Go West Find Trouble

Adventures in Second Gear

“Looks like we’re going to be here awhile, so…coffee?”

Chris and I walk the highway from the mechanic’s over to JaBBr’s Family Restaurant, a greasy diner known for its colorful ceramic mug and saucer sets—pops of tropical Floridian Deco amongst the dusty taupes of the northwestern prairie. Nausea stews in my stomach that we’re probably screwed. I try to pass it off and enjoy my coffee, but I can’t help but jump to depressing conclusions. We’re about 1,000 miles from home—in Bowman, North Dakota (population 1,700)—and our car won’t get out of second gear. This cup can only end in tears.

Because even in the 21st century, analog maps are the best.

When a car isn’t just a car

It’s October of 2016. About every autumn since 2009, Chris and I would take a long road trip to go shoot photography—at first it was Polaroids and then morphed into the light painting trips during the full moon that we still take to this day. On these epic treks, we’d usually take my maroon 2004 Hyundai Elantra hatchback, affectionately dubbed Bloodball, who was one hell of a workhorse. Purchased by yours truly in 2008, with a mere 39,422 miles on the odometer, by that red letter day in Bowman we had clocked in at 156,075.

Over those eight years, Bloodball had taken us all over the country: All the way out to the dusty Route 66 ghost town Ludlow, California. Deep south to Austin, Texas for an art show. And most poignantly of all, to our elopement/wedding day in Nashville, Tennessee. As I’m sure many of you readers can attest: when you name your vehicle, and spend a significant amount of time going to significant places, it becomes an integral and emotional part of your family.

California Route 66, circa 2010

Go West Find Gold

So let’s rewind a bit from that colorful mug of depressing JaBBr’s coffee. This trip to North Dakota was particularly crucial because we were on the prowl for a one-of-a-kind shot. We planned to locate and light paint a particularly unique subject, and then print the photograph one single time—a 1/1 edition. See, most photographers don’t sell OOAKs in their shows like a painter would. My assumption is that most buyers wouldn’t believe a photographer who claimed they’d never reprint a shot when it’s so easy to do. But we were determined to make it a thing. We dubbed it our #GoWestFindGold tour and put our plans on blast all over the web.

The beginning of the end

So it’s the night prior to our wait at JaBBr’s. We had gathered all our light painting gear, ready to shoot a neighboring ghost town named Griffin, where we had a hunch we’d strike our gold. The deserted town still had an abandoned school, train car, and a whole field of varying vehicles—including one very unique one—just waiting for the pop of our colorful flashes to come back to life, if just for one night.

Sitting in the kitschy North Winds Lodge motel parking lot, ready to head out to Griffin, we started Bloodball up and right away knew something was off. As we began to drive out of the lot: the red glow of the check engine icon confirmed our assumptions. But after coming all this way, a little car trouble wasn’t about to stop us.

Yes, let’s go ahead and drive 30 mph in second gear on a 65mph highway at 10pm. If the car completely dies on location, it’s only seven miles from town. Totally walkable.

Well, we struck gold thrice that night. First, the weather that threatened rain cleared and left behind a unique cloud cover, perfect for photography. Next, we bagged just the loot we needed to fulfill our one-of-a-kind goal: a magnificent 1951 Spartan Royal Mansion—a 33 feet long and 2.5 ton aircraft-grade aluminum beast of a glorified home on wheels. Fully restored, these beauties fetch quite the bag themselves. We even helped a Spartan collector who spotted our photos on the web broker a deal with the landowner to purchase this hunk of history. So save yourself the trip because she’s someone else’s project!

Go West Find Gold, 2016, Griffin, North Dakota — 1/1

And our third bit of gold: Bloodball made it back to the motel in one piece. Albeit still very broken. The next morning we slowly pulled into the shop of kind mechanic named John McGee on the east edge of town. As you tend to do in small towns, we chatted for awhile with John and his wife, Gail, before getting down to business. Gail shared some snacks with us. We told them all about our adventurous vocation and showed them photos. We even brushed on politics, which—if you sneak a peek at the ol’ calendar—is just about to buckle our country in for one hell of a wild ride. John told us he’d do his best to figure things out. We said we’d wait down at the diner.

We’ve still go work to do

Sipping JaBBr’s Columbian roast, we mull over what to do about the rest of the trip. John the Mechanic gives us a ring with an update. Might just be the output speed sensor, but it could be a solenoid. We can start with the sensor, but it’s going to be awhile before the part arrives. Let me know if you want me to proceed. We walk back to the shop, sign papers, and trepidatiously ask if there are any rental cars in town. Our luck is still gangbusters because there’s one car left at the small dealer car lot next door. We head over, sign more paperwork, hop into the rental, and head north to shoot for the next two days. The extra $336 in rental cost was worth it because we snapped one of our most popular shots, located in Alamo, North Dakota, the very top northwestern corner of the state.

A Night at the Ramsfield, 2016, Alamo, North Dakota

Many years later, this photo would be discovered upon Google search by a man down in Florida. He emailed us a breathtaking tale about how his great-grandfather, Lenard Ramsfield (nee: Ramsfjell), immigrated from Norway, built and homesteaded this house, and raised eight children there with his wife. Three generations lived in the home until the last one parted for a new life. He told us any Ramsfield that lives in the U.S. is related to his great-grandfather. Knowing this history fills this photograph not just with light, but with life.

Rehomed

We snake our way through the northwestern stretch of NoDak, with a quick stop in Teddy Roosevelt National Park. We see all kinds of badlands and wildlife and learn—after asking a ranger, what’s up with that helicopter—that bison must be rounded up for testing to maintain herd size and diversity. Hundreds are then removed and rehomed to the surrounding Native American tribes. Bison return to the people who know how to honor every fiber of this beloved animal’s body, for nourishment, for warmth, for tools, and for art.

As we travel back south toward Bowman, John the Mechanic calls. Our luck runs dry.

I’m sorry, looks like it’s a transmission issue…you’d have to get it towed to another town.

At various points in trip, Chris and I had both discussed what we’d do if it was the transmission. Keep Bloodball going or put that $3k into a new vehicle?

At over 150,000 miles and over a decade old, Bloodball’s final destination would be North Dakota.

We tell John we’re on our way back to settle up and figure out a way home.

We stop to breathe in last view of the North Dakota badlands. And yes, I’m not ashamed to admit that I weep as I gaze at the scrubby, undulating vista. Yes this car is just a hunk of metal and plastic. And also yes, this car is so much more: The first car I bought and paid off all by myself. The vehicle in which I made a life-altering mistake and learned a valuable lesson. A symbol of both my independence after breaking it off with an ex and the partnership I built when I said yes to this weird and wild life with Chris across America’s highways and byways.

Feeling sympathetic to our dour situation, John cuts us a break on the final cost. The return home won’t be the most convenient, timely, or cheap excursion. We borrow the Bowman rental for one more night and drive three hours south to pick up a new one-way rental at the Rapid City Regional Airport. Separately, our two-rental convoy heads back north to drop off the Bowman car. All-in-all we end up spending over $1200 to come home carless.

But like so many of our adventures, the story is priceless.

So what happened to Bloodball?

In Rapid City, we pondered driving to Griffin the Ghost Town to put Bloodball to rest with all the other broken cars. But the better idea became Kars 4 Kids (apologies if that ear worm is now stuck on repeat for you). Like those bison, maybe the parts and scrap metal would be put to some constructive use.

A couple weeks later, we purchased our current workhorse: a midnight blue Ford Transit Connect, which we dubbed Moon Patrol after the Atari game. Ironically, five years and 60,000 miles later, we would shell out $3,000 for a new transmission. Maybe it made a difference we were only a few blocks from our house when it slipped? Maybe we had a hunch Moon Patrol had some life in him yet.

We also mailed John and Gail a couple prints as a thank you for the gift of the kindness of strangers and a good story to share with our people.

Now you go!

• Tell us about your family member disguised as a vehicle? Did you give it a name too?

• Have you ever been stranded on a cross-country trip?

• Have you ever experienced the kindness of strangers in a strange land?

Before you go, don’t forget to give our heart a squeeze. And maybe exit through the gift shop. But you can always keep reading. Head into the tunnel……

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Speaking of the kindness of strangers, a warm welcome to all of our new subscribers from Greenville, South Carolina! We understand why y’all moved there!