Forrest City, Arkansas
The Lowest Point
Further down the I 40, east of Little Rock, more warning lights came on so I pulled over to check that these weren't caused by the electrics failing from a flat battery. Stopped at a petrol station and the car wouldn't restart. It was 5.30pm on a Friday, when any normal mechanic would have shut up shop and hit the pub and I was nowhere near Dallas Fort Worth airport. In retrospect I cannot believe how calm I remained. Most normal people when faced with a 450 mile trip in 12 hours, after already driving 9 hours and losing a night's sleep, in a car that is knackered, stuck in a redneck town in the middle of nowhere and facing the prospect of missing the flight to Cancun and losing £500, would completely lose it, freak out and run down the street screaming like a small girl. However, armed with a Yellow Pages from the petrol station I started to harass every mechanic in a 30 mile radius. Finally I found a guy that would come out and have a look at the car. He was a big guy. It was hot. He sweated. A lot. After nearly making me vomit after dripping his sweat on my arm, he told me that the battery was flat because the alternator had failed. No s**t Sherlock, I better not be paying you for telling me that. He had a battery and after some more phoning around on his part he managed to find an alternator and later found another guy who could replace it. (If he hadn't I was gonna try it myself, which would have been interesting!) Three nervous hours later (I appeared to be the only skinny white guy in the entire town) and after some generous tipping, and a few international phone calls about cancelling the holiday, the car was fixed and ready for the road. It was 11pm, I had been driving since 8am and I had another 450 miles to do by 7am. Easy! (I hope)
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