One of the things I want most from the bat cave is the bat phone. You know, the red emergency line phone; that would be cool. And, if I did have that, it would have rang last week.

So, I was at home, it was Tuesday, I had just loaded my plate up with seconds from supper when my Ma’s phone rang. It was one of her coworkers, a family friend. I’ll call him Mac because that’s his name, even though my sister calls him Natalie.

Mac had a problem, he had a flat tire, and he was a few miles east of town. He needed some help and a trailer. Ma explained the situation to my Father. Once she was done explaining it to him the second time, he went off to call his friend, the second in command, and rally the go team. I did my own pitiful effort of this and got my sister.

The plan was that my sister and I would drive on ahead, find Mac, then all the Old One and the right-hand man had to do was look for our car. Ma stayed home; she was smart.

So, we start heading east, and we find him, and his situation is in three parts. On the side of the highway was Mac’s truck, then, five feet behind it, unattached, with a cartoonishly flat tire, was a trailer; then, a ways behind that was a golf cart.

After a discussion standing on the side of the road at sunset, it was decided that Mac’s partner would take the truck and go on ahead, leaving him to the mercy of us. As cars and semis alike sped past blowing wind up my shorts, we chatted.

We also warned Mac about what he was getting into. You see, we didn’t know which truck The Old One and his friend would be driving, and one of the trucks is a two-door. So, we were saying to Mac that if he’s riding with them chances are he’ll be riding on the hump, squashed in the middle. I could tell he thought we were joking, which we were a little bit, but I know from personal experience that if they were driving that truck that that would be the situation. Lucky for Mac, they drove the four-door.

Before The Old One and his friend arrived, The Old One called me to ask where we were located. I said we are right by the Chelsea turn off.

He said, which one? As there is only one paved Chelsea turn off east of Toledo on the highway, I got a little frustrated. With a few expletives and common sense, they found us.

After greetings and introductions were made, things started to get moving. My Father then said abruptly, “Mike, you’re in charge of the flashlight.” The childhood flashbacks and PTSD came on so fast it gave me whiplash.

He handed me this flashlight that looked somewhat like a drill and said, “Just pull the trigger.” I followed his advice, but the only thing that happened was that a light shone on my temple.

Once the right hand man had his truck and trailer backed up, my sister grabbed a hold of Mac’s trailer and tried to pull it, but it didn’t go far.

It is at this point that I should describe Mac. Picture a six-foot brick sculpted into the visage of a Greek god, then add tattoos and a gentle smile. As my sister got nowhere with the trailer, Mac walked over and picked it up like the Grinch does with his sleigh at the end of the movie, then placed his trailer on the back of the other trailer.

Or it was a team effort with Mac doing the majority of the work and me standing a few feet away being a smart alec. I forget exactly.

Anyway, once the trailer is on, the right hand man tries to back up his truck and trailer some more, but ends up pointing the trailer more towards the ditch. My father chewed him, my sister tried to direct him, and Mac drove up with the golf cart.

These wooden ramp planks were placed to drive the golf cart onto the trailer. Mac thought he couldn’t do it without turning on the golf carts’ headlights, but he couldn’t figure out how to do that. So a lot came down to my flashlight skills. When Mac was trying to figure out the headlights, I pointed out the button between his legs, I was dismissed, then vindicated 20 minutes later.

With both items on the trailer, everything gets strapped down. Mac then realizes the golf cart is still wobbling forward and backward. He consults with The Old One and his friend about putting on another strap. Without missing a beat, my father’s friend said, “Or you could put on the brake,” then reached forward and fixed the problem.

After everyone was loaded up, my sister and I were in our car, the others in the truck. My sister said we should follow them for a bit to make sure nothing falls off.

I said sure, but then they just sat behind us on the side of the road. So, I called my father and asked him how far they’d driven. In an unnecessary tone, he said we needed to pull up for them to pull out. We pulled up, they pulled out, we followed, and watched them ride the rumble strips for several miles.

Then, right on the turn off into Toledo, by the exit 202 sign, they pull over. We get out to see what’s the matter, and some straps are loose. As they tighten, I take the opportunity to take my picture with the sign. Then they were off again, taking Mac home, talking about tractors and who knows what all the way.

I know we were about fourth or fifth down on the list, as Mac tried others before ringing us. After last Tuesday, I don’t think we moved up the list; if anything, we may have moved down.