We were looking for a plot of land that we found on the internet marked For Sale.
The map led us down miles of desolate gravel roads off a highway in the middle of Nevada.
After fifteen minutes or so of driving West(ish), we could finally make out a cluster of trees in the distance, indicating signs of life beyond lizards and cacti.
The first set of structures looked abandoned years ago. Half a mile ahead, we could see some corraled horses and reassured ourselves that people did actually live out here.
The map indicated the lot we were looking for was just beyond the corraled horses, but it also said we'd need to park and walk .2 miles to the destination.
Thank goodness our phones still had service. Thank goodness we had thrown some water jugs in the back.
As we drove past the horses, we heard someone shouting. Ken slowed the truck, I rolled my window down and spotted a woman waving her arms at us and shouting, run-walking toward us.
I commented, "Uht-oh! We must be trespassing."
Trees surrounded the residence, it was hard to make out exactly what was happening, but she emerged from the trees after a few seconds.
She was a bit weathered, maybe in her mid-40s or early 50s. She was covered in dust, wearing jeans and cowboy boots—something you'd expect from someone who owns horses in the middle of the NV desert.
I couldn't hear what she was saying until she got close.
She was explaining with teary eyes that she needed help hooking her trailer up to her truck. They were supposed to go pick up hay to feed the horses, but she was having a problem with the trailer. She asked if we could help.
This was one of those moments where a lot of things flash through your mind. Movies like The Hills Have Eyes or The Devil's Rejects come to mind. News stories where couples go missing and are never seen or heard from again come to mind. Was it a trap?
Compassion also comes to mind.
Ken and I gave each other a glance of "we might die, or we might be able to help someone out" and decided to see if we could help.
I know trailers. I was a park ranger in my early twenties. I grew up around horses and pastures and hay. Maybe this would be in my realm of skill?
As we cautiously passed through the trees, a dog inside a truck started barking at us, and a really old fellah emerged from behind the truck introducing himself as "Champ." He was thin as a whip and probably closer to a hundred years old than to eighty.
Champ was instantly friendly and seemed excited to have some new people to talk to.
The woman's name was Jennifer.
Jennifer reminded Champ that there was no time for conversation. They had to get on the road to get that hay before the place closed.
This trailer they were trying to hook up was very old and very well used.
Jennifer explained that they tried to hook it up, but couldn't get the little support foot to lift so they could drive away because the little crank handle was stuck. It was super corroded with rust and looked a little daunting to me at first.
Ken and I lifted the front of the trailer up and pulled it up to the truck hitch and locked it down.
After looking at it for a minute, I realized it was not a crankable release but rather, one of the ones that swivels when you pull a pin. It goes from a support position to a parallel with the hitch bar position.
Because of the corrsion, I couldn't hold the release pin and swivel the support leg upward. Ken used his mighty strength to hold the pin while I handled the leg swivel.
I showed Jennifer how it worked so she'd know for the future.
Jennifer and Champ were very grateful.
They sped off on the bumpy gravel road leaving a trail of dust and a great memory.
It's interesting, challenging the uncertainty that something terrible might happen if you stop to help someone. Anticlimactic as it may seem, we helped. It felt nice.
It's a story I don't want to forget about, so I thought I'd write it down and share it with you all.
I love seeing where the unknown paths lead.
How 'bout you?
❤️ Jaimee