15 minute read

The Real Meaning of Friends - Porsche Style

STORY and PHOTOS BY

JAMES BULTEMA

We were having too much fun! My wife Carole and I were on a drive with our club, the Arizona Region of the Porsche Club of America. We were just west of New Mexico, in Alpine, Arizona, a town that's lucky to have made it on the map. Twentynine shiny Porsches were enjoying the beautiful scenery despite the on and off rain. There were many cowboys in Alpine, but they weren't singing, but they should have been, for bad things happened while driving through the White Mountains in the Apache Sitgreaves National Forrest. I have to say; this real-life story reminds me of an old time western from my youth; when the cowboy stops singing, you better watch out for the bad guys coming over the hill.

For those of you who haven't been on a Porsche drive, please don't let this story deter you; it's so much fun and a chance to meet new friends and share your love for anything Porsche.

On a drive, you have a "lead" car, who does just that and a "sweep", who is the last car in the line to attend to anyone should they have trouble. Carole and I were the sweep for a brisk drive through the White Mountains with thirteen Porsches in front of me. It was an all-day drive, and as we got to within twelve miles of our lodge, we felt a huge thump that shook our Cayman and was followed by the sound of air madly rushing out of our right rear tire. We are thankful it did not blow out during the twisties at the height of the mountain.

Knowing we were in trouble, I quickly flashed my high beams to the last Porsche in sight, but he was too far down the road to see me. The next challenge was finding a place to pull off the road, as there wasn't a shoulder, with a posted speed limit of 65 MPH while we were doing five. We crept along a couple of hundred yards when I spotted a dirt forest service road and was just able to get our car off the pavement. The time was 2:30 p.m. We were deep in the forest, with a vehicle passing by about every ten minutes. A couple of those cars slowed down to check on us. We gave them a thumbs up while waiting for our Porsche friends.

Events at first happened quickly. I examined the tire and noticed that a rock must have penetrated the tire's sidewall, confirming there was no way it could be repaired. Meanwhile, Carole was out of the car looking for cell phone reception. As Porsche sports car owners know, we don't have spares or jacks, so your only choice is to get a new replacement tire, and stores usually don't stock our expensive tires. Not deterred, we looked at a map and noted that the nearest major tire store was 85 miles away in Show Low.

I saw Carole talking on the phone, and my hopes for help soared—that didn't last but a few seconds. She told me she got through but that the tire stores that could change out a tire did not pick up. Cell reception was horrid and made things more complicated, including the entire mountain, even at our lodge. It was not uncommon to see people walking around like zombies with their arms outstretched to the sky, as if they were going to make a sacrifice.

We next worked on getting a tire while at the same time trying to get a flatbed tow truck. We managed to contact Discount Tire in Show Low, who just happened to have the tire we needed; we couldn't believe our luck until he told us he was closing at 5:00 p.m. and, even worse, was closed the following day, Sunday. It was now after three, and the drive from our location was close to two hours—if we had someone to make the run—we didn't. No one is behind you when you are the sweep; besides, sweeps don't get in trouble—yeah, right!

As we debated our next move, we saw the distinctive running lights of a Porsche roaring up the road towards us. Pulling up were our good friends, who we were sharing our cabin with, Mario and his wife, Natalie. Seeing that reminded me of how a sailor lost at sea must feel when he sees a ship approaching—pure joy. I will never forget the enormous smile on Mario's face as no problem is too big for him. You feel better just hanging with him.

The author with his wife, Carole during happier times.

Friends! Carole, author, Natalie, and always smiling, Mario.

We both noticed the time and saw we had very little of it.

He was gone in a flash, heading to Show Low. Carole called the shop and asked them if they could stay a little later for our friends. He said no problem and that he would be cleaning up anyway.

With them gone and no one else coming, we concentrated on getting a tow to get us out of the forest. Being AAA members, we called them for help. After a lengthy interview which included them trying to determine where the heck we were, they said they would dispatch a flatbed truck which should arrive by 4:16 p.m.—great news.

As we sat in our car, a tattered pickup with a cab holding what looked like four 16 to 18-year-old boys slowed down as they passed with four heads swiveling simultaneously to get a better look. They didn’t say anything; they just stared with blank expressions as they slowly drove by. That was weird, we both commented.

