As we drove up the mountain, I said, "Paul, your thermostat is overheating. Do you think we should pull over?"
"Hmmm. It is. Well, we'll pull over when we get to the top."
We got to the fire road and pulled over. By this time the engine was smoking. Antifreeze was pouring out on the ground. There was a sizzling sound.
Between four adults, there wasn't a cell phone signal to be found. And here was the view (those are the boys having foot races in the distance):
Paul thought he could drive the Jeep back down the mountain, get some water, and just keep giving it water until he got home. I dug in my heels and said I wasn't riding in it until it was fixed, and neither were the boys. I'm not very flexible when it comes to smoking vehicles.
So Paul and my brother went down in my brother's car to get help. My sister-in-law, Meredith, and I went for a walk with the boys. While Pierce was worried, none of the other boys were concerned at all. In fact, they had a grand time marching on the dirt road.
We walked all the way to a fire tower, and then turned around and walked back. Meredith and I were so busy chatting we didn't even realize how far we walked. The boys were so busy marching and throwing rocks in mud holes that they didn't realize how far we walked either.
I find the whole thing very ironic, really, considering this all happened right after our attendance at the Preppers/Survivalist festival.
Readers, do you have any good stories about being stranded?