I am a lineman for the county, and I drive the main road
Searchin’ in the sun for another overload
Wichita Lineman, Glen Campbell
The mid-morning sun dazzled my groggy eyes. Pole after pole flashed by - no broken wires yet. The fault had to be somewhere. Suddenly the idea bubbled up. I pressed the voice command button on the steering wheel.
“Play Wichita Lineman by Glen Campbell on Spotify!”
“No, man, not now!”
“Alright, alright.”
Still no break in the wires.
* * *
It had started Friday morning. The wind ran laps around the house, faster, faster, faster. The thermometer got ready for a holiday, seeming to run out of the office, forgetting to hold the needle. It dropped like a rock.
Around 2:30 that afternoon, the power went out.
To rip a line from The Christmas Carol…
“The cold became intense.”
No matter. “Swish!” the match struck true, and the chestnut oak kindled brightly in the wood stove. The generator sprang to life, and the ship was afloat in an icy sea.
* * *
The evening rounds were finished. The pipes would be OK. The land was dark, and the digits kept acting like my bank account, dropping, dropping, ever dropping.
Word came down the line. “The brothers have a flat tire, and their jack doesn’t work!”
“Give me a second. I need to put on my overalls.”
* * *
It was midnight. The Ghost of Christmas Past didn’t find me asleep in bed. The emergency flashers of “big blue”, my brother’s glorious 1988 Chevy truck blinked a Christmas eve red on the side of Route 29 north of Charlottesville. I rolled up with a jack.
“Hey bro! Can you drive this to the gas station, and put exactly thirty pounds of air in it?” Brother Zakk handed me the original spare tire. It had never been used, and looked alarmed at the prospect. If dry rot could have talked, it would have offered excuses of being out of practice, the lateness of the hour, the eight degree thermometer…
But it couldn’t, so off I went, returning shortly.
Legend states that, long ago, an Urban Man was marching along with Napoleon through Russia and said “Cold enough for ya?” Perhaps we’re related to the original Captain Obvious. We’ve always hoped there was royalty somewhere in the family tree.
“I’m a little concerned about this” I told brother Noah, offering an icy lug nut as he fitted the tire.
“Uh…yeah.”
We bolted that puppy on at 12:20 am Christmas Eve morning, and took off under caution.
Charlottesville passed, slumbering in the dead of the night. The last stoplight waved us good luck as we tackled the mountain grade.
Up, down, around, past frozen streams and hulking rocks, the railroad signal glimmering in a cut to the left, slowly, steadily we rolled.
The narrator of the audiobook on stoics droned on and on, differentiating the Greek and Roman schools of thought, in a vain effort to ward off future academic attacks. Silly author, dontcha know they’ll always find a chink in your armor?
Now it was six degrees. The road loomed salty white in the headlights.
The drone of the narrator increased into a whine. What was that sound?
Uh oh.
BOOM!
Tire pieces littered the road. I swerved. Noah rolled along on a rim, and pulled over as soon as he could, to the only place he could.
It looked like a meth house, and there was a trailer park down the street.
Great. The only spare was blown. We were stuck. And the dog started barking. Just the place to bring your family. “Get in my car, mom.”
We found him a side street to park. “Do it!” The truck clanked and rattled across the highway to our best bet at sanctuary, laden with Christmas presents.
We crammed as many as we could into my tiny Kia.
“Hey wait, you should grab the rim.”
Poor Noah crammed his six-feet-four-inch frame into the back seat, and wrapped it around the frozen, grimy, wire-spiky tire.
Off we rolled.
At about 2:15 am, his voice came from the back, muffled and distant by the ruined wheel.
“This is supposed to be on my truck. I shouldn’t be sitting with it.”
At about 2:20 am…
“Hey, hey, Noah’s tired. Huh huh huh huh!” (Nothing like brothers to say the right thing.)
We arrived at the farm. I fell into bed at 3:00 in my jeans, and got up at 6:00 to put more gas in the generator. (and then went back to bed.)
* * *
Walmart was helpful, and mounted a new tire in a jiffy. The truck was still there. So were the presents. We all kept the woodstove crackling, and the generator full. The stars were icy at those 3 am refuelings, but those red and green status lights sure looked festive.
Thanks to the Lynchburg linemen working ‘round the clock on Christmas in subfreezing temperatures and high winds…The power eventually came back on a day and a half later. What a Christmas present.
And to think - there’s guys who do this all the time, and truly deserve to sing Glen Campbell songs.
This Christmas was just a taste of what happens if those guys don’t keep the world running. It’s so easy to forget the invisible success of unseen linemen, engineers, electrician, drivers, and all of the other folks who make it work while we slumber in oblivion.
There’s a part II to this - a metaphorical, psychological, philosophical look at things (and a warning at what happens when knowledge is unmoored from reality. I don’t think ignorance can remain neutral.) These guys are like Strider in Lord of the Rings.
But, we’ll get to that later. You’ve got things to do, dear reader.
This morning, I’m a normal hobbit in the Shire, drinking warm, electrically-brewed coffee.
Hey Spotify - Play Wichita Lineman by Glen Campbell.