Meanwhile, two hours past due back at the lodge, our fellow Porsche enthusiasts noticed their sweep was missing. After some discussion, our new friend, who we had just met at the last Porsche membership meeting, Cesar and his wife Maria, jumped in their Porsche and headed back the way they had come. Knowing Cesar for just a few hours from our last event, I already discerned he is a man of action. We hit it off immediately as we are both war veterans, me Vietnam, him the Gulf War. Cesar told me he was medically discharged and a former sergeant in the Marine Corps. But what he didn’t have to say was that he was a man who will always have your six (your back), as we say in the military. It’s one of the highest compliments you can give a person in my book.

With spotty phone reception, Carole noticed she had a voice mail. It was around 4:20, and it was AAA. Sorry the voice said, but we can’t find anyone to come to get you, but don’t worry, she went on, we will try to find someone soon. “Sorry,” we couldn’t believe it. AAA’s job is to get you out of trouble and back to a safe place, not leave you hanging. At least they gave us the list of other tow truck companies in the vicinity, which means within a hundred miles or so. Carole went about finding someone else.

About this time, we saw the same truck we had seen earlier. This time, the pickup nearly stopped as four arms came out of the cab, flipping us off in unison. It was very concerning to both of us as they slowly drove off again with their fingers waving out the window. We were sure they would come back. I called Cesar, who said he would be with us shortly. I had already decided that if things went sideways, I would use my disabled Porsche to somehow get us out of trouble.

After calling every tow truck in the area, we got one who said they would help, but we had to pay $375. upfront with a credit card. We didn’t care as the rain was coming down hard, and it was now dark. We wanted out of there.

The other monumental problem, besides getting the car out of the forest, was finding someone to change the tire, which of course, you need a tire changer. We found four that could do it, but they were all closed until Monday. Carole called one she thought might still be open and got an answer. I don’t want to say she begged, but it was close. She asked the owner if he would stay and wait for us. The man’s name was Benjamin, who was the kindest person you would ever want to meet. It was his son’s 21st birthday party, and festivities had already started. We said we would throw in a $100. tip if he could wait another hour. He kindly said yes. Now we waited for the tow truck, which never came.

During this time, Cesar and Maria arrived to help us. Cesar even volunteered to stay with me and the car that night if we couldn’t find a tow. He said the club barbeque dinner had started at a restaurant another twenty miles away, and everyone was enjoying that, as they should. Those two were there but took off when they heard we were in trouble, especially with the pickup truck circling the area.

Having gotten the tire we needed with ten minutes to spare, Mario and Natalie stuffed it behind their seats and put their top down so it could fit. On their way up the mountain, it began to drizzle, and they would have to put the top back up, meaning they needed to ditch the tire. They managed to contact us, and we told them to leave the tire with Benjamin at the tire store. They said fine, but when they got there, he was gone, and the store was locked up. With a huge stack of tires spread around the tiny store, we decided the best plan was to hide it, and we would somehow get my car to the tire.

Joining the festivities at the barbeque, the two tire chasers sat down for a nice hot meal and grabbed us some grub since we were still stranded in the forest. As it turned out, the tow we paid for said the truck they sent had broken down and couldn’t make it. Great, now it looked like the car would spend the night on the side of the road—not a good thing, especially with the teenagers in the truck cruising the area.

Back at the restaurant, some dinner conversations took place, discussing getting us out of the woods and back to our room at the lodge. A plan developed which involved getting a jack and lug wrench from the one Macon on the drive, getting a wheel from Rook’s Porsche, driving it out to me, and changing them out. We could then at least get my car back to the lodge.

Arriving in constant rain, Mario and Natalie had the tools to see if they could get my tire off the car. Having to squat in the mud with a little stream developing, Mario and Cesar tried in vain to find a jack point on my 718, but the jack was not

Continued from page 35

suited for this.

Cesar suggested we form a convey with him leading, then me, followed by Mario, all with our emergency flashers on. We all agreed with the tire damage; we should keep the speed around 8 MPH. We believed the Michelin Sport 4S was wide enough to keep the rim off the pavement, but we could only guess for how long. With poor visibility and slow speeds on a twisty road with a speed limit of sixty-five, twelve miles between us and a closed service station wasn’t a pleasant thought. But the alternative sounded worst, so off we crept.

As we traveled between 8-11 MPH, I could hear what was left of the tire complaining with a rolling thump but thankfully with no metal grinding sound. When cars came up on us, we all pulled to the side and waved them past. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality, fifty minutes, we pulled into the closed Tackle Box gas station. Thankfully the tire had held on during the twelve miles, but as we hobbled into the station, it totally shredded. So again, we tried to jack up the car and remove the tire, but with no luck.

Finally, soaked to the bone, the six of us somehow managed to cram into two 911s for the four-mile trip back to the lodge. Everyone was exhausted, it was around 9:00 p.m., but we were all charged from the day’s events. We needed a plan for Sunday when everything on the mountain would be closed, and we all had to check out of the lodge.

Nothing is easy in a remote area, from eating to finding stores, especially in a single gas station town that couldn’t change tires. Worst, we were thirty minutes from the new tire hidden amongst hundreds of worn-out rubber soles. We still couldn’t find a flatbed truck even to get us that far and we didn’t have a place to stay. With everyone exhausted, we decided we would meet up early and see what our dreams told us to do.

Waking up early Sunday as our roommates, Mario and Natalie, had to be on the road by 7:30 a.m. for a vital engagement back home, I headed to the parking lot to get some phone reception and work on getting a flatbed truck. The first person I heard from was Cesar, who found a Walmart that could change the tires, but we had to get the car and tire to them.

While figuring out my next move, Mark M., the organizer for the event, saw me and rushed over. He immediately suggested something I had missed. Several others had mentioned this, but in the heat of events, it didn’t sink in. Mark suggested I call Porsche Roadside Service and tell them the problem. If your Porsche is under warranty, and mine is, they will tow it to anywhere necessary to get repaired. Several members said they had used them, all with a happy ending.

Repositioning in the parking lot to get any reception, I called them. The receptionist was reassuring as she listened to all my woes. She told me not to worry, that they would get my car repaired. My heart skipped a beat when she said they would tow it to Albuquerque, the closet dealer. I told her we live in the Phoenix area, so she just as quickly said they would tow my car to Porsche Chandler—at no charge to me. A five-hour tow, I thought, wow! I told her that was great but that we would need to get a ride in the tow truck. She said that might be difficult as many companies don’t allow passengers in their trucks because of covid. Here we go again!

No matter what transpired, I thought getting with the car at the Tackle Box gas station was best. While looking for a ride, Jake P., a new member on his first ride with us, saw my concern and offered to give me a lift. During a rest stop from Scottsdale on our way to Alpine, I started a conversation with Jake, as he was

At the Tackle Box gas station still trying to get the tire off with no luck. L to R: Mario, Cesar, author, and Maria.

By the time we arrived, an hour had elapsed since I had called Porsche Roadside, and I had not heard back. Jake seeing my frustration, stepped up and, without a word, began to make some calls. I was quickly learning that Jake is a man of action that does not except shortcuts or excuses.

Within minutes he had a list of three flatbed companies that said they could be there within two hours. Nobody else had accomplished that in two days! Jake picked the one he thought would do us right and told me to call Porsche and give them “my” suggestion. I did, and ten minutes later, I got a call from Terry, the driver from Excel Towing in Show Low. He said he would not only tow our car but squeeze Carole and me inside the cab but on one condition. What now, I thought, will we have to ride in the Porsche. He told us, “ I love to sing and talk, and you will have to listen to me for five hours and look like you are enjoying yourselves, “ he said with a huge smile. Thank heavens we love music. We had a deal.

An hour and a half later, he pulled up like he owned the place, loaded my car, and the stories started as soon as our butts hit the seats. But the funniest thing, the stories were so interesting, and the music, well, if you love the Village People of YMCA fame, played at the loudest volume possible, this was the ride for you. It was for us; we had a great time.

We stopped for gas during the five-hour tow to Chandler after traveling two hours. What makes this a story is that no sooner we had stopped, one Porsche showed up, then two, and unbelievably a third, all from our group drive. Everyone wanted to make sure everything was going as planned to see if they could do anything to help. That is a moment I will never forget, what friendship!

With the car dropped off at Porsche Chandler, we said our goodbyes and took a minute to take it all in. What we learned from this drive is that in adversity, there is no one you would want to be with more than the like-minded souls who love Porsches and people. The real meaning of friends for us did come Porsche style. We love you all, and thanks so much for making this an adventure worth writing about.

See you next time, but don’t forget to keep that sweep in your mirrors.

What’s in the coffee cup? L to R: Carole and Natalie.

Almost home! L to R: Jim B., Terry, and Carole.

This article is from: