"Writing on the
edge...
walking in the
Light!"

AN EXCERPT FROM SARA'S BOOK, "SERVICE WITH A SMILE"


[Note: For twenty years, author Sara Probasco and her husband Don owned and operated a locksmith and security hardware business that included a store-front location and mobile service extending in a sixty-miles radius into rural and rugged south Texas country.]


"DOWN FROM THE HILLS"

Owners of Texas Hill Country property depend largely on tourist trade for their livelihood. Spring is the time of year when they spruce up the cabins and campsites, making needed repairs in anticipation of the coming "gold rush." That means a surge of work for the area locksmith.

When we first moved to this area, we wondered about the signs and depth gauges along the narrow roads. "Low water crossing" they said, with posts marked at twelve-inch intervals, usually numbered up to five. It didn't take us long to learn that even when no rain had fallen in the immediate area, water from farther up-country could come rolling down from the hills, producing a literal wall of water that sweeps away everything in its path. Tales were told about folks coming into town for supplies and being unable to return home for days, due to sudden high waters overflowing the banks of usually dry riverbeds.

When Don's first service call came from that area, he hitched up his britches, squared his shoulders, and went out to ford the rivers and brave the wilds of the Hill Country. The first crossing he came to was already under water, and there was no depth gauge to indicate the depth. He stopped his service van, wondering whether he should proceed.

A pick-up truck pulled up behind him, and the driver stuck his head out the window.

"Having trouble?" the man shouted.

"Not really," Don replied. "Just trying to decide whether or not to try to cross this water. What do you think?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it. I came across a few hours ago and didn't have any problems. Where are you headed?"

Don told him the name of the man who had called him. "I'm not sure exactly where his place is, but I guess I'll find it."

"Well, you just go on down this road until you come to a big oak tree that has a yellow ribbon painted on it. Turn left there, and you'll go through a couple of bump gates, across a little river, through another couple of bump gates two or three miles apart, and down into a little canyon. Pretty soon, you'll come to the fifth bump gate, and you'll see his lodge up at the top of the hill, on the right. You can't miss it." He must have noticed the stunned look on Don's face. "Tell you what," he said. "I'm going down this way a piece, myself. Why don't you just follow me, and I'll show you where to turn off." The man shifted his pick-up into low gear, pulled around Don, and gently splashed through the water.

Somewhat apprehensive, Don followed. Although the water was fairly shallow, he could feel the strong current pushing his van sideways as he crept through the little river.

When they had reached the embellished oak tree, Don's guide pulled over and waved him around. "Here's where you turn." He pointed to a narrow rocky road. Just keep going. It's the only lodge down that way."

"Now, when I get to that next river, you think it'll be safe to cross?" Don asked.

"Oughta be. It doesn't usually carry as much water as the one back there. And the quicksand shouldn't present any problem, this time of year."

"Quicksand!"

"Yeah, but it's not very deep. As long as there's not too much water over it, you'll be all right."

Don gulped and started off down the rocky ranch road. He hadn't traveled far, when he came to the first bump gate.

Bump gates, for those of you who are city-dwellers and unfamiliar with such contraptions, are non-locking gates primarily intended for enclosing livestock rather than for keeping out interlopers. They're designed to be opened by a quick, forceful shove of a bumper. A rather ingenious but simple mechanism permits the gate to swing up and out of the way, allowing the vehicle to pass through, if the driver is quick, before the gate returns to its normal "closed" position.

In principal, it works beautifully. However, in attempting to drive his sixteen-foot step van through one unscathed, Don was rather like a five-hundred pound bull trying to run through a revolving door without getting swatted on the back-side.

You should have heard him tell about it in the months that followed: There he was in the Hill Country, with rain falling to the north, a condition certain to produce the dreaded flash floods at any time. But Don knew the rancher was depending on him. He had to get through to change the locks on the hunting lodge before the tourists arrived. The river was rising rapidly. Beneath his tires, the quick-sand was deepening. Despite dark clouds on the horizon, the sun overhead was beating down upon him unmercifully.

He valiantly nosed up to the gate, gently testing his proximity to the configuration of metal pipe and wire. Then, with a mighty surge of power, he accelerated the engine of his huge service van, bumping the gate up, around, and out of the way as he charged through the opening in a race against time.

Got the picture? Now, remember he had to go through not one, but five of these gates. Every time he told about it, it got more dramatic. I listened as patiently as possible while the tale grew into a combination of "Mission Impossible" and "The Temple of Doom," sprinkled liberally with scenes from "The Day the Dam Broke."... (to be continued)
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