Tulsa, OK

Well, here we are 106 miles from Springfield, MO, more than 200 miles from home. We are slowly pulling off the highway into a rest area. We are very glad to do so, as the trucks (18 wheelers) have been running up so close to our bumper before changing lanes that I’ve been afraid of being run over for hours now.

We are halfway up the off ramp when the rear end of the car drops and the most terrifying noise erupts. At first, I’m afraid we’ve finally been hit. But a look in the rear view mirror reveals we’re alone.

My 12 year old grandson, Morgan, and I get out to check the damage. We were shocked. There is no wheel on the right rear axle. The wheel is about 50 feet behind us.

While Morgan goes to retrieve the wheel, I call Chris, my son. He’s not supposed to have his cell phone on at work, but he’s worried about us, so he keeps it on anyway.

“God, Mom. Are you guys ok?” are his first words to me after I give him the latest disaster report. Once I’ve assured him we’re off the highway, he tells me to stay put, they will come and get us. But, it will take them 9 to 12 hours to get there. I call my daughter to tell her we’re going to be late.

Morgan and I settle down to wait. 9-12 hours in the dark, in the heat, alone. Not a relaxing way to spend the night. Actually, I wonder if they’ll find us alive or at all. But, I don’t tell Morgan or anyone else how scared I am.

A truck driver pulling into the rest area sees we’re in trouble and walks back down to see if he can help. Nope! But, he does reassure us that the car can be repaired, and he tells us why the wheel came off the car. Apparently, the guys who rotated the tires forgot to torque down the lugnuts. And, as they came off it caused a vibration that ripped off the studs.

Then Chris calls us back on a 3-way conference call with my oldest son, Scott, in Dallas. I’m told neither can get to us in less than 12 hours. And Candy, who is the closest, can’t come and get us. She’s still reovering from a bad car accident, and doesn’t have gas money to reach us. So, the boys are my only hope.

They want to know exactly where we are to see if they can get a tow truck to us. All I can remember is the last sign I saw said 106 miles to Springfield.

“Mom, that’s not much help.” Like I don’t know that. But, “Oh, wait, there’s a sign not four feet in front of us with emergency numbers for the highway patrol.”

“Mom, call them, get towed in, check into a motel, then call us back and we’ll work from there, once we know you’re both safe.” My oldest son never panics, and always has an answer even when the rest of us are scared out of our wits.

(Note from Candy, remind me to tell you all about Scott saving my life sometime)

I call the number, and the tow truck driver is there in 15 minutes. I kid you not, 15 minutes. There’s a motel next door to the repair shop he works out of along with several places to eat.

Safe for the night. I’ll give you the rest of our journey home story on Monday. Have a nice weekend and stay safe.