When the Check-Engine Light Appears, Eat Ice Cream

and sleep in the Dodge dealership parking lot

The notification sounds begin—ding, ding, ding, ding…—as I approach the Natural Bridge & Falls trailhead on Montana Highway 298. I pull into the parking lot and watch the messages roll in. Six days of text, email, and Substack notifications sent while I was at Camp Mimanagish in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness.

The digital deluge includes a text from my daughter, an email from a magazine editor about a potential writing assignment, and links to audio files from a podcast client, all of which seem urgent. I respond to my daughter’s text, then glance wistfully at the trailhead.

From the parking lot, I have just enough Internet juice to send text and email messages, but not enough to edit and upload large files. So, working for a couple of hours before hiking isn’t an option. My mind retrieves memories of the last time I hiked to the Natural Bridge. In 1970. The experience is vague, but I remember feeling amazed and happy. I want to go again.

I’ll come back later, I say to the windshield. Sure you will, the windshield replies. No, really, I’ll come back, I insist. The glass emits a glare of skepticism.

In my family, work has always been a priority. My parents did the chores first, which—because of their choice to create seven children—were endless. Watching them and other adult relations model that behavior, well…let’s just say that I’m uncomfortable putting off work-related tasks.

I sigh, point Charlotte north, and press on the accelerator.

In Big Timber, I pull into a shady spot on the street next to Lions Club Park and respond to the most important text and email messages, including a reply to the magazine editor. While I wait for his response, I search the Web for a place to stay the night.

It is 88 degrees. And, as you may remember, there is no AC in the van unless the engine is running. I need trees—large trees, tall trees with long leafy branches. Greycliff KOA Campground is just a few miles away. Their website shows shady tent sites for rent at a reasonable rate. And they have a site available. One. Amazing on a weekend in late July. I reserve it online, ignoring a warning next to the “reserve now” button that the “photos may not be of the actual site.”

My communication thread with the editor prompts me to drive about ten miles to do some onsite research for the article he might want me to write. By the time I arrive, the outside temperature has risen into the 90s. There is no shade in the parking lot. And my phone’s battery is at 3%. Oops. I plug it in, leave the van’s windows partially open, and hurry away for a quick reconnaissance mission.

When I return to the van, about 20 minutes later, the thermometer inside the van shows 105 degrees. I start the engine and crank the AC up to max. I grab my phone to find out if it has charged enough to take photos and record a quick interview. But it only shows a 10% charge (after 20 minutes!) and it refuses to connect to the van’s Bluetooth audio app. The message on the screen advises me to “try again” after it cools down.

In a panic, I drive to the KOA Campground, eager to pull Charlotte into the shade of the trees I saw in the online photographs.

But no trees tower over site #60, my site, the last one available. Instead, a picnic table, fire pit, and miniscule patch of parched grass stand baking in the harsh afternoon sunlight.

The woman in the office apologizes and gives me a full refund before I drive, AC blasting, back to Lions Club Park in Big Timber. There, I open the windows and side door, turn on my small fan and point it toward my computer, hoping to keep it from overheating as I download the podcast files.

>>> In case you’re wondering why I don’t just leave the engine running with the AC on, it’s because of an unpleasant chemical smell, which I assume is related to the overworked AC. Don’t know for sure. But the smell goes away after I shut the engine off. <<<

Thankfully, a late afternoon storm arrives. Thunder booms. Lightning cracks. A ferocious wind hurls hailstones and a torrent of fat raindrops through the air in sideways arcs. By 6:30 p.m., the temperature has dropped into the 70s, for which I’m grateful. But I still don’t have a place to stay overnight.

If you know this area of Montana, you understand that Bozeman is only sixty miles away. So, why don’t I go there? Because I have places to explore on the east side of the state. And because I’m still thinking I might be able to go back to the place where my phone overheated to take photos, and record a preliminary interview for the possible magazine article.

Also, I have an idea.

I drive to the Town Pump out by the I-90 interchange. Inside the convenience store I casually ask the clerk if they allow overnight parking at this location. He smiles as he processes my payment for a container of cherry Chobani yogurt and a bruised banana. Absolutely! he says. We’re here twenty-four hours, so you can park right next to the building. Someone will always be around. His enthusiasm makes me feel welcome.

I find a spot right around the corner from the store’s entrance, settle onto my comfy bed, and watch Keanu Reeves save himself and an attractive female physics professor from the bad CIA guys who are trying to steal their hydrogen-to-clean-energy invention.

The next day, Sunday, when I’m driving away from the McLeod Street Laundromat, the check-engine light suddenly appears on the van’s instrument panel. I immediately pull over.

I have no idea what the check-engine light is telling me to do. Google’s AI informs me that it may or may not indicate impending catastrophe. Well, that’s vague. The fact that the light is steady, not flashing, is encouraging, according to online info. But who knows what’s going on? Not me.

Should I panic, call a tow truck? The nearest Dodge dealership is in Livingston, 35-ish miles away. In the opposite direction of the place I want to photograph and the person I want to interview. Remember, it is Sunday. The dealership, and every other place where a mechanic would be, is closed. Fortunately, I have pulled over near a place called The Tangent Coffee Shop & Ice Cream.

Consuming a dish of salted caramel ice cream delivers glucose to my brain, which helps with decision making. I drive (slowly) to Livingston. Once there, I feel better, knowing that I’m in a town with a Dodge dealership. I find a shady place to work on the podcast. For dinner, I eat a tuna sandwich at Subway. Then I slide Charlotte in between a Jeep and a pickup truck parked near the service doors of the dealership. Once again, I crawl onto the bed and watch a movie. A rom-com this time.

In the morning, the second the service doors open, I jump out of the van to ask for help. A tech attaches a sensor to something somewhere under the steering wheel, but it doesn’t tell us why the check engine light is on. Maybe a clog in the fuel line or a spark plug that’s misfiring? They recommend a full diagnostic, which they can’t do until August 5, nine days away. It will be OK to drive the van to Bozeman, they tell me.

I won’t bore you with details, just these bits: Hours of phone calls…earliest appointment 3 to 4 weeks out…astronomical prices…frustration…discouragement…

Until…

I remember that my friend Shan once told me about a place in Four Corners. I find it online. I drive to B & L Quality Repair where I am given a Thursday morning appointment. By Friday, Charlotte is once again road worthy—for a very reasonable price—and I have recovered, thanks to the refuge of Shan’s guest room.

I’ve also responded to all my text and email messages, finished editing two podcast episodes, and secured a new magazine article writing assignment.

Whoot whoot! The interview and photos for the article will happen tomorrow.

Later this week, I have an appointment to discuss options for installing an AC unit in the van. Enough is enough. Yesterday it was 99 degrees in the Gallatin Valley. On July 12, it was 106 degrees. In the mountains of Western Montana!

Aaargh. What has happened to our lovely 75-degree summers of yore?

I’m not complaining because that’s boring and unproductive. But I do hope Charlotte’s AC installation can happen soon. Very, very soon.

: )