I picked myself up and dusted off and started walking toward where Hobo went. I walked and walked for what seemed liked miles and still there was no sign of him. Turning back seemed to be the best decision since hadn’t thought to bring any water and was already feeling quite dehydrated.
I had brought my phone so I pulled it out of my pocket and flipped it open. “Who can I call for help?” I wondered. Juan doesn’t speak much English and he probably won’t answer the phone anyway and I’m not even sure if he knows how to drive. Everyone else is pretty far away. So I’ll call Hobo’s trainer. He lives nearby and he’ll probably know how to help. I looked at the cell phone’s screen to find his number. NO SIGNAL! Oh %#%@! Now what?
I started waling back toward the main road hoping to get a signal along the way. I was hot and tired and thirsty but I didn’t want to stop and rest for fear of not wanting to get up again. I came upon a fork in the road that I’d never noticed before. Having absolutely no sense of direction I didn’t know which way to go. I looked around for hoof prints in the dry dusty road and thought I could make out a few coming from the right so I went that way. About a quarter mile later I arrived at a dead end. Apparently Hobo is not the only horse traveling this road. Back I went to the split and continued my journey. At this point the sun was directly overhead, the breeze had calmed to a whisper and I needed to stop for a bit. My ribs had started to hurt. I rested a bit, then walked to the next shady spot and rested another minute. I did this for at least another mile, then found an up-side-down bucket on a hill under a tree and sat there feeling quite dejected and depressed. But… my phone made its “you’ve got a signal” sound and I called my friend to come help. He was home and said he’d be here soon. So I waited, and waited, and waited like at least an hour. I called my friend back but there was no answer.
The swishing sound of a machete made me jump up in a panic. When I turned to see where it came from I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a farmer in an orange grove clearing some brush. He spoke no English at all, but did understand that I was hot and thirsty so he went and cut me some oranges. I was ever so grateful and thanked him the best I could.
It was lunch time and the farmer and his helper were going back to the farm and offered me a lift a little further down the road on their tractor. I accepted. When we got to his driveway, we heard whistling and whooping from down the road. The farmer whooped back (apparently this is a form of communication when looking for someone) and there was my friend with a couple of helpers. Yea! I was rescued!
He wasn’t able to bring the car any further than about a mile in because of the ruts in the road and had walked up the road looking for me. I thanked the farmer again and we all walked back to the car which really wasn’t very far away at all. I could see why he couldn’t go any further. There was a huge rut in the road that probably would have ripped the bottom of the Hyundai Elantra right off. That would have been devastating for me too since the car used to belong to me and I was still quite fond of it.
The car was carefully turned around and we all piled in and went back to the ranch for water, frozen treats, a rest and a truck.
Off we went again, this time on a quest to look for Hobo. We managed to get by the big rut and several more potholes, rocks, hills and even a small stream before reaching the dreaded ‘grassy driveway’. The truck scrapped by the brush and I worried that I may never be able to turn around. Backing out of this would take a lot of patience which I’d pretty much run out of by now.
We were now at the turn where I bailed off; the next turn went up a steep muddy hill. I stopped and we all got out. My friend and the boys fanned out and looked in the bush and I walked up the hill. There was Hobo, sauntering back towards me like nothing had happened!
More later…
