As the immortal bard John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens to us while we are busy making other plans.”  On Wednesday, at 12:23 pm Central Time, as we drove from Mitchell, SD to our next camp in Hot Springs, SD, our motor home broke down just before exit 225 on I-90.  It went into what is called limp mode. It is hard to imagine a more apt technical term.

We limped off the interstate in the general direction of a gas station at the top of a hill on Highway 16.  We never reached the top. What followed was a series of calls, starting with the Good Sam Roadside Assistance dispatch.  Phrases like, “holiday week, ” “remote location,” “limited options,” sprinkled the short conversation between interminable hold periods.

Other things happened too.  Two motor homes  and a guy in a pick up truck stopped to make sure we were okay.  Jordan was dispatched by Sam from Charley’s Auto Service in Kennebec , nine miles back, to see if he could determine if it was worth hauling us to his shop. He couldn’t, but not for lack of trying.

It is one of those mysterious events that befall vehicles, that I stopped worrying about at some point in the last 3,500 miles or so.  We have covered almost 30 states without so much as a hiccough from this faithful lumbering beast, and now a baffling, and possibly very expensive, ailment has her functioning perfectly as a camper and not a whit as a conveyance.

We were immediately befriended by Beth and Lauren of the New Frontier RV park in Presho, SD.  They enlisted a neighbor,  Scott part-owner of Hutch’s Cafe & Lounge in Presho, to tow our motor home with his pickup truck the half-mile or so to the campground.  Wouldn’t take anything but thanks for the effort. We can’t get anyone to look at the motor home until Tuesday, July 8. In Chamberlain, forty miles back.

Now I remember why I love blogs. It’s the immediacy. The “this is what’s happening now, won’t it be interesting to see how it turns out?” emotion of the moment.  Funny thing, last time I felt this way was when our car broke down in San Antonio.  There is a moral there.

Beth and Lauren have invited us to a Fourth of July picnic tonight in camp. Not sure what we’ll do.  It is a beautiful, idyllic setting, and quite peaceful.

I keep thinking of the thousands who’d planned to spend their Fourth on the Outer Banks, and the wrenching experience of forced evacuations for Arthur.  We hope everyone is safe, somewhere. Keep low, Jimmy B, since I am sure you stayed on the island.

Give me Presho, and the strong sense that, just today, the nation’s birth day, we are right where we are supposed to be. Happy Independence Day, to friends and loved ones near and far.  Be safe, be well. Be grateful.

And pass the potato salad!