons, we had considerable weight behind us. Added to the length and weight of the trailer was the fact that the contents were alive and they moved around.  A gooseneck trailer attaches into the bed of the truck with part of the trailer hanging over the truck’s bed, which gives much more stability and safety than being attached to the back bumper of the truck. There was a lot less sway from the horses’ movements, other vehicles passing by us or the wind, which could be a very noticeable force.

The first show we went to alone was Auburn, Indiana. It was a one hour relatively easy drive. I thought if Michal could not maneuver for parking and unloading, surely we would get someone at the show to do it for us. Riding in our truck with the trailer gave both of us a lot of respect for semi truck drivers and their ability to jockey their rigs exactly where they wanted them. It wasn’t long before Michal had mastered that ability and proved it by getting in and out of tight places. Darn, but we were getting good!

Hauling live animals is an art in itself. Many things must be planned and considered. Is it hot? Will the horses be alright if you are stuck in traffic in the heat--or cold? What if you break down? There are no motels for horses. Will they drink strange water from a service station, or can you bring your own water from home? A horse drinks an average of five to ten gallons of water a day. And even if thirsty, will they drink it, considering the stress of the trip and the fact it tastes different from their home water? I think my main concern was the heat. While moving, a horse trailer has pretty good ventilation and air flow; but stopping for any length of time for construction, accidents or detours can cause a great amount of heat buildup. Having several horses packed into the trailer generates even more heat. I like to plan ahead for every emergency—well, ok, I am a worrier—but I would discover in my travels that I could not prepare for every contingency and would have to depend upon angels, both human and heavenly for help.

We were packed and ready to go to a show near Flint, Michigan. A couple days earlier I had the truck checked over by a mechanic and the front tires rotated. The night before we were to leave I started having feelings that something bad was going to happen on our trip. A nagging voice kept telling me to check the wheels and be sure the service man had tightened the bolts holding the wheels on the truck. Because I am a worrier and can think of all kinds of things to be concerned with, I kept telling myself it was stupid, of course the man had tightened the bolts. That was his job. I was going to prove to myself that I should not distress over everything that could happen.

Off we went down the I-80 toll way to I-69 north into Michigan toward Flint. We had almost reached our turnoff point to the showgrounds when we started hearing a strange noise coming from the front of the truck, but we seemed to be moving along fine. It was a very soft grinding sound. We were not mechanically inclined and I figured, like my grandfather on my Mom’s side said, “If you can keep going, you don’t need it.” We were almost to our destination and kept driving. I was not totally blasé, however, and when we got to the show, I asked a male acquaintance to look at it for us. He drove the truck around the grounds a little and thought it was alright. It was Friday night when we arrived. The show would be on Saturday and Sunday and we would leave early Sunday evening.

It was a great show; we got blue ribbons and had a lot of fun with our horses and friends. In due course we packed up, loaded the horses and headed down the road. It had been a hot weekend, and was still a very warm Sunday evening. We had not gone far when the front of the truck began to feel unsteady and we heard clunking sounds. Now, this was trouble. We pulled to the side of the road and now I was starting to panic. It is a terribly lonely feeling to be a mom with two daughters and a niece by the side of a road with a trailer full of horses.

My good horse friend Carol and her family lived near the area in Grand Blanc, and her husband worked in the automotive business. Before the tiny cell phones were engineered, portable phones were bulky devices in a bag, called rightly enough, “Bag phones.” They were powered by a large battery, which could be recharged, and the handset was similar to a regular house phone. I surely was grateful I had one. I called Carol; she and her husband Jud came to the corner of M 13 and Corunna Road, where we were waiting.

Jud looked the situation over and diagnosed the problem as “the wheel about to fall off,” and added that it could not just be tightened as the holes in the rim had been worn down and the lug nuts stripped as we drove on it. My heart sank and my stomach did a slow roll. Service garages were all closed since it was Sunday, so no way to repair it, thus, no way to go home. We were close enough to Carol’s farm that I knew we could be housed, horses and all, which was a secure thought, but I wanted to go home.

Jud thought he could fix the wheel if there was any place open on a Sunday where he could get the parts. After four hours of searching, he miraculously found parts and tools. It was no easy task to hammer out the studs and do the repairs, but eventually the job was completed and we were on our way home. By now it was dark and about half way home, we ran into a blinding rain storm. If we had to have a breakdown of such a serious nature, it was Heaven-sent that it happened where and when it did. From that time to now, I have never again ignored my intuitions—worrier or not.

One beautiful fall day held the promise of a wonderful weekend show in Hastings, Michigan. We were fully loaded in the old brown Rustler four-horse stock trailer with four horses, feed and riding equipment. This was our first time going to this show and we were not familiar with the roads. Coming into a small town, I didn’t see the turn soon enough to give Michal ample advance notice to slow the vehicles and turn onto the next road. Reaction took over and she put on the brakes harder than we would ever do normally, made the turn, but hit a curb on the corner with the trailer wheel. We were going through a small town at the legal speed limit of only 35 miles per hour, but that was too fast to slow down with a heavy, live load. We felt a lurch, the trailer swayed a bit accompanied by scrambling sounds from within. As soon as we were able, we pulled over and checked the horses. Misty, one of the mares, had been thrown against a side partition and it now had a big bend in it. The horse on the other side had a smaller slot, but he was not harmed. The rest of the horses were fine and we continued on with our travel, taking only thirty more minutes to reach our destination.

After the show was over, we started home. As we were going through the town of Hastings, another driver in a car that was passing us, pointed back to our trailer. I looked out my window and saw smoke coming from the rear of the trailer. Appalled we quickly pulled into a McDonald’s restaurant parking lot and assessed the problem. Apparently something had happened to the axle of the trailer when we hit the curb and the smoke was coming from one of the rear tires. The side of the trailer was sitting on the wheel, no longer supported by its axle. Another dilemma, five hours from home, on a late Saturday evening with repair garages closed for the weekend.

As our good fortune would have it, one of the show participants was eating at McDonald’s. He came to view our mishap and agreed with me that this trailer was not going to be pulling horses home to Indiana. He kindly drove back to the showgrounds to get Leo, the gentleman who lived outside of the town and put this show on each year. Leo rounded up someone who could unload and reload the horses to another trailer and then haul them to another show participant’s farm nearby. Next, he directed us to a repair shop where we could unhitch and leave the trailer. With no horses in the trailer, we could slowly pull it without the tires smoking. We would need to go home without the horses and the trailer. A couple of things were going through my mind. First, I was thanking God that this happened right after the show and in a place where help was available instead of fifty miles down the road in the middle of nowhere; but my second thought was that it had happened at all. Breakdowns were not in my grand plan of showing horses!

The next weekend we made the trek back to pick up horses and trailer. The lady keeping the horses was exceptionally kind, saying she would not charge for their care, but Sarge, one of the geldings, had broken her sliding stall door so she gave me that repair bill. I felt thankful for her generosity but all the more awkward that Sarge had caused this kind woman any trouble—again, not in my grand plan. The trailer was fixed; we loaded the horses and came home. It was an expensive show experience and hard on the pocketbook, the horses, and my nerves, but most importantly we were all safe.

We showed our horses more in Michigan than any other state because their club was the most active. About 11 p.m. Saturday night, returning from a show, we pulled into a gas station to fill up the truck and use the bathroom. Our usual troop of travelers included Michal, Chessa, me and one or two nieces. The 1981 Ford was a club cab with a seat in the rear and we used all the space. Truck filled with gas, hungry and tired, we all piled back in. Michal turned on the key—and nothing. Rats.

We were stuck in a gas filling space, hood up, peering inside pretending we might know what was wrong, when a middle-aged gentleman approached asking if we needed help. That we surely did. He thought our battery had died and offered to give us a start with his jumper cables. Sure enough, the truck was soon purring along like nothing had happened. I offered to pay the man and he was quick to accept. When I discovered that I only had twenty odd dollars left, he was slightly miffed, saying it would have cost us more if I had called someone to come, plus, it would have taken a whole lot longer. All these things I knew, believe me. Rather ungraciously he accepted what money I had. He was the only person who had ever helped us that asked for or even accepted payment. Lesson learned—always carry some cash!

My son Roger seldom went on our excursions, but on one occasion, his current girlfriend Sue was coming along and was going to be an exhibitor, so Roger took a sudden interest in going too. Sue was a horsewoman and she and my horse Old Trader got along fine together. This show was in Kalamazoo. On the way to the show, but again very close to our destination, the radiator boiled over. The details I no longer remember, but somehow we got to the showgrounds. Roger’s love of things mechanical, instead of horses, paid off for us. He had previously changed out a radiator in a vehicle at the farm, and needing only minor tools to fix the truck, when we got to the show, he went off to get us a new radiator. He spent much of his time doing that task, and when it was time to load up and head for home, the truck was ready to roll.

The most frustrating of our breakdowns culminated in another trip home from a Michigan competition. It was a Sunday afternoon and we had just left the Mt. Morris area. We were tooling along; again it was Michal, Chessa, me, and two nieces, Stephanna and True. The truck sputtered and lost power. It had happened before, but we had never figured out what caused the problem. At the first hesitation in the engine, Michal headed for the side of the road. We coasted to a stop, but not entirely off the road. Emergency flashers on, we got out, dug out the emergency flares and were in the process of setting them out when a car pulled over along side of us. The occupants were a husband, wife and a couple children. The man said they were coming home from church and wondered if we needed help. Did we! More than a few cars had already passed us by and we didn’t have a cell phone that time.

The gentleman said he would take his family home and return with something to pull us all—truck, trailer and horses—to his farm. It turned out he was a semi truck driver, so I felt secure in the knowledge that he knew what he was doing. It was the first time I had ever thought that pulling a truck attached to a large, loaded, horse trailer would be possible. The horses would be safe and off the road. While we were waiting for his return, a lady Michigan State Trooper drove by and offered assistance; help was coming from two directions. We told her we had help available. She said she would drive by a little while later to be sure we were alright. We were grateful for the assurance.

True to his word, our Good Samaritan was soon back with a strong tow cable. It was flat and was wound around a small spool and apparently very much stronger than it appeared. I was a little apprehensive, but Michal assured me she could handle steering the rig as it was towed around the corners of the more narrow county roads. I decided not to look. I also decided to add one of those yellow tow things to the collection of helpful tools stowed away in the truck or trailer.

Without mishap, we reached his farm. He was a crop farmer, as well as truck driver, and didn’t have animal shelter for the four horses. His neighbor did, however, and soon they were housed in stalls. We had enough hay left over from the show for their evening feeding. (Always a good idea to take extra horse food.) The man said we all could stay in his home for the night, as it was Sunday and no place was available to check out the truck. He promised to get us home somehow even if he had to load the truck and trailer on a flatbed and haul it home to Goshen. I certainly hoped it would not come to that, but what an amazing offer!

Mike and his wife treated us like family. We had a most enjoyable evening with them, much of the time spent with Michal probing for details on driving a semi tractor, which Mike was more than happy to answer. After supper we bedded down for the night. The girls were in their sleeping bags on the floor, and I was on the couch—all of us thankful for a safe place to spend the night. The next day Mike showed Michal how to do a four-point turnaround with a gooseneck trailer in an empty intersection. This was very helpful information which we put to good use on more than one occasion. We were learning more and more. Now if we could only figure out what in the world was wrong with the truck.

This was not the first time this spluttering stop had happened. Once was along an Interstate when another kind person pulled over and came to our rescue, suggesting it sounded like we were out of gas, and went to a gas station to get some for us. That didn’t really make sense to me, because the truck had dual fuel tanks and both had been filled before leaving home. When the first one had been close to empty, we had flicked the manual switch to run off the second tank. The gas gauge had gone up to the full mark, however we’d motored down the road only a few miles before it had spluttered to a stop. But, logical or not, when the kind person returned with gas, that got us going again and we refilled at the first opportunity.

In those early days of hauling and showing horses, I didn’t run to the mechanic for every little hiccough. Nowadays, my truck is the newest and most pampered vehicle on the place and my mechanic is a man who looks for problems before they occur—sometimes you can actually find them. Dean is on my “Best of the Best” list, my very own Mr. Goodwrench.

The day after Mike and his wife so kindly took us in was Monday and Mike got to work solving our truck’s woes. I guess being both a farmer with much equipment and a semi truck driver, gave him extra insight into machines. It was not very long before he discovered that even though the manual switch was changed and the fuel gage showed full again, in actuality, the tanks were not switching. We were indeed running out of gas. Good grief! We loaded up horses, children, said effusive “thank yous” to everyone involved, came home uneventfully and made an appointment to get the truck fixed before the next trip.

We kept in touch with Mike and his family for years. They met us at our big horse show at the Mason, Michigan fairgrounds and we exchanged Christmas cards but then as things are wont to do, we lost touch. One thing that has forever remained is our gratitude. Another is Michal’s soft spot for semi truck drivers. Elkhart has many businesses using semi trucks for deliveries. When Michal was working as a police patrol officer, she gave personal attention to those drivers who were lost. “Follow me,” she’d say and take them to their destination.

There is a devise on the market to assist you in changing trailer tires. I saw one in a horse equipment catalog which I promptly ordered and stowed in the trailer. It is called a Jiffy Jack and was specifically designed for tandem axle trailers. If you have a flat tire, you can simply pull the good tire on the other side up onto the Jiffy Jack which raises the flat tire for an easy and safe change. It is stable enough that you would rarely need to unload the horses. Unloading horses along the side of a busy highway could be extremely dangerous.

One July evening as we were traveling with six horses to a show in Newcastle, Indiana, we pulled into a filling station to refill the truck. I make it a habit every time we stop to walk around the vehicles to peek at the horses, check tires and look for anything out of place. There big as life, but getting smaller and smaller right before my very eyes, was a flat tire on the trailer. It must have just happened because it had not entirely deflated. After all our previous road misadventures, I had bought road service insurance. I never had used it; this seemed a good time to try it out. We put in our call, but after waiting over half an hour, Michal decided she would just change the tire.

We dug out our Jiffy Jack which was buried beneath lots of horse gear in the horse trailer and the truck jack to undo the lug bolts on the trailer wheel, which was buried underneath lots of people gear. By the time we were ready with our equipment, we looked like dispossessed people by the roadside. The Jiffy Jack worked like a charm. The horses never moved even as they were being tipped a little when trailer was driven up on the Jiffy Jack ramp. In short order the tire was changed and in about the same length of time, we were repacked, cancelled the call and we were on the road again. In our miles of travel that was the only time we ever used the Jiffy Jack, but it has a special place of respect in the trailer. It may be covered with other things, but it is there along with the yellow tow rope.

One more flat tire, this time discovered on the Ford Dually at another filling station. We had gone out to fill up the truck before hitching the trailer for the return home. It was again a Sunday morning; help would be harder to find. We didn’t have Michal this time, my horse friend Mary was the driver, and neither she nor I felt up to changing a rear dually truck tire. We added some air and went back to the showgrounds. At least there we were among people we knew. The first person I asked who I should call for assistance, offered to change the tire himself. The worst thing was getting the spare out from under the rear of the Ford where it was stored. It is a great out-of-the-way place for a spare, but not an easy place to access. It took a little time and effort as changing one of the dual tires on a truck is not the easiest chore, but eventually we were inflated on four good rear tires and ready to roll. Our Good Samaritan wouldn’t take payment, so we thanked him with words and hugs.

In the grand scheme of things, our mishaps were relatively minor and always occurred where help was at hand. Our prayers of asking for help and guidance from a Higher Power before each trip have been answered—and we have always been blessed with the most wonderful people, our good Samaritans.