Wyoming Isn't So Bad

I've always thought of myself as a city-kid even though I more or less grew up in suburban Minneapolis. I'm fine with that, too. That being said, it has been quite the culture shock working out of Powell, WY, population 5,000. Sure, small towns are charming, but I find myself lonely and a little land locked (lakes? hello lakes?).

I was cruising down Wyoming State Highway 310 on the way to meet with a client, contemplating the next 4 months of small town work, living out of a hotel in Cody, WY, when all the sudden my oil light flashed and my car started shaking and smoking and spurting water, filling the air with a chemical odor I've never smelled before. Shit.

I pulled into the closest gas station, frantically bought some coolant and oil. The young service station boy, observing my confusion, offered to help me. City girl, in a dress and heels confused about her car. This is a little too cliche'd, I thought.

I thought we had the car cooled down, so I started it and pulled out on my way to find a mechanic, very thankful that I hadn't yet downloaded John Clease's voice to my Tomtom, "you killed your auto, you bloody idiot! Get out!" Whew.

My car started to overheat again so I pulled over and walked to Hansel and Gretel's restaurant where I had enjoying a nice club sandwich for lunch not 3 hours earlier.

"Back again?" Said the waitress.

"Should've taken those left overs with you, eh?" Said the bartender/server.

"I would've but I was going to be driving all day, until my car broke." I replied.

"Oh, what happened?" Asked the 40-something softball coach looking server.

"Well, I think my radiator blew, or something—it needed coolant. I honestly don't know." I said sipping my iced tea from a jar. Seriously.

"You from out of town?"

"Billings."

"Shweeeew. You work here huh. Well I happen to be buddies with the best and cheapest most honest mechanics in Powell and Cody... let me call em'.."

"Oh thats ok..."

Exit bartender on his cellphone.

° 5 minutes later °

Enter bartender, Chris with the chef, Chad.

"Can't get a hold of CRC's but Chad here happens to be a mechanic, he can look at yer car if you want.' Said Chris.

"That would be great! Let me pay for my iced tea."

"Ah, don't worry about it!"

We all walk out to the car and run our set of diagnostics.

"Yep," said heavily tattooed, ponytailed, but sweet Chef Chad,"it's the water-pump. You can drive it in town to a mechanic, but no further."

We went back inside as Chris tried to call every mechanic he knew. Chad got off shift and we sat in the bar watching an episode of the TV show Cops about poaching Elk. Doesn't get more Wyoming than that...

Chris came back and told me that the reason the mechanics didn't answer the phone was because NASCAR was probably on the TV in the mechanic's shop and we should drive out there and ask about the car. First, we stopped at O'Rielly Auto and asked Chris's friend, Rich, if they had the part we needed, he said he did, $60 and could overnight it, great. Now all we had to to was confirm that CRC's could do the work.

We drove about 8 miles out of town, talked to the shop guy and he said no problem. Then the greatest example of American Small Town—hell generosity in general—happened.

"Hey Naomi, I'm going to go grab my gas card and fill up the car for you. You can use it all week if you want, I have to drive my truck up to Montana tomorrow to watch my daughter barrel-race. You can follow me back out here in your car and they'll get the work done tomorrow. Do you have a business card?"

"Yep. That is too generous of you."

"Naw, no problem." He said, smiling.

Get this, the now borrowed car, sitting outside of my hotel, is a 2004 Toyota Camry. Comparable to my mom's 2003 Honda Accord, needless to say, it is a nice ride.

The fact that someone would just lend their car, albeit third car, to a complete stranger—townie at that—is beyond me.

I am very grateful and have grown a new love and appreciation for the small town mentality of community, heart and home.

God Bless my kind strangers as they have bless me